AN: I was not going to update today, because I was so tired from work. But given that I did not inform you yesterday, and we have a routine established (lol) I decided to post a part and let you know that I will not update this fic tomorrow. I need to regroup and plot out the next parts, as this is already an extended version. I originally planned to end the fic when Chuck went back to the US. But the fic is writing itself right now and it introduced subplots that were not in the original plot.

For those reading Yesterday's Roses, I have not forgotten you or the story. But I am under a deadline for this story because I want to finish it before the next episode airs. The next episode will ruin my premise and I won't feel like I'm doing anything worthwhile when we see that these didn't really happen after 2.13. I will try to get another part in YR within the week.

As always, thank you for your generous reviews. Please don't stop :-)

Part 9

Despite the short distance they had to travel to go back to her building, Chuck found Blair asleep with her head against the window. He pulled her against him. Her hand rose to rest on his chest. Chuck looked down at the hand that rested on his shirt.

In return, his hand rested on her thigh. A little more than a year ago, right in the very backseat of this limo his fingers hooked at the hem of her shift and pushed it up. And it was the start. Now, he found that hand climbing to rest on her belly. He rested his cheek on the top of his head and closed his eyes.

Someday he would feel butterfly wings brushing against his palm.

Blair Waldorf had never been boring, but once again, with her, he fell asleep.

And he woke to the insistent voice saying, "Mr Bass, we're here. Mr Bass."

Chuck looked out the window and saw the looming building, then sighed. "Blair, wake up. We're here."

He would have lunch with them, because Eleanor and Cyrus were waiting, and Dorota had sent Blair a text to tell them what was being served. And Chuck finally understood why the Waldorf-Roses sat down to eat. Now he knew what was behind the Norman Rockwell smiles and warm welcome he received since he showed up. Gone was the sickeningly perfect honeymoon level happiness that he had attributed Eleanor's uncharacteristic greeting to. In its place, a mother's concern for her daughter's health. And the helpless knowledge that whatever reservations she had about Chuck, she needed to accept his presence in Blair's life.

For now.

Cyrus—he hadn't figured the man out. It was perfectly possible that he did not have a problem with Chuck, even liked the boy. But Eleanor pretended she was fine with him when she obviously did not trust him to keep his promise to her daughter this morning.

People can surprise you.

"Did it hurt?" His voice was quiet, and he asked the words when he knew she was halfway between sleep and waking. There was no lie in that place, only uncontrolled truth.

"We don't talk about it, Chuck. Talking is done in Dr Silverman's office—not in real life."

He found it interesting that she did not categorize her sessions as part of her life, merely an interlude. "Okay," he agreed. "After you answer this question. "Did it hurt?"

She did not look up at him, but he wanted to see her face right then when she answered. When she refused to meet his eyes, he knew. He was never going to know exactly what she felt that night. "I was a little over a month pregnant, Chuck," she said, and he could hear the effort it took to make her voice sound light. "It felt like an unusually heavy period. I probably wouldn't have known it was a miscarriage if I didn't just take a pregnancy test." To his disbelief, she finished with, "It sounds worse than it was."

Who did she think she was kidding?

"Really, Chuck," she continued, and the very fact that she did was enough to convince him the hurt still lingered even when she insisted it did not. "Without the test, I would have just thought my period was making up for lost time."

They climbed out of the limo, and Chuck reached for her hand as they made their way into the building. He pushed the call button of the elevator.

"Does your mom know?"

Blair sighed, then turned her eyes at him. She was getting impatient. "We don't discuss it, Chuck. We don't talk about it outside Dr Silverman's."

He nodded, and when the elevator doors opened, she stomped inside and stood in the back corner. It was a clear statement to Chuck. He stayed right by the elevator control and leaned against the wall.

The silence was deafening. He almost sent out a prayer. Ten interminable seconds before they got to her floor.

Two levels before their stop at the penthouse, Chuck's hand shot out and pressed the stop button. Blair grabbed the side and glared at him. "You want to discuss it?" she gritted out. "You should have stayed and not walked out on me."

"I waited for you," he exclaimed, disbelief throbbing in his voice.

"Well so did I!" Blair returned in a yell.

In Bangkok, she never yelled. Before he left, when he was grieving, she did not yell. And he could vaguely remember all the things he did, to himself and to her, and she begged and she asked and she gave, but she never yelled. That she would yell now was testament to the tension coiled inside her at the subject.

He saw her deflate before his eyes. Her voice dropped. "We don't discuss the pregnancy outside Dr Silverman's office." It did not escape him that she called it a pregnancy, not a miscarriage. "That's what I need from you."

