Author's Note: First of all, I wrote this and then I decided to rewatch 3x18 in order to make sure I had the quotes right. Of course, only then did I realize I changed the order of the scenes. Trying to make it fit would have required scraping nearly 2,000 words of work so I'm calling creative license on this one. Sorry about that. Finally, I wish to thank you all for your support in this endeavor. This is officially the longest story I have ever written and I was nervous the whole time, but you all held my hand and offered me words of encouragement when I needed them most. Gracias! Obrigado! Merci! Thank you!

His hands encircle her waist; his fingers flare about her hipbones and rub teasing circles. She squirms, fights to regain the upper hand in this dance.

"Chuck," she warns gravely.

His response is a smirk. He keeps her moving, keeps her light on her feet as the folksy music strums in the background. Her body moves tauntingly, sways against his fingers as he guides her across her floor.

"Miss Blair, you go down!" Dorota jeers as she and Vanya move across the floor.

The warning brings a smirk to both their lips. The innuendo makes them laugh, but it is so easy that even Chuck feels the need to hold his tongue. He says they must win now, but she shakes her head in disagreement. The prize – a collection of nesting dolls – is not worth it.

"We should stop."

"Why?" He replies softly as his fingers stroke through her hair and down her arm. "Aren't we the happy couple?"

"Yes, but –"

His fingers skimming over her elbow cause her to pause, leaving him an opening for his argument.

"And don't we deserve a lifetime of happiness?"

"Chuck, this is Dorota and Vanya's day," she reminds him with a gesture towards the red balloon between them. "We should pop the balloon, and give them a chance at happiness."

"But they're cheating," Chuck whines with a glance towards the bride and groom-to-be.

The truth is the other happy couple kind of is. Their own red balloon is resting on Dorota's expansive belly rather than squished between them, and there is very little chance of the balloon falling to the ground as they hop and skip about the dance floor.

"And you know I hate to lose," he reminds her with a squeeze to her hip.

"Pop the balloon, and I'll let you see me."

"You'll do that regardless," he replies with a self-satisfied smirk. She wants nothing more than to swipe it off his face, so she pulls out her trump card and ends the game.

"You misheard me," she informs him with the perfect blend of sass and innocence before stepping in for the kill. "I'll let you see your baby."

She reaches between them and pops the red balloon with an explosive noise. The crowd erupts into cheers, pushes past them to congratulate Dorota and Vayna on the longevity of their relationship. She gives him a coy smile as she flounces off and leaves him standing in the middle of the dance floor in shock.

"You've been avoiding me all night," he nearly growls when he finally finds her alone. She feigns innocence, gives him a smirk as she looks up at him from her seat at a table that was not assigned to them.

"Have I? You seemed busy yourself," she replies. "Vanya's cousin must be quite the linguist to have kept your attention for so long. I know how much you admire a woman who knows how to use her tongue."

"I have tongue," the drowsy little boy in her arms interjects. "See!"

He sticks out his tongue, offers them a sleepy smile when his father lets out a bark of laughter. He cuddles closer to his mother when she reaches up to stroke his mop of brown hair and sooth him back to sleep.

"I thought you were sleeping, baby," she replies with an indignant look towards Chuck. He shakes his head at her, refuses to take the blame when she was the one who decided to say something so uncouth in front of their son.

"I not tired," the little boy replies lethargically. His argument is in no way convincing, particularly not after he finishes it off with a wide, open-mouth yawn.

"Here," Chuck offers as he slides his hands under the little boy's arms and pulls him out of his mother's lap. "I'll take him upstairs. You go say goodnight to everyone."

He shifts the little boy so that his body is pressed against Chuck's in a big hug. His arms are flopped over his father's shoulders. He is too tired to even wrap his arms around Chuck's neck and hold on. Blair stands, brushes invisible dirt off her dress before throwing his husband a look of gratitude.

"Don't forget about Harry Bear," she replies as she offers out the well-loved stuffed animal, a gift from Harold and Roman. He grabs it despite his full hands, would hate to forget it and have to go looking for the bear later when Henry realizes it's missing. He watches Blair disappear into the crowd, looks for signs that her early statement is true.

"Did you have a good time, Henry?" Chuck asks his son softly over the music, dancing, and happy crowd as he heads towards the exit.

"Yeah," Henry mumbles against his neck. His hot breath tickles his father's skin as he lifts up his hand to show his father the white ribbon tied about his wrist. "I have balloon."

"I see that," Chuck replies as his eyes travel up the string tied about Henry's wrist to the red balloon swaying in the breeze of the air conditioning.

"Mommy no pop."

"No," he promises his son as he pats the little boy's back reassuringly. "I won't let Mommy touch it."

The elevator dings, and he is careful to make sure the balloon does not become pinched in the doors. Henry lets out an audible yawn, gives up on protesting that he is not tired as he buries his face into the crook of his father's shoulder.

Chuck greets Monkey with a soft hello when he steps off the elevator into the penthouse. He sidesteps the toys dropped haphazardly in the hallway. The ones that Henry chose to leave behind when his mother told he could not bring all his favorites to Dorota's wedding to share with her and Vanya.

