Disclaimer: I don't own anything, unfortunately!

The gun in his hand was as foreign as a cup of coffee on a Sunday morning. His hand was perfectly still, aimed strategically at the pulsing vein throbbing in his opponent's forehead.

He was too poised, looked too calm, for someone who was about to kill another human being. It was as though he had made a living doing this very thing for the past eighteen years of his life.

The truth was, his insides were trembling and his heart was hammering inside his chest. If one looked closely, it would become apparent that his eyes were darker and bloodshot. His nostrils had ever-so-slightly flared and if one had stood close enough, they would have heard the erratic breathing he was trying so desperately to control.

He had not expected it to come to this moment nor would he have ever imagined to be in the predicament he was in. He had spent most of his life feeling much like the failure his father had led him to believe he was, drinking his guilt and feelings of incompetency away with expensive booze.

Even after Blair became a more prominent figure in his life and unexpectedly brought upon the realization that he indeed may have a heart capable of loving, he often couldn't forget about his less pleasant past. Many mornings, after nights of indescribable lovemaking, he would stare at Blair's sleeping face, so pure and full of innocence, and wonder if he really had overcome the monster within him. The memory of turning Blair away in the bar after her final break up with Nate and the memory of himself mocking her in Victrola for her declaration of love for him plagued him on several occasions.

He contemplated whether her life would have been better if he had just taken the plunge on that cold, January night on the rooftop of Victrola. He imagined his own funeral and what his headstone would say on it. No one would be able to claim he was a kind and loving person. No one would be able to honestly declare that he was giving and charitable. He never did well in school, never established himself as a respectable figure in the community, nor did he create anything to truly call his own. Even the company he was running had belonged to his father. He was simply operating the business with the protocol his father had left behind.

Because of this, many times Chuck felt he was worthless and forever useless to the ones who claimed to love him and want to be a part of his life.

But in this moment, holding the gun in his hand, Chuck began to ponder the idea that though his headstone would probably not have the words "kindness" or "loving" inscribed in it, there could be the possibility of having other words to fill the bare surface of the marble stone. See, one has to consider that maybe who we are isn't so much about what we do, but rather what we're capable of when we least expect it.* Many can boast of their qualities and accomplishments, but few can really claim they made use of them when it really mattered.

______________________________

"I'm so glad you think this is a great idea, Humphrey. In that case, why not?" drawled Chuck, taking a sip of scotch from the tumbler in his hand. His eyes narrowed as he remained leaning back in his seat on the white leather couch.

Dan ignored Chuck's sarcasm and carried on, "Come on, Chuck. Maybe Blair will finally realize that there is a world full of people whose daily troubles aren't deciding which freshmen to socially destruct, but rather how they're going collect enough food for their families to eat."

Blair was about to object when Serena shot her a look, asking her to keep quiet and wait for Chuck's response. Blair rolled her eyes and turned to look at Chuck, waiting for him to say something.

Chuck simply snorted, taking another sip of his scotch. "First of all, Blair has Brooklyn to remind her of that. Secondly, what makes you think I care if Blair realizes that. And lastly, Blair and Serena are not visiting the slums. They'll be staying at places like the Ritz so that completely disqualifies your theory of Blair heightening her awareness of societal tragedies."

"Uh, yeah well," responded Dan, standing up from the couch across Chuck, lifting his hands up in mock surrender, "I give up. Sorry, Serena." Dan grabbed his book off the coffee table and made his way to his new room at the Van der Bass residence.

"Chuck, it's exactly like you said. Blair and I will be staying at fancy hotels, where there's a lot of security and nice people," said Serena, making an attempt at persuading Chuck herself.

"Rich people aren't nice. You've been friends with Blair and I for how long?" Chuck raised his eyebrow, daring Serena to refute his answer.

Serena continued on, "But, Chuck, we'll only be gone for two weeks! Blair will be back on the plane to JFK before you know it!"

Blair bit her lip and gave Chuck her best puppy dog eyes.

"Not happening, Waldorf."

Chuck got up from his spot as he headed to the bar to retrieve a refill of scotch for himself.

Blair gave a sigh of frustration and leaned back against the couch, crossing her arms in annoyance, before pouting her lips like she always did when she didn't get her way.

"Chuck, it's not like you can stop her from going anyways. She's going to go," said Serena, raising her voice as she stood up from the couch that Dan once occupied as well, walking towards Chuck.

"If Blair knows what's good for her, she won't. And if you know what's good for you, Sis, then I suggest you shut your mouth and go wash out some of that peroxide that's seeped through your brain," hissed Chuck.

"Ugh! You infuriate me, Basshole!" replied Serena, using one of Blair's nicknames for Chuck, then stomping her way towards the stairs and up to her room.

"I'm going home," stated Blair, gathering her purse and jacket.

Chuck left his scotch on the counter and went to stand in front of Blair.

"So early? We were just left alone. I thought we could make use of this rarity," Chuck huskily offered, sliding his hand down Blair's bare arm.

Blair involuntarily shuddered, but forced herself to pull away and made her way towards the elevator, only stopping to turn once she reached the awaiting doors. "Well, you thought wrong. Being alone won't be a rarity for you for awhile, " and with that, she stepped into the elevator and the doors closed.

Chuck downed the scotch that was left unfinished on the counter, clenching his teeth in agitation. It was going to be a long, fucking night.

_________________________________________________________________

A/N: Okay, so this is my first real attempt at doing a fanfic story so hopefully you enjoyed the start of it and are interested in reading more! Please review and let me know what you think. It would be greatly appreciated! =]

*Oh and the line "maybe who we are isn't so much about what we do, but rather what we're capable of when we least expect it" is a quote by Jodi Picoult.