And she asked for so little, but he needed so much. "Blair, I want a family," he told her, saying the words for the first time. He could see brain working as she processed what he had admitted.

Her head leaned to the side. Her glare softened and she stared at him with glittering eyes. "The baby would have been such a bad idea, Chuck."

"You have a great family." A pause. "I don't have a family."

She straightened, and walked the short distance that she had placed between them. Blair melted into him. "I can't give you family just because you can't get along with the ones you have left."

And that hurt. He pulled her against him and thought about the three people who had occupied part of his life for such a short time. And now, without his father, there was nothing to connect them. "They're not my family."

"When I got here, Lily was the first person to call. She was so worried about you."

He would not listen to those lies. "You're my family. Just you." His eyes drifted shut.

He heard her intake of breath. "I can't carry that burden alone," she said softly.

Why not? He was going back to the hotel and he would be alone. He could live alone. Wouldn't it be so much easier if they were together?

"I'm clean. I'm sober. I've got money," he offered. "I can support a family."

Slowly, she pulled away. "That's not enough."

He gave her an uncertain smile. "You like romantic movies, don't you?" he reminded her. "We're in love," and it surprised even him how easily that statement fell from his lips. "Every cheesy old movie says that's enough. The billion dollars in the Bass estate is only icing on the cake." Her eyes were sad when she realized this was one thing he would not let go. "Please."

The magic word.

Never failed him with her.

Then again, she had not been in therapy then, with a family that gave her everything a girl could need. "That's not enough, Chuck."

"Why isn't it ever enough?" he asked in an urgent whisper. "What else do I have to do?"

"Hello. Is everything alright?" the voice came through static over the speaker.

"This isn't over," he whispered. "We will talk about this."

Blair sucked in her breath. Cheerfully, she called out, "Everything's fine." Blair reached over Chuck and pressed the go button on the elevator.

The elevators doors opened, and Chuck felt her hand close over his. He clutched at it tightly. Eleanor and Cyrus waited with perfectly brushed smiles on their faces, and Chuck felt a cold finger running down his spine. Blair stepped out of the elevator with him.

"How was the doctor?" Eleanor inquired.

"She's good," was Blair's answer, brief, concise, and woefully inadequate.

He watched silently. He reeled from the version of rejection that she had handed to him in the elevator, after he opened himself up. He was the only person who could tell exactly what would fix him, and he knew it now. He knew it and she wouldn't give it to him.

She needed to have a better definition of love.

Love was giving everything, keeping nothing for yourself, baring your all until everyone who could see you would see nothing but the person you loved.

"And how was the session?" inquired Cyrus.

"It was good," Blair answered.

"That's fantastic!" Eleanor replied.

That pathetic excuse for an answer, when he knew Eleanor and Cyrus were looking for an update on her health, did not deserve a gleeful response. But Eleanor gave it to Blair, as if she was satisfied with the evasive answer.

Cyrus made a large gesture to cart them off to the dining room. "We've got salad, some nice tuna steak and cold peaches in raspberry sauce."

Blair let go of his hand, and approached her mother. When Eleanor glanced back towards him, Chuck knew that Blair was asking for permission for Chuck to stay. And again, his throat felt awfully parched. His eyes drifted to the red wine that now sat before each place setting.

It was definite. This day would be so long.

He felt the reassuring pat on his arm. "I'll have them taken away."

Chuck looked down at the older man and shook his head. "It's fine, Mr Rose. I think I can keep myself from jumping over the table to reach for your glasses. Just take mine away."

"Nonsense." Cyrus whispered the request to Dorota when the maid walked by.

"Right away, Mr Rose," she said, then hurried to the table and took the glasses, placing the four on a tray and taking them away. When she saw what the maid was doing, Eleanor turned and regarded Chuck.

Chuck turned back to Blair's stepfather. "Not necessary, but thank you."

Cyrus nodded. "Let's join the ladies."

"Wait!" Chuck said. When Cyrus turned to him with an inquiring look, Chuck said, "Why do you let her get away with it?"

Cyrus walked back over to Chuck, then folded his arms over his chest. "Get away with what?"

"When you asked about the hospital, she didn't answer you. Either of you."

"Aaah." Cyrus' head bobbed up and down. "Blair's polite way of telling us to shut up. Listen, Chuck, as long as she's coming home, and she doesn't look worse than she did when she left, that works for us." Cyrus held up his hand and fisted it. "You don't hold anyone so tightly they'd want to squirm free."

