A/N: I've been told this is a good chapter, so I hope you feel the same.

Summary: In that moment, everything was perfect. He could pretend that this would last forever and he could pretend that he would say those three words he felt burning in the back of his throat. But he never did.

Disclaimer: Quotes belong to GG as well as characters. Thanks so much to my amazing beta comewhatmay.x who keeps me going.

Yellow Roses

They should be yellow roses. They were my mother's favorite.

He tried not to think about it. It was easier that way. Easier on his conscience. He was aware of his evasive nature towards his own emotions. Even more so now, ever since Serena had cast him withering glares of disdain. But that was something he knew he was asking for.

Ever since that plane took off.

"What are the flowers for?"

The girl really couldn't take a hint, and as he smoothed down his hair compulsively, he felt ill at what he had been resorted to by a mere woman.

"You wouldn't perhaps have overheard a recent phone call with a certain best friend of mine who mentioned she was on her way out here on the Jitney."

So Chuck turned slowly, letting his eyes cast a cold mask over the rest of his features.

"What's a Jitney?"

Serena was cold and Chuck knew it was only because of her bond with the girl that had taken his heart all the way to Paris. It infuriated him how Serena could act so high and mighty when she was the one pretending to date his best friend. It was twisted, but then again, so was he. And so was the entire situation.

"Those are nice."

Nate's voice could attempt nonchalance, but when it came down to it, Chuck knew the spectrum of human emotion better than anyone.

And Nate was just as invested in the approaching Jitney as everyone else in the house was.

Everyone who wanted to see Chuck do an emotional face-plant at the manicured feet of Blair Waldorf.

But Chuck had to hand it to Nate. At least he was there for him and not for his own personal amusement.

"Serena seemed to think so," Chuck shot back, and he knew there would always be a strange rivalry between them, one that was so much more pronounced in their female counterparts.

Nate sighed, and sat down on Chuck's bed next to the flowers. He picked them up, ignoring the pointed glare his best friend sent him.

"Interesting choice."

"What makes you say that?" Chuck asked dully.

"Yellow roses," Nate said. "Not exactly romantic."

"She deserves them," Chuck said quietly. Nate laid them on the bed again, his brow knit in confusion, knowing that Chuck's intention was different from the way his words sounded. So he stayed quiet, watching Chuck shrug into an orange jacket.

"To make sure she sees you?" Nate joked. Chuck ran his hand down the lapel, but just shrugged.

"She'll see me."

"So you're going."

Chuck picked up the bouquet and Nate had his answer.

"You waited this long to apologize," Nate said. "Is it just because she's back? Just because you can? Because if you're just going to break her heart again-"

"Why?" Chuck asked. "Do you have some interest in it?"

"No," Nate said hastily. "Of course not. But she's still my friend, even if I don't feel that way about her anymore."

"I'm going," Chuck said, "because I have to. I just have to. I have to see her."

Nate knew his best friend, and it was always what Chuck didn't say rather than what he did say. And Nate knew.

Chuck wanted her back. This was just the first opportunity he got.

"And the roses?"

For the first time, Chuck smiled.

"She'll understand."

Taking measured steps towards the bus station, Chuck felt his fingers start to cramp around the stems. She was the only one who he had ever bought bouquets for, and he knew that would always be the case. Blair understood yellow roses because she was the only one he ever told.

She always understood.

Bart Bass always gave his wife yellow roses. Chuck would do the same. Because even as Blair stepped off the Jitney with her cruel smirk, effectively crushing his heart into a messy pulp, he knew that in the end, they would end up together.

Bart always gave his wife roses.

Like Chuck would do for his.

Weak

My father always thought I was weak. And in the moment that mattered most, I was. I couldn't be there when he...I left. Right away. I've been pushing myself to prove him wrong. Pushing you away.

"Bart's been in an accident."

The moment he saw his stepmother and stepsister approach, he knew it. He just knew it. There was something within him that refused to believe the glaring truth, but then there was that part of him that knew something was dreadfully wrong.

He looked down at Blair Waldorf.

Her small hand was wrapped in his, and he held her closer, if only for a moment longer. Her eyes questioned him, but she still smiled. And in that moment, everything was perfect. He could pretend that this would last forever and he could pretend that he would say those three words he felt burning in the back of his throat.

But he never did.

Because his stepmother and stepsister were approaching and he never had the chance.

"Bart's been in an accident."

His hands dropped and he took an instinctive step backwards. Music and snowflakes filled the air around him, but none of it meant anything. He knew there was a possibility of him saying those words if he looked into those wide brown eyes of hers, but he just couldn't. Because he knew that would be the end of him.

Blair Waldorf was always the end of him.

"Chuck."

Her voice was sad and imploring, but he refused to look at her. He turned his back on her. He turned his back on her, his father, and the whole damned situation.

