Title: You broke my heart

Summary: As a teenager Chuck Bass was feral, heartless and immoral. But then he met Blair Waldorf and softened. When Chuck and Blair in the future have children- you'd expect Chuck Bass to be a doting father- Because we know he has an amazing heart. Then why is Chuck so cruel to their son?

Disclaimer: Sigh. Pains me to say but I don't own them.

A/N: I've had this idea for a while and I've finally put it in text! I have utterly NO idea if it works out well or not…and I really don't know how this piece is! So let me know what you think!

"Children will not remember you for the material things you provided but for the feeling that you cherished them."

-Richard L. Evans

...

He was sitting alone in his study, his plum housecoat enfolding him as always. He was a quiet man not extraordinarily handsome- not in the obvious sense anyway. His stature was average, his eyes almond shaped and piercing, his face rather pale. Yet this was a man shockingly alluring, a man who could halt a street with a glance, a man that made thousands salivate for approval or even recognition. His face was devilishly attractive rather than characteristically beautiful; his smile held sinister meaning rather than appeal, his face was built strong and intelligent rather than with chiseled features. His whole approach spoke of such supremacy, power and cold arrogance that it melted anyone into a puddle.

This man's name was Charles Bartholomew Bass.

No one any longer remembered him as Chuck. Perhaps there was once a time when he had been a Chuck but that was so horribly long ago that he barley remembered what it had felt like.

Charles took a puff of his Castillo pipe and opened the first page of the Wall Street Journal. His dark eyes roved the page…in the darkness they appeared as raven black pools of detachment.

There was a crash and a bang and a shriek, it would have been enough to make anyone jump in their seats but Charles merely flicked his gaze towards the door.

He was rather used to this now.

There was a scamper of pattering footsteps and then a hushed, pleading sound:

"Miss Cherie, please do not go in there now- he is not in a good mood-"

"Let me go, Ophelia! I want to go in!"

"But Miss Cherie, he will yell at you!"

"No- let me go!"

"Miss- Wait!"

But there was a grumble and a cry and the doors of Charles's study burst open.

There was a delighted scream, "Daddy!"

A little girl no more than four years old, ran into the room as fast as her petite legs would carry her. She was a stunning little thing, with nut brown eyes- the darkest brown an iris could be without turning black. Thick, glossy, luxuriously chestnut locks, naturally sun-kissed sorrel and auburn in places, cascaded to her shoulders, curling sweetly by her small chin. Her lips were a cupid's bow, cherry red and pouting prettily. Her pale cheeks were flushed to the softest petal pink as she ran to her father. All in all, she was a vision of overwhelming beauty.

"Daddy!" she cried running up to Charles, who for a moment merely stared at her impassively. "Daddy, you're home!"

And she scurried into her father's arms so that he had no choice but to hold her lest she fall.

Her pale arms circled around his neck and she reached to give him a loving, warm kiss on his cheek. That was enough.

Charles Bass's eyes, a moment ago raven black, softened.

The impassiveness of his face died. As he held his child, he could have almost resembled a caring father.

"You shouldn't be here, Princess," he murmured. "Daddy has work to do."

She pouted. "Daddy you're only reading the newspaper! You're home early! Do you want to hear how my day went?"

He sighed. "How was your day, Princess?"

She stared at him for a moment and touched his face with a small, curious hand. She wondered why she had no memories of her father being anything but sad.

"We did finger painting today!" she informed him brightly, hoping to cheer him up.

Chuck groaned softly. His robe was stained with bright blue and red spots, as was now his cheek, where she had tentatively touched him.

"That's lovely," he made an effort to keep his temper down. "Sounds just lovely."

"And Daddy," she went on, nestling comfortably in his embrace and showing absolutely no intention of leaving just yet. "Mrs. Morris took us on a field trip!"

Charles frowned and sat up; he had had no information of this.

"What sort of field trip, Princess?"

"We went to the new park that has opened Daddy!" she told him excitedly. "The animal park! I fed the ducks!"

His whole face seemed to turn to stone. "You fed the ducks?"

She prattled on, not seeming to pay attention.