The door to Henry's room is ajar with the light on his dresser left on in anticipation of his late arrival. It casts a soft glow across the royal purple walls, lighting Chuck's way to the little boy's bed. He pulls back the covers with his free hand, gently sets his son down against the pillow.

The little boy's miniature Italian loafers are pulled off and his bowtie and red balloon untied from around his neck and wrist, respectively. The balloon is tied to the headboard of his bed so that it will be the first thing the little boy sees when awakens. Chuck pauses, debates whether or not he should leave the boy to sleep in his suit – the one that makes him look like a carbon copy of his father – or change him into his pajamas. Figuring he'll be more comfortable in the later, Chuck sets to work pulling off his son's clothes and exchanging them for the first pair of silk pajamas he pulls out the dresser.

His son rolls away, sleepily protests in the same way that Blair does when she falls asleep in her gown and doesn't want to get up and change. Chuck cannot suppress a grin at how similar mother and son's mannerisms are, marvels over the other features that his son has inherited from his mother. When he finishes, he places a kiss against the sleeping boy's temple, tucks the covers up around his chin, and slips his precious stuffed bear into the bed beside him.

"I love you, Henry."

"Love you, Daddy," Henry mumbles as clutches his bear tighter and rolls towards the wall and away from the light. Monkey pads out of the room ahead of him, heads straight for the bed he is not allowed on as Chuck bids his son goodnight and softly shuts the door.

He is already in bed reading the newspaper, already changed into his own pajamas when he hears the familiar ping of the elevator doors. Monkey's ears perk up at the noise, and he tries to warn the dog that he should get down. Yet Blair enters the room to find him still lying on top of the king-sized bed anyways. One cutting glare from her and the dog immediately leaps down and heads to his own bed in the corner.

"You're not supposed to let him up there," she reminds him sharply before shutting the double doors to their bedroom behind her.

"He doesn't listen to me," Chuck replies with a shrug.

She doesn't buy his argument – not for a single minute. He watches her slip off her shoes and leave them in a pile beside the door before she sits down at her dressing table.

"I can't help it that you're the only one who can keep the Bass Boys in line."

She audibly scoffs at his suggestion, but he can see her lips quirk into a smile through the mirror hanging above her dressing table. He drops the newspaper to his lap, watches her unclasp her necklace, remove her earrings, and place everything back into her jewelry box. There is something utterly sensual about the way she pulls out the bobby pins holding back part of her curls from her face, and he watches her completely mesmerized.

He firmly expects her to say something, to call him out on watching her when she spies him through the mirror. But she says nothing, stands up and starts to head towards the double doors beside their bed leading to the closet. He reaches out, snags her elbow with his outstretched hand, and yanks her towards their bed.

She keeps her balance, doesn't tumble on top of him like he had hoped she would. Her indignant protest falls on deaf ears as he wraps his hands around her waist and holds her in place.

"Don't you have something to tell me?"

His fingers stroke her skin through the ruffles of her champagne colored dress. His thumbs run over the sequence of the bodice of her attire. And he looks up from where his hands reside to her eyes with just a shadow of hesitation.

"I have no idea what you're referring to," she teases.

"Blair," he warns. He shifts in bed, throws his legs over the edge, and pulls her forward so she's standing between him. "Don't tease me."

The later comes out more like a plea rather than a warning, and her teasing smile falls as she runs her hands through his hair. He looks worried and hopeful, and she decides to finally put him out her misery. She reaches behind her, tugs down the zipper, and steps back to let the dress fall to a puddle at her feet. It is a terrible way to treat couture, but wrinkled piles on the floor are becoming rather common place in her life.

His eyes rake over her body. She feels smug when his breath still catches in his throat at the sight of her because her body never did return to the way it was pre-Henry. She steps forward, watches as his hands slide across her hips just above the waist band of her panties. She wraps her fingers around his, tugs his hands until they are resting against the flat plane of her belly, and he eyes her wantonly, expectantly.

"November seventh."

He raises an eyebrow at the date, tries to formulate the words to ask her if what he is hearing is true. His fingers stroke softly, reveling in the heat radiating between their touching naked skins.

"My due date is November seventh."

He pulls her backwards so she falls on top of him, plants a searing kiss against her lips before turning his attention to her delectable neck. She sighs and squirms, asks him if this means that he is happy with the news.

"Tonight, I think what I love most about you is the way I feel with you. With you, I am the best version of myself," he whispers softly to her. "I have peace in my heart knowing that I am a good husband, a good father. I will die a proud man very much in love."

"You can't steal another man's words and expect me to fall into bed with you," she retorts as she pushes herself away from his chest.

"Is it stealing if they're true?" He runs his fingers across her bare back, allows them to become hopelessly entangled in the curls of her hair.

"Yes," she snaps. She glares from her spot hovering above him, focuses on his fraudulent declarations rather than the feeling of his fingers across her skin.

"Alright," he concedes softly before he ghosts his own words across her collarbone. "I love you."

"Is that it?"

"You and I are magnetic. You can feel it," he adds with a kiss to her neck just below her jawline. He knows just where to touch to make her melt, knows that his words are having the desired effect. "And you – you are the lightest thing that ever came into my life."