He had never hated himself more.

She was still in her dress. And he knew that she knew. There was something keeping him from going to his father's bedside and it—she—was sitting on a chaise in her living room. He walked quietly through the foyer, taking a moment to just look at her.

She was staring at the opposite wall, and he wished he could be strong for her.

He wished he wasn't so weak.

"What are you doing here?"

Her voice was surprised, and he didn't take offense.

"You should be at the hospital."

"Don't tell me what to do."

His voice was dark and he watched her recoil slightly. The air was thick and all he could do was advance towards her. He wanted so badly to just take comfort in her.

She was the only one who ever understood his relationship with Bart. Only she knew what it was like. The cold looks. The constant disappointment. But letting her in was just something he couldn't do.

Now more than ever.

"Fine," she said succinctly and he knew that he loved her. More than anything. More than this stupid life and the things that he thought were important. She never backed down from him. "What are you doing here, then?"

But all he could do was test her.

"We still have tonight," Chuck said. "I promised."

"That was before your father's limo crashed," she retorted.

"Don't. Test me," Chuck said darkly.

"I would ask the same courtesy of you, but we both know you won't give it to me."

"There are many things I want to give you."

Her body stiffened, and he knelt before her, finally finding himself eye-level with her.

"Don't do this," Blair said. "Not now. You want to hurt me? Do it after you visit your father."

Chuck felt himself being pushed away as she rose to her feet.

"That I am telling you to do," Blair said, starting up the stairs before turning around once more. "Don't pretend that you don't feel anything. At least give your father that courtesy. Even if you won't do the same for me."

It was the only way he could have ended up at the hospital that night. He wished that she was by his side, but he knew that even if she were, there was no way that he could accept her. Not now. He wasn't ready to be so open with her.

Especially when he loved her so much.

"What are you doing out here? Come on."

He floated through the halls of the hospital, and all he could think of was how Serena was a poor substitute. She looked sad and heartfelt but she had no idea. She just didn't know.

"Charles, the doctors say there's nothing more that they can do."

His father looked so feeble and frail in that bed, tubes taped to his mouth. He saw the doleful look on Lily's face, but he just couldn't believe it. Because not a few hours before she was thinking of leaving him for some Brooklyn artist. And it was repulsive.

"We have to let him go."

He heard Serena's pleas for him to stay, but he never saw his face. He couldn't allow it. His father's new family had earned his love and appreciation so easily while Chuck had worked almost two decades for it. And it wasn't fair.

As his father slipped away, he found himself at the only place that had any semblance of meaning anymore. The Palace stood proud at the helm of Bartholomew Bass' empire, and still Chuck felt cold and empty. He had spent his entire life moving from hotel to hotel, never having a real home.

But as he arrived up to his suite, he realized that he did have a home. But his home wasn't a building.

"Hi."

It was a girl.

Blair was standing in front of his door, obviously waiting for him to return where she knew he would.

She always knew. He took a moment to take her in, noticing that she had foregone her floor-length gown for a more practical pencil skirt and blouse.

"Policing my behavior now?" Chuck snapped, brushing past her to get at the door. "Well, you can stop. I went to the hospital."

Blair didn't answer. She just watched him unlock his door.

"Aren't you going to ask me how it went?" Chuck demanded.

"No," she said softly. She took a comforting step towards him but he backed into the room, keeping the threshold between them.

This was it. This was how he could keep her with him.

But he wouldn't. He didn't want her anywhere near him.

"So you've heard," Chuck said coldly. "What are you doing here?"

"I just-"

"Wanted to console me?" Chuck asked mockingly. Her face grew hard but he knew he was hitting her where it hurt her most. Because he knew her. And this was just the way things had to be. "Take care of me? Because you know me? Well don't bother."

"So what?" Blair asked. "Are you just going to trap yourself in here with the room service twins?"

"It's a good start," he replied coolly.

"If I were anyone else, your attempts at pushing me away would work," Blair said. "As luck would have it, you have me."

"I never asked for it."

"You did," Blair said sharply.

"I don't need you to take care of me," Chuck said darkly.

"No," Blair said. "You don't. But as much as you hate to admit it, you want me to."

Chuck stood at the door in a trance as Blair turned her back on him and departed with a simple, "Goodbye, Chuck."

As soon as she rounded the corner, he slammed the door closed. He leaned his head against the strong wood, feeling emotions he never asked for welling up within him.

Then again, he had never asked for her either. But he knew that despite that fact, he would never be able to live without her again.

So he did what she asked and called the room service twins.

Because he was weak and she deserved better.

Feelings

I don't think you ran away because you couldn't handle death. I think it's because you couldn't handle feelings.