"One duck had a lovely green head and neck but brown wings! And one was lovely white- oh, oh and there were ducklings Daddy!"

He made an attempt to smile at her. "Was that so, Princess?"

She nodded eagerly. "Daddy, can I have a pond of ducks?"

Charles closed his eyes momentarily. "A pond of ducks?"

"Yes!" she clapped her hands animatedly. "Please, Daddy? In the garden? We can all play in it, you and me and Dorota and Ophelia and-"

He cut her off before she could say it. "Of course you can."

Her eyes shined at him and she leaned forward to give him the sort of idolizing kiss only a daughter could give a father.

"Thank you Daddy!" she locked small arms around his neck to hug him thanks. "I love you."

He held her gently for a moment. "I love you too, Cherish."

Perhaps she had heard the subtle ache in his voice for she frowned and leaned back but by then his face was preserved into a faultlessly warm smile.

"Daddy," she said slowly. "I think I should say hello to Artie now, or he'll feel bad and cry and won't talk to me."

Charles went back to the Wall Street Journal.

"Alright, Cherie."

She looked at him and for the first time hesitated. "Daddy…"

He didn't look up. "Yes?"

She put her weight on one foot then the other. "Daddy…can I have something else?"

He actually raised his head, mildly surprised. Cherie had never sounded anything less than demanding when she wanted something. Now she sounded almost…shy.

"Yes, Cherish. Anything."

She looked delighted at his words. "Promise?"

He promised hoping internally that it would be something doable like buying a pony or a piece of jewelry or a trip to Paris. That sort of thing.

But she then said, "Daddy, come and visit Artie with me!"

And he froze.

How could he tell his Cherish that this was the one thing he would not, could not do?

How could he tell her that he would have given her anything, absolutely anything else? That she had asked him something no one ever dared to suggest, and had done so with innocence, immaturity and even something like fear in her dark brown eyes?

Her eyes that had never resembled anything close to fear when dealing with her father- whom she knew she had well wrapped around her tiny finger- now for the first time seemed scared. Like even she knew she was bringing up a forbidden subject.

And like she also knew that she could be the only one allowed to bring it up and get away with it.

Charles sighed, "Cherish-"

And she looked so hopeful for a moment. So breathless and expectant for a four year old girl. In a moment of fatherly weakness Charles almost said yes to her.

Almost.

But then he saw her photograph over the piano case, she was there, smiling widely, her eyes a replica of her daughter's…that Charles landed back onto earth with a start.

Those eyes had always had a way of worming words and actions out of him he did not want to say or do. It seemed as though her daughter had inherited this trait.

He looked at Cherie's small, sweet face again as she watched him on tenterhooks and finally lost it.

"Mrs. Cartwright!" Charles roared, making the little girl almost jump out of her skin. "Mrs. Cartwright!"

There was a rush of footsteps and breathless and clearly terrified, Ophelia Cartwright burst into the room. "Mr. Bass!"

He glared daggers at her. "Get the child out of the room. Give her lunch. Make sure that she does not disturb me again."

"Y-yes, Mr. Bass," Ophelia stammered, reaching out for the little girl's hand but she ran out of her au pair's way.

"No! Go away! I want to be with my Daddy!" and she ran to bury herself in Chuck's arms.

For a moment he was perfectly still. Then he said, "Get her to leave, Mrs. Cartwright."

Again the au pair struggled to take the girl and again she failed as little Cherie climbed all over her father so as to avoid Ophelia.

"No Daddy!" she cried. "Let me stay!"

She burrowed a heartbroken face into his neck. "Don't send me away!"

Charles calmly extracted her tiny fingers from his hair. "Go have your lunch, Cherish."

"No Daddy!" she locked onto his housecoat with tenacious fingers. "I want to eat with you!"

"I've already eaten," he said exasperatedly as he finally managed to detach the angry child from his form. He effortlessly removed her struggling form to hand her off to Ophelia. "Be good now, Cherish. You'll see me tonight. I'll tuck you in."

She stopped fighting in the nanny's arms for a heartbeat. "Will you tuck Artie too?"

And Charles's eyes darkened with silent anger.