"Chuck Bass is a romantic? Who knew?"

"You do," he replies before kissing her lips softly. "And that's all that matters."

"I love you, too," she affirms as she pushes off of him, draws her legs up, and presses her knees into the bed on either side of him so she is straddling his hips. She sinks down and finds him hard and ready, hot and heavy below her body.

"Are you happy?"

She asks the question again because of a part of her may always doubt it. Chuck Bass is an amazing father and husband and lover, but sometimes it is hard to believe that he changed for her, for Henry. And now another baby, another unplanned pregnancy –

"This wasn't exactly planned," she reminds him as his fingers ghost across her flat stomach. "I just took over at Waldorf Designs for my mother."

"Timing has never been our strong suit," he reminds her.

He might have meant as a joke but there is a hint of weariness that creeps into both of their eyes at the reminder of the unplanned baby at nineteen and all those flights back and forth across the Atlantic when words failed them.

"Hey," he says gently as he shifts in bed so he is seated and she is straddling him from her position in his lap. He tips her chin, forces her to look at him with teary eyes. "I wouldn't change this, okay? I got you and Henry and –"

His palm slides across her body, settles above where the next aspect of their lives exists. He has always wanted their baby, and this time will be – is – no different. His brain jumps into overdrive, searches for the right words – his own words – to belay any kind of doubt in her mind.

"I'm not Chuck Bass without Blair Waldorf."

He hopes she will understand that they are just as meaningful as what Vanya told Dorota tonight, hopes she will understand that he would be nothing without her. Because there have never been truer words spoken from his lips.

"Ah," she corrects as she strokes his cheek with the back of her hand, dragging the diamond across his face. "But I'm not Blair Waldorf anymore."

"True," he acknowledges before amending his earlier statement. "I'm not Chuck Bass without Blair Waldorf-Bass."

She kisses him deeply, longing to show him that she does in fact understand and succeeds when she leaves him breathless and aching. She presses against him, revels in the warmth and reassurance of his love as he hands slide to her ass and pulls her tighter against him.

"Please don't doubt my love for you."

She sighs against his neck, trembles at the anxiety behind his voice. She reaches between them and strokes him through his silk pajama pants.

"Never," she promises as he hisses at the sensation. His head falls backwards in anticipation as she unties the drawstring. His hips lift so that she can pull the fabric down just enough to let him free.

"You pursued me, fought for me. You flew commercial for me," she tells him as she pulls the fabric of her lace La Perlas to the side and allows his blunt head to caress her slick flesh in a blatant promise.

"Twice," he reminds her as he shifts beneath her.

She hisses out at the overwhelming feeling of sheer anticipation. Her lashes droop as he shifts against her again, and she watches his face from beneath her lashes as she raises a fraction higher, edges back a little more, and then slowly, savoring every minute, helps to guide him inside of her.

He tightens his arms about her, revels in the feeling of her softness cradling him and her firm breasts pressed against his chest. There is no one else; there never will be anyone else who makes him feel this way. He rolls the two of them so that she is on her back and he is hovered above her, slides out and back in so slowly that she cannot help but gasp at the sensation.

Her fingers become entwined with his as their hands are placed against the mattress beside her head. Maybe it was meant to hold her down, take control as he controls the meeting of their bodies and places kisses along her neck and travels downward to catch her erect nipple between his lips.

He appears to be in control even as her hips lift beneath his, driving and directing him forward. But she wins out in the end because the two of them finish together holding hands, and when he collapses against her, she is the one to kiss him over and over just below the jawline in between whispered confessions of love.

Eventually, he slides out of her and rolls onto his back so that the cool silk of the sheets can absorb the heat radiating from his body. He half expects her to slide out of the bed, head towards the bathroom in order to wash away the evidence of them on her body. Instead, she reaches across the small space between them, grasps his hand in hers and entwines their fingers in an unspoken confirmation. Then she shifts, moves towards the nightstand to grab –

"We're not watching a movie," he states firmly as his fingers curl about her hip and pull her back to the mattress

"Why not?" She questions as she rolls to her side and eyes him with a head supported upright by the elbow digging into the mattress. "A dog? Two kids? We're an old, boring married couple now, Bass."

"No," he firmly replies, turning his head and staring back at her. "We could never be boring."

She smiles at his reply, willingly forgoes watching the movie they started and yet never finished weeks ago. Instead, she lifts half her body over him, drapes her legs about him, and sidles into the circle of his arm. This spot is hers, this is where she belongs, and no one can take this from her.

They make an odd sight, a far cry from the put together individuals the rest of their world sees them as. His silk pajama pants are puddled midway down his calves and her lace panties are torn and slightly askew on her hips. They're lying horizontally across the bed, heads resting on neither pillows nor the duvet draped over the foot of the bed.

And yet none of it matters because they are Chuck and Blair, Blair and Chuck, and that means more than most anyone can realize. They are inevitable, invincible, in love. And tonight, as they fall asleep entwined together, they both can revel in the knowledge that they will pursue each other to the ends of the earth and to the most dangerous parts of their souls over and over again for this.