A/N: So I'm still not done with my other story, Finding A Way Back, but after seeing Monday's episode I was inspired to write this... I'm planning on it being three chapters, and the rest will come soon. This particular chapter doesn't really need to be rated M, but the last one, and possibly the next one, definitely will be. Enjoy, and please review!

Chapter 1

"I'M CHUCK BASS!" He yelled at the cold New York night. "No one cares." It was true. No one, not even his own father, had ever cared about him.

"I do!" a familiar voice cried. It was Blair, walking torwards him, an expression of great determination on her face. He looked down at her through a haze of grief and alcohol.

"Don't you understand?" she said, the emotion strong in her voice. "I'll always be here. I don't want you going anywhere. I couldn't bear it." She spoke with such sincerity that he almost believed her. "So whatever you want to do to yourself, please don't do that to me." She looked like she was about to cry as she extended her hand towards him, silently begging him to come down from the ledge.

If he jumped off that ledge right now, perhaps it would put him out of his misery. But it would only add to Blair's. He had hurt her so much already, and yet she kept coming back to save him. He couldn't do this to her, not after everything she had done for him.

Very slowly, he reached down and took her hand, his eyes locked on hers. The intensity of their gaze pierced through him like nothing else had since his father's death. Blair. In spite of everything, she was still there. He had pushed everyone away, and yet she was the one who kept coming back. I'll always be here.

"Please," she said, tugging his hand gently. He couldn't leave her. Not like this. He stepped down from the ledge and collapsed into her arms as she breathed a deep sigh of relief.

"I'm sorry," he murmured into her shoulder, his hands clutching at her. She hugged him tightly, just like she had on the night before he had left. Like she was never going to let go. And he knew that she never would let go, if that was what he needed.

"It's okay," she said. "It's okay."

Somehow, he couldn't stop himself from hurting her. Even after that night on the ledge, when she had saved him yet again, he continued to push her away. And she continued to come back to him, even though it was getting harder and harder to hide the pain in her eyes. He knew that he was slowly breaking her, but he couldn't figure out how to stop. It was so much easier to lose himself in alcohol and random women than to actually accept her help. He had already caved into his weakness and allowed himself to depend on her twice. He couldn't do that again. He would only hurt her in the end. And so he tried to push her away, because that was the only way he knew how to save her from his own inevitable darkness.

He was at Victrola, again. Plastered and high on all kinds of drugs, as usual. A woman on either side of him, smoothing his hair and fiddling with his collar. She had found him like this many times before. Steeling herself for the sickening sensation she felt every time he looked at her with those blank eyes, she strutted over and stood before him. "Chuck," she said firmly.

"Not again," he slurred, attempting to roll his eyes and failing miserably. "Leave, Blair. I don't want you here."

"Well that sucks for you, because I'm not going anywhere," she said. "Now, if you'll please dismiss your whores - " she spared the two women a disgusted glance, and they glared back at her, " - I'm taking you back to your suite."

He simply smirked at her. "Fine," Blair said. "I'll do it myself. You two. Leave. Now."

"That won't be necessary, ladies," Chuck drawled, placing a hand on each of their legs.

"Oh yes it will," Blair hissed, shooting a death glare at the two women. Not wanting to get involved, they scowled at Blair but got up and left. Chuck glowered but said nothing - he was too tired to argue. His eyes began to drift closed. "Come on, Chuck!" Blair groaned. She reached down and grabbed his arm, pulling it over her shoulder and dragging him into a standing position. His head lolled forward, and he sagged against her. Staggering under his weight, she made her way outside, where his limo was waiting. She shoved him inside and crawled in after him, instructing the driver to take them to the Palace.

His head fell on to her shoulder, and in spite of herself, she reached up to stroke his hair. This was becoming something of a routine with them. She would find him plastered at Victrola, drag him back to his limo, and deposit him in his suite at the Palace. By the time she left him there, he was normally coherent enough to snarl at her to get out because he didn't want her there. After hearing those words from him so many times, she wished she would have just become numb to it, but she hadn't. It still hurt just as badly every time. But he needed her, and she would keep letting him hurt her for as long as he needed her help. And maybe someday, he would stop trying to push her away and realize that she wasn't going to leave him. But she tried not to let herself hope too much for that day.