"I was held loosely if I was ever held at all," Chuck told Cyrus. "And I made a mess of my life. Don't start doing that to her."

Cyrus nodded towards the table where Blair was pulling up her chair and settling down, and then was chatting as Dorota placed the plate of food in front of her. Eleanor chuckled at something that Dorota said. Blair glanced down at her plate and moved the fish to the side to look at the spices underneath.

"Eleanor never kept track of Blair before, had no idea what she did every day. Blair kept herself on a rigid study schedule, and Eleanor was happy because she was getting good grades. Now, Eleanor knows how many meals she's had a day, where she goes after school. And Blair doesn't think we're hounding her, because we let her pithy answers go unnoticed." When Chuck turned to look somewhat impressed at the little man, Cyrus chortled. "You and I will have a lot to talk about in the future."

"In the future," Chuck murmured thoughtfully.

Cyrus patted his back and led him to the table. Blair looked up and exclaimed, "Finally. I was so hungry. What were you two talking about?"

Chuck smiled, and he knew he was bound to irritate her with his answer, but did not care. He would find out what it took, and he would get what he wanted. He was Chuck Bass. "Nothing much," he said cryptically. "Just family. We were talking about family."

Blair straightened in her chair, and he knew she could see the glint in his eye. "A family?"

"That's right," Chuck said, settling into his seat.

Blair picked up her fork and stabbed it into her fish.

"Blair, use your knife," Eleanor suggested.

Chuck saw the playful light in her eyes when she answered, "Oh I would love to use my knife."

He let out a chuckle, then placed his hand on her thigh under the table. Her stance relaxed.

"So Chuck, I hear you're spending the night," Eleanor offered.

"If that's alright with you, Mrs Rose."

"I'll have Dorota prepare the guest room."

"Thank you," Chuck returned. "I wanted to get some ideas from Mr Rose about some investments I can do. I recently came into a fortune."

Blair's eyes rolled. "Everyone knows, Chuck."

"Blair, don't discourage him," Eleanor said. "I think it's good that Charles is looking into the future."

He gave Blair's mother a smile. "That's exactly what I'm doing. But it's not as if what I have now isn't more than enough." He turned to Cyrus. "It always pays off to think a few years ahead at least." Chuck looked at Blair. "What do you think?"

"I think you shouldn't spend too much time with Cyrus that you don't even have time for me."

Chuck reached for the glass of water and allowed the water to coat his throat. He needed some wine right about then. The sight of the red sitting on the table earlier just made him crave it more. When he placed the glass down, she was looking at him with concern. "I'm fine," he said softly.

And that was when he noticed the greenish tint of her skin. She was looking down at her empty plate now. He turned to Eleanor and Cyrus, who were now deep in conversation. Blair stood up and excused herself.

Chuck rose to follow her, and found her exactly where he expected. Blair leaned over the sink in her bathroom, making choking noises as she heaved dryly above the drain. Her eyes were wet with tears as she met the reflection of his gaze in the mirror.

"Is it me? Did I bring it on?" he asked softly.

She shook her head. "I don't know."

If he was not so self-pitying, he would allow himself to recognize that whatever sickness she had, it could be her, and nothing to do with him. But he knew, he just did, that he was the one who brought it back. Everything he did brought it back. "Do you want me to leave?" he offered. It would be hell keeping himself from alcohol all alone in the hotel suite, but he had done it before.

"No." She held out her hand, and he took it, then he stood behind her, pressing close. They looked at their reflection in the mirror.

If her face was not tear-streaked, and his eyes were not sunken at the onslaught of his craving, it almost seemed like a pose perfect for a wedding photo.

"We can't have a baby," she said softly. "But look at us. I want you to be happy, but I just know it's not going to work. Let's not bring someone else into this mess, Chuck."

Chuck turned his head, buried his nose and her lips on the side of her neck. "But we're getting better every day," he told her. She had a point. She always had such valid reasons.

But he was Chuck Bass, and she was Blair Waldorf. They were so much alike but they operated on such different ways. She was head; he was heart.

And he knew no matter how sick she was, or how depressed he was—even if they destroyed each other—they would never hurt a baby.

Such a predictable thing for an only child to think.

He met her eyes in the mirror and said, "Will you think about it?"

She closed her eyes, leaned back against him, and said, "It won't work, Chuck."

"Please."

She sniffled. "Okay. Okay, Chuck."

He absolutely hated it when she gave in using those words. But then, she probably hated it when he used the world 'please.'

tbc