A/N: To all who have reviewed you rock. Please continue to tell me what you think, it means so much. Ok, so I'm sure this is predictable but it has to be this way. This one is short cause the next one is LONG.

For Mary: who always encourages me to write.

Chapter 6

Chuck hadn't moved in the 10 minutes since Serena and Dan left. He could almost feel Dan's words reverberating in his head. 'She's messed up.' 'Coma, dying inside.' 'eighteen pages of C's and B's' He was trying to make sense of it, he knew she was hurt and upset. He wasn't blind. Walking around school her books clinched to her chest, head down, hurrying to get away from the prying eyes and not so hushed whispers.

But all this was Nate's fault. For leaving Blair, for not loving her enough, for not giving her what she needed. Chuck knew from the moment he touched her that he shouldn't have. Knew that she would be a need he couldn't quench. But how do you stop yourself from taking the one thing in the world you've always wanted but never been allowed to hope for.

Then the inevitable, he wasn't good enough. He knew that, his father had told him enough times. This was different; Blair had always appreciated the parts of him no one else could tolerate. He could be his worst around her and she would scoff and swat at his hand, but she would always come back. And she had, he supposed, but by then he just couldn't be second place, it hurt too much.

The liquor still swirling in his glass, he tried to make sense of what Dan had said, especially the part about the notebook. Then the images from the last couple of days, the look in her eye in the hall when she hadn't seemed to want to let go of him. In the quad taking a drag off his cigarette when he knew she didn't really smoke. Tonight at the bar, "I wanted to see you, " her voice so warm his chest had clenched. "I missed you".

"SHIT!" Brooklyn was right. He slammed down his glass so hard that this time it did break. Turning to the door he flipped open his phone and told his driver to meet him out front.

Settling into the leather he remembered how he reacted. "I missed you." The butterflies had flipped over but then burst into flames. The anger had blindsided him and he was yelling at her before he really realized what he was doing. Though he hadn't been quite as harsh as their last exchange he was sure that she'd never forgive him.

He chuckled then; did he even want her forgiveness? Unfortunately the voices in his head where screaming that he did. Dragging himself out of the car he walked into the hotel trying to figure out what to do, would she talk to him and what the hell did he want to say anyway.

Scenarios were running through his head as he opened the door to his suite. He was halfway across the floor before he came to a dead stop.

The soft moonlight made her ghostly white, her skin so smooth it didn't look real. He moved toward the bed on instinct, questions racing through his mind. When he reached her the vision was better than any dream he ever had. He sat on the edge of the bed and traced the outline of her jaw with his fingers when his eye caught hold of something on the nightstand. Suddenly his dream was a nightmare.

His hand reached for the lamp and as the light flooded the room he saw the two empty bottles, one on its side and the nearly empty bottle of scotch. Chuck's eyes flew back to her face the panic rising inside of him.

"Blair!!" He was shouting as his hands cupped her face, she didn't respond. Her head lolled in his hands and he felt the side of her neck for a pulse. Unsure of whether the tiny thumping was from her heart or if he was simply willing it to be there, he realized there was no more time to lose.

He flipped open his cell phone and yelled at his driver to be out front, grabbing the bottles and a piece of paper under them and shoving them in his jacket pocket with the other hand. Slamming the cell shut he threw the covers back and gathered her in his arms.

Waiting for the elevator while cursing slow old buildings it dawned on him she was wearing his shirt. The image of her in his clothes wasn't working out the way he had hoped, but then none of this had.

He reached the car, telling the driver to go to Presbyterian hospital. He held her tightly in his arms, her face so pale against the bright shirt. Chuck wanted to talk to her, tell her he was here now and it would be ok, things he should have said before. He prayed to any God that he could think of to be given just one more chance to try.