She held herself very still in his grip. His clothes were damp with the rain that drummed against the stone above them. She had to wait for her chance.

But he wasn't letting her go this time. He was going to drag her away and kill her. When Nate awoke to find her gone, he wouldn't know what to think. For now, though, Chuck's only thought was to murder this girl once and for all.

He shoved her down the stairs, intending on getting her out of the building. She went rigid for a moment. His hand jerked at her shoulder blades to get her to move, and she used that spilt second to force her foot against his. The stairs were narrow and crumbling (just like they'd been then) – except this time he didn't have Blair to balance him, and his own foot, still wet, slipped.

She shoved. And she ran. She had nowhere to go but up, no route to reach for but the one they'd tried to use then.

She didn't have Chuck's hand to grab hers as she pounded up the stairs, no one to push or pull. Just the man behind her. Her blood was pounding in her head, breathing harsh as she reached the top; and Chuck wasn't with her but she made straight for the door anyway, and Chuck wouldn't be there when it was locked -

But it wasn't locked, the handle twisted and she lurched onto what had once been the observation deck. (If it had opened then they never would have gone in the elevator and they never would have met Jack and she never would have left him and he would still be here) – but now it was just her and the rain, blinding her vision as she moved to the edge. She and Chuck had memorized the way down together. But there was no Chuck to give her a leg up onto the wall so she could help him up, and as she grabbed the brick ledge she realised she'd miscalculated -

And the man was behind her, and she felt him drag her back down. He had her pinned against the wall now, pressed against her back.

Seeing her reach for the ledge had jolted him, made bile rush to his throat, because why was he so desperate for anything, anything to bring even a fraction of Blair back that he was still letting this girl remind him of her? Why was he drowning in memories of Blair now as he pressed his knife to her throat? He wanted her – Blair - so much it hurt but he was the one doing the chasing and this time he was the one who was in control. He wasn't that scared little boy that had needed Jack to save him because he hadn't been able to save Blair.

"I'm going to enjoy this," he hissed into her ear as he forced her against the bricks, trapping her hands so she couldn't do anything. Not this time. His hand closed around her throat and he turned her round. He wanted to see her face as he killed her.

Her dark hair was plastered against her skin – he shoved it away as she tilted her face up to him, defiant.

He was still holding her throat as he took her in, drank her in, and suddenly all the air left his lungs. Because he was looking at her. Dark hair and fierce brown eyes and that nose and that mouth, that curve of her cheek – he was looking at a ghost. It couldn't be her. It wasn't her. A ghost.

A ghost that climbed and jumped and ran the same way she had, a ghost that taunted and mocked the same way she had, a ghost that smelt the same way she had in the rain – a ghost that had taken the same route up the building and reached for the same door and tried to escape the way they'd always planned.

Impossible. He stared at her – it was impossible. She was dead.

And it caught in his throat, the name he hadn't said in eight years, hadn't heard in eight years as he searched every inch of her face and his heart hammered.

"Blair?"

His chest hurt so much, drowning in her eyes and her face in numb disbelief, that it took him a moment to acknowledge the pain just below. To realise that she'd taken advantage of his pause and thrust a knife into him just as he'd said her name.

She'd expected a rush of victory.

But she froze as she gripped the hilt. Froze because something about the way those eyes had darkened and the name on his lips – her name, and no one said it like that, no one had ever said like that but him -

She grabbed at the material covering his features and yanked it off.

Her hands moved desperately over his face because it couldn't be. The sharp, slanted lines of his cheekbones. His thick, dark hair. His lips and the shape of his mouth. And those eyes, the amber in them that burned in the dark night.

"Chuck?"

It came out strangled against the howling wind, as she saw the golden flecks in those eyes fade and he slumped forwards, into her, knife stuck as she held the handle uselessly.

She jerked it out and grabbed him, his shoulders, sinking with him to the floor. It couldn't be him. The impossible weight of his heavy, hot body as she pulled his face up to hers again, cradling it in her hands. Chuck. How could it be him? She searched his features desperately.

"Chuck," she whispered, broken, impossible.

Chuck was bleeding to death in her arms.