It was just a coping mechanism. When she showed up at his door with Nate by her side to drag him to his own father's funeral, that was just what he had to do to convince himself. The way her face fell for a split second before hardening into a cold mask. The way her face changed the second she saw those sluts in his bed.

It was just a coping mechanism.

He just wished it were more effective. Even sloshed to the point of incoherency, her expression still cut him to the core.

"We should have just drove him to the door and dropped him off on the steps."

Nate's arm was wrapped around his back, supporting most of his weight. But she was on his right. His arm was clutched in hers, and even in his drunken stupor, he knew that no one would ever smell as good as she did.

"No one should see him like this."

Her voice was commanding, and it didn't surprise him that she'd had Nate under her thumb for so many years. He felt himself leaning towards her, but then he remembered. He remembered how cold this world was and how pushing her away was the only way to survive the breakdown that the alcohol was suppressing.

She had always been there. It was always her name flashing across the screen of his phone. It was always her kicking any girl out of his room. It was always her who constantly kept him afloat, never allowing him drown when he knew it would just be so much easier to do so.

"Whatever you're going through, I want to be there for you."

And he paused. He waited, feeling her tempting presence while the door of his limo lay open.

He should have just walked away. Sooner than he did. But he just wanted to hear her say it.

"And why would you do that?"

He knew it was coming. He wanted nothing more than to hear it, even if logic told him he never would. Logic had been telling him that for months now, but she was gazing up at him with those beautiful eyes of hers, and for a moment, he deluded himself.

"Because," she said softly. "I love you."

Their hands were linked, and he desperately wanted to keep it that way. He wanted to hold her hand and kiss her lips. But she was looking at him. Really looking at him like no one would ever do. He knew that. He had always known that.

And it scared him.

She was so vulnerable and so loving. She loved him—and he just couldn't do it.

"Well that's too bad."

He refused to look at her face. Because he knew if he saw the tears streaking her face, he would fall for it. He would allow himself to love her. And that was just something that he could not do.

"Don't turn away from the people that love you."

He should have stayed away. He didn't deny that he felt vindication in seeing the shock and fear on his stepmother's face. He didn't deny that he blamed her for it. He blamed her, because he knew that he could never stop blaming himself. She was so convinced of her being in the right that he couldn't respect her.

"They're the only chance any of us has."

He couldn't deny that her words meant something. He knew she didn't intend them as he took them. But he was taking them. He was taking them all the way to the Waldorf Penthouse, and even though there was clearly a wedding occurring on the day of his father's funeral, it didn't matter.

Because Blair Waldorf loved him.

"What do you think you're doing here?"

He didn't know. He didn't know what he was doing, and he didn't know what he expected her reaction to be. All he knew was that he loved her, whether he could admit it to her face or not. So he looked at her, and it was then that he knew they were supposed to be together. He couldn't let his train of thought go that far, but in the back of his mind, he just knew it.

Because her arms encircled his neck, and for a moment, he just let himself feel her. He felt her sweet breath against his neck, and finally, he grasped her close. He clenched her body in his, fearful of her knowledge that there was an actual tear traveling down his face.

But it didn't matter. It couldn't. Because she was holding him. And nothing seemed to matter.

It didn't take him long to drift into unconsciousness. For the past week his life had been filled with endless lays and bottomless bottles of alcohol. But this was the first time that he was untainted by anything. He felt most at home in her bed. He could feel her eyes on him, but it was the way it was supposed to be. Her dress was white and silk, and he knew it was just foreshadowing of something that he could never admit out loud that he wanted.

When he fell asleep, he could finally think that to himself. He could finally be loved.

She was still wrapped around him. His eyes fluttered open as he rolled onto his back. It was still well into the hours of the night, and for a minute, he just lay there. He felt her arm strewn over his waist and he just lay there. She was perfect and she had given herself to him like she had the first time.

And it was too much.

She was just too much.

She had him in her bed. She had his affection, though it was nonverbal. He knew that she could easily have his monogamy and it wasn't right.

It was too much.

She had opened so much of herself up to him, especially when he didn't deserve it. So many times before she had eviscerated his being just because she could. But now was the time she was letting him in and he knew he couldn't do it.

He gently rolled onto his side, brushing her chocolate curls behind her ear.

She was wearing white and it frightened him how much he desired to see her in it. This was too comfortable, too miraculous to be his. He knew what his father would say. He remembered words months ago that compelled him to stand her up in Tuscany and he wouldn't do that again.

This would be a clean break.

He would have kissed her goodbye. But she had such a tight grip on him, that she would sink her nails into his back, and he would never want to leave her again. She would delude him into thinking that he could handle her when he knew that he couldn't.

I'm sorry for everything.

You deserve better.

Don't come looking for me.

So he ran. And he would keep running. Because with her, his feelings were too accessible. With her, he knew he could actually be happy.

And there was nothing more frightening.