The limo pulled up in front of the Palace, and Chuck was still not stirring. Blair heaved him out on to the pavement and stumbled her way through the lobby, pulling him into the elevator. He slumped against her as they rode up to the 18th floor. By the time they made it to his suite, Blair was panting. She dropped him on to his bed and collapsed next to him, wondering whether it was safe to leave him. On normal nights, he was usually awake and yelling at her at this point. But tonight, he was just beginning to stir. Maybe he drank more than usual?

"Chuck?" she said softly, shaking his shoulder. "Wake up." He half opened his eyes and peered up at her, mumbling something incoherent. He was starting to really worry her. She stood up, spent a full two minutes searching for a clean glass in his pig sty of a suite, and then filled it with water in the bathroom before returning to his bed. She pulled him into a sitting position and tried to pour some water into his mouth, but it simply spilled back out as he gagged. "Okay, you need to throw up," she said. She dragged him into the bathroom and sat him down in front of the toilet. "Come on, Chuck." He simply fell forward and rested his head against the toilet seat.

Blair could feel tears begin to well up in her eyes, and she tried desperately to blink them back. She couldn't bear to see him like this, so completely helpless. She lifted his head up and tried to pour some more water into his mouth, hoping it would make him gag again, and luckily it did. He coughed, heaved, and finally threw up, some of the puke splattering on his shirt and in his hair, but (thank God) not her. Blair wrinkled her nose but tried not to be too disgusted. Honestly, the things she did for Chuck Bass.

She supported his violently shaking body as he threw up again, then let him sag against the toilet as she stood up and soaked a wash cloth with water from the sink. She pressed the cool cloth against his head and then used it to wipe his mouth. He leaned back against the wall, eyes still closed, but breathing more evenly now. She flushed the toilet and crawled towards him, dabbing at the vomit stains on his shirt with the wash cloth. "Chuck?" she said tentatively, praying that he would respond.

"Thank you," he managed to choke out.

"Are you okay?" she asked in a quavering voice, even though she knew he wasn't.

"I'm fine," he lied.

"Drink some water," she said, pressing the glass to his lips. He opened his mouth obediently and was finally able to swallow some. "I think you should take a bath," she continued, eyeing the vomit in his hair. "You're disgusting, and it might make you feel better."

"There's not a bathtub in this bathroom," he mumbled. Looking around, she saw that he was right - there was only a huge glass shower. Why the hell was there no bathtub in this place? Wasn't this supposed to be a nice hotel?

"Alright, fine," Blair said, sighing. "Then you should take a shower." They both knew that there was no way he'd be able to stand up in the shower alone.

"I can't stand," he said.

"It doesn't matter. I'll help you," she replied, her voice determined. He had vomit in his hair and on his clothes, and he wreaked of alcohol and smoke. He needed a shower, and he was going to take one, even if it meant Blair had to temporarily sacrifice some of her dignity. She'd gotten into a habit of doing that for Chuck, anyway.

He raised his eyebrows slightly, but he was too drunk to think of a sarcastic comment. "Keep the crude remarks to yourself, Bass," Blair warned. "I'm only doing this because you're absolutely disgusting, and a shower will make you feel better." Chuck didn't say anything. He just looked at her through half-closed eyes, a slight smirk on his lips. She dragged him to his feet and leaned him against the wall - he was still too unsteady to stand on his own. Trying not to blush, she lifted his tie over his head and started unbuttoning his shirt, avoiding the vomit. He watched her intently as she pulled the shirt apart and tugged it off, her warm hands grazing his chest and shoulders. She knelt down and he obediently lifted each foot so that she could pull off his shoes. Standing back up, she avoided his gaze as she reached for his belt, unbuckled it, and pulled it off. Then she unhooked the button, unzipped his fly, and with a deep breath, pulled his pants down. With an even deeper breath, she reached up and pulled his boxers down as well, trying to ignore the fact that he was now completely naked.

"Well, Waldorf, you always know how to get me out my pants," Chuck slurred, smirking at her.

"Cut the crap, Chuck. Put your arm around me," Blair ordered.