They were woken by the crash of the door; and for a moment, as Carter woke, he couldn't make sense of what he was seeing.

"Blair?" Nate sounded lost as he took in the same thing.

A girl half drowned by the rain stood shaking in the door, white-faced and wild-eyed, dark hair drenched and her arms wrapped around a body, a larger frame slumped against her and a dark head pressed against her neck.

"What the-"

"He needs help. We need help." Her voice was savage and wild and unlike anything Nate had never heard – for a moment he wondered if he was even looking at Blair -

But she was yanking the body forwards with more strength than Nate had ever known that tiny frame possessed, dragging him into the room as she sank to the floor with him. It was then that Nate realised just who he was, and then that he saw the blood all over her hands and clothes.

"He's dying. We need help."It was ragged. "I don't know how to make the bleeding stop. I can't make it stop. We have to make it stop." Nate stared, helpless, and it was Serena who moved forwards.

Blair jerked, moving instantly over his body as though to cover him, protect him - her eyes were slanted and burning as she took in the blonde.

Serena kept her voice very soft. "I know how. Let me help."

Blair still gripped his jacket as she moved, warily, to let the other girl examine his wound. She didn't leave his side for a second.

Serena bit her lip, peeling away blood-soaked clothes to examine his torso. She moved over the puncture. "He's been-"

"Stabbed." It was spat. "Can you help him or not?" Blair sounded like she was teetering dangerously close to the edge. She refused to let him go. She wasn't even looking at Serena – her eyes were on him and him only.

"I can try," Serena promised firmly. "I need material to staunch it, can you rip up your jacket?" Blair moved to do so straight away, and the expensive fabric was shredded in seconds. "Keep pressure on it," Serena instructed as she saw to the wound.

Nate was silent as he watched the two girls work. Even Carter, for once, kept surprisingly quiet with the digs. (Although he did think that if he'd realised Serena could do this before, then he could have put it to great use. Started charging people for her treatment. Of course she'd only chosen now to be quite so useful.)

"Well?" Blair demanded when Serena finally ran a hand over her forehead. Blair's fingers were still clenched over his, bloody. "Is that it? Can't we do anything else?"

Serena exhaled. "We've done all we can," she murmured. The girl in front of her was still white-faced, eyes blazing as she hunched at his side.

"Blair," Nate offered at last – he was still a little (a lot) freaked out - "You should probably get some rest."

Blair ignored him. He touched her shoulder, hesitant, and it was like ice. The look she gave him had not one shred of kindness in it. Not one ounce of love. It was black and hollow and it burned him just to look at it. He moved away.

She'd already turned back to Chuck.

She wasn't even aware of the others behind her as her eyes moved over his face again. Agony. How was it possible? She couldn't stop herself from pressing her fingers against the pale skin, tracing his cheeks and the bruised shadows under his eyes, from laying her hand on his chest just to feel his heart beat. She breathed out as his rib cage rose under her fingers. He was here. He was alive. He had to stay alive.

She didn't understand it. Her usually quick mind could make no connection, no path between the blind exhausting whirl of confusion. The boy at her side and the man who'd chased her - and Chuck. He was breathing. He was blood-stained and real under her fingers and alive. She closed her eyes and slipped her body down over his, covering his heart with her head so that she could feel its thump under her ear. She fell asleep with his jacket still fisted in her hand, impossibly tight.

A/N - Phew. Ok, I know this chapter is a bit shorter. I was going to be very mean and leave it just after Blair stabbed Chuck - but I couldn't do it to you. Or to Chuck and Blair. Plus then the chapter would have been even shorter. So...I know them realising who the other are has been built up a lot, and I really really hope this chapter lives up to that. Gulp. It is the one that I've worked the hardest on, I actually wrote it right after I separated them in the fic. Erm so hopefully it kind of paid off? :) Also, don't worry – there is still plenty of story to come! Although I should mention that the reason these updates have been so quick is because I've been recovering from a hospital trip and haven't had anything to do but write lol – but it's back to the real world next week, so I'm not sure how frequent they'll be from then :( I'm really sorry, I will try my hardest. And thank you so so much for all your reviews in the meantime!