She started to cry as she was taken away. "Do you hate Artie, Daddy?"

He was shocked and silent as the words came and he made no answer.

"Do you?" she cried, as the au pair marched to the doors, the little girl in her arms. "Do you hate him, Daddy?"

The doors closed and he could still hear his daughter cry as she was taken away.

A part of him…a part that was still Chuck…wanted to open all gates, snatch his child and embrace her so that she would never weep again. But so much of his being was now cold and unapproachable; so much of him was ruthless and unfeeling that honestly he was glad the girl had gone away. Gone away and taken all her maddening little questions with her.

Do you hate him Daddy?

He had the answer right here, at the tip of his tongue, he had known this answer for ages and he hadn't wanted to hurt her but his silence had probably answered her all the same.

Yes. Charles Bartholomew Bass buried his face in his hands, looking anywhere but at the portrait of the beautiful brunette on the piano case. God, yes, yes, yes.

...

...

From the lost Journal of Blair Waldorf

(The night Cherish Cornelia Elizabeth Bass was born)

Dear Diary,

I just woke up and found him here.

I can't believe it. He won't leave her alone. Ever since she's been born and I charily handed her to him –(with him whining in protest of course- "Oh no, Blair, she's so delicate- so tiny- I'll drop her- No- I told you not to- Stop! Stop! I can't hold a- Oh hello, there Princess. You have Daddy's little nose now don't you? Yes you do. Oh yes you do.")

No joke.

-Ever since he's held her- he's been…unrecognizable.

Serena, Nate, Lilly, Dan, Elizabeth, Eric and Rufus started to crack up once they heard Chuck talking like that. But he didn't pay the slightest attention. He was lost in some wonderfully deaf world.

I told him he had nothing to be afraid of.

He was arguing with me for days.

"I want a girl, Waldorf," he growled the second I told him. Like it was the Victorian era and women were still supposedly responsible for the every detail of the offspring. Typical male.

So I responded with proper hauteur, "I can't power the possible femininity of the child, Chuck. And why a girl, anyway?"

Who knew he was one for girls?

And his face grew dark. "I'm not very good with children. I want don't a boy and me to have the same mess my father and I had. I'm…better with girls,"

That's true. Ever since Serena's little girl has been born, she won't leave Chuck alone. The toddler follows him everywhere whenever Serena visits and naturally become so involved in conversation with me that doesn't realize when her own child wanders off.

Her baby has practically developed a gift for evading her. And she's exceptionally good at finding Chuck. Many a time he's been in his study and she sneaks in without his noticing, crawls up to his feet under his desk, drools all over his shoes and seizes his foot. He yelps like a frightened puppy every time she does it and thrashes- fully convinced that some foul animal is climbing all over his body. Then he peaks a glance under the desk…somewhat calms down….in fact Dorota tells me he even talks to the little girl, explaining seriously that she must evade her Mommy all she likes but not bother him as she does it. Of course Serena's daughter never listens and he eventually puts her on his lap and continues his work (I have GOT to see this.) Then Serena wails for her lost child and he whispers the baby goodbye and yells at one of the servants to take her back. Honestly, if it wasn't for Dorota- ace investigator- I'd have never known!)

"I want a daughter," Chuck told me seriously. "I want a mini-Blair whom I can spoil and tease and make a fuss of. Boy's become soft when you do that to them. Girls are meant to be coddled. I want a miniature version of you, Blair."

And that warmed me enough to kiss him a some more.

Look at him, the whipped idiot- as he sits on the settee and coos to the sleeping baby in whispers….at one a.m no less. I've never seen that look on Chuck's face. I don't really believe I'm looking at Chuck at all. Aw. See how he brushes a feather light kiss on her soft forehead.

He will hang the moon by Cherie's crib, drape her name amongst the stars and flood her life with such sunshine that she will the most loved and privileged princess in all of the Upper East Side. Chuck is not his father. He will never ignore our children for work. He will never let them be tainted as we were, because of our twisted homes. He will never let himself down. He will never let me down.

I told him he had nothing to be afraid of.

-BW

-Was that good? Does it make an intriguing story? I have no idea. Let me know!