"Happily," he said. He slid an arm around her waist and took a shaky step forward, stumbling over his shoes. She held on to him tightly, her fingers pressing into his hip bone. She couldn't believe she was actually doing this. When she had envisioned taking showers with Chuck in the past, this was not at all what she had had in mind. Still supporting him, she turned on the shower and shoved him inside, stepping in after him. Her clothes were going to get soaked, but there was no way she was taking them off.

"Just lean on me," she instructed him. His arms were around her waist, and his head was resting against her shoulder. She could smell the vomit in his hair. "Hold your breath," she said, forcing his head under the water and rinsing his hair. She leaned him gently against the wall of the shower as she squirted some shampoo into her hand and began to lather his hair. He sighed at the feeling of her hands massaging his pounding head, and he was disappointed when she pulled away and stuck his head back under the water.

"You should take your clothes off too, Blair," Chuck said, in what she imagined was supposed to be a seductive voice. She chose to ignore him, and instead began scrubbing his shoulders with soap. She gently worked her way down each of his arms, trying not to enjoy the feel of his hands in hers. All the while he watched her, transfixed, as her soft hands glided over his aching body. When she began soaping his chest, she found it virtually impossible to not reminisce about the many times she had kissed him there as she unbuttoned his shirt... but that was the last thing she needed to think about right now. She had already taken an abnormally long time to wash his stomach, and she was unsure where to go from there. Her hands hovered uncertainly at his waist, and in spite of herself, she looked up into his eyes.

Blair was surprised and touched to find that her gaze was not met with a smirk or a rude comment about finishing the job she had started. Instead, Chuck smiled slightly at her and said, "It's okay, I can do it." He attempted to stand and fell back against the wall, his feet slipping a few inches forward. "Maybe with a little help?"

She nodded and slid her arm around his waist as he took the soap from her hand. Leaning heavily on her, he ran the soap over his thighs. Blair was doing her best to look anywhere but at him and his... legs, but it wasn't long before she heard the soap fall to the tiled floor of the shower. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"It's okay." Blair bent down and picked up the soap, handing it back to him. She took a moment to gain control of herself, then placed her hand over his and held it tightly, helping him clean himself. Working together, they slowly washed each of his legs. "Alright, I think that's good enough," Blair said, placing the soap back on the ledge. She turned off the water and helped him step out of the shower, grabbing a fluffy towel off of its hook. As she gently toweled him off, he simply stared at her awe. Through his lessening (though still severe) inebriation, he was beginning to recognize how much she had done for him tonight. She was standing before him, drying him off, even though her own hair and clothes were completely drenched and causing her to shiver slightly. He didn't deserve this girl.

She tucked him into a bathrobe and lay him down on his bed before attending to her own dripping wet clothes. In the bathroom, she peeled them off and dried herself with another towel before slipping into one of his dress shirts. She could have put on the other bathrobe, but something about wearing his clothes was strangely comforting. It made her feel close to him - to the old Chuck, the one she hoped would reappear someday. Blair gazed at her reflection in the mirror, wondering when she had become this. Her hair was knotted and damp, her makeup was smudged, and she was clinging desperately to Chuck's dress shirt. Tears began to fall from her eyes. How had she let this happen? Had her life really become that pathetic, that she had to resort to wearing Chuck's clothes just to feel some semblance of the closeness she craved from him?

Blair Waldorf was many things, but she was absolutely not pathetic. She had allowed Chuck to crush and hurt her over and over again, telling herself that he needed her, that he didn't mean it every time he yelled at her to leave, that he just needed time. But she had given him time, and nothing had changed. She couldn't go on like this much longer - he would destroy her. And so she made up her mind right then and there. If he came to her, she would be there, like she had promised. But she would not force her help on him anymore. As much as she wanted to save him, she needed to save herself first.

Clutching his shirt to her body, she walked back into the bedroom, where he was sleeping soundly. A few hours from now, she would get up, wash her face, fix her hair, reapply her makeup, and put her own clothes back on. She would walk out of his suite with her head held high, leaving him before he could shout at her to get out. She would fight back her tears, put on a smile, lie to Dorota and Serena that she was fine, and begin trying to piece her life back together. But for right now, she would allow herself a few more hours of weakness. She crossed the room, crawled into bed beside him, and snuggled against his warm body as her own shook with silent sobs.