Six paces were measured out, projecting at an angle so that each opponent was as close to the jutting edge as possible. The two enemies faced each other one last time before they took their places.

It was no longer a matter of choosing not to run away; now all Chuck cared about was that Carter didn't win. Because, even worse than the thought of his life without Blair, was hers without him. Hers with Carter. Having to spend the rest of her years with the monster standing in front of him. He couldn't let that happen.

"You're lucky," he said softly. "You have the first shot. But you better make sure you kill me, because if not - I won't miss."

Carter merely sneered, shifting his pistol with ease. "You won't have to worry about that."

"Take your positions," Grushnitsky instructed, voice high.

The seconds had already moved to the side, away from the ledge itself and ready to watch.

Chuck moved to his place at the far corner of the ledge, gripping his pistol tightly. He braced his foot against the rock with the hope that it would prevent him falling over the edge, in the slim chance that he was only lightly wounded when Carter shot.

Carter wasn't going to miss.

He wasn't going to miss, and there was no going back. Chuck was going to die, and he was going to leave Blair alone all over again. He would fail to protect her - again.

Carter had judged the distance. He knew exactly where he had to aim, and his blood was coursing with excitement.

He had hated Chuck Bass his whole life.

Had hated his smirk, his taunts; his lazy defiance for his superiors. Because Carter should have been superior - he was older, more experienced. He had defined the smirk before Chuck had arrived to rival it. Bass was the first person in Carter's life to defy him. Like an irritating little fly in the ointment - a fly that refused to go away, lingered with that smirk that said he knew what Carter was. Chuck Bass had been determined from the beginning to take everything that was Carter's. He wasn't like Nathaniel, easy to take down - because it seemed he had nothing to lose. Carter couldn't crush someone who cared about nothing.

But he'd found it; finally found his weak spot - and it was in the form of a small brunette at his side with a matching smirk. Carter had stolen her because she was Chuck's, and she might have been the one thing Chuck cared about. But his delightful plan had backfired, because his new little wife was simply Chuck in woman's form. The same smirks, the same taunts, the same defiance. And, even worse, all from his own bride. A mere girl.

She'd never let Carter own her, and it drove him insane. And all it took was Chuck coming back, and she was his once more, regardless of any marriage certificate. A blatant reminder that she'd never been Carter's; he hadn't even managed to steal her properly.

No more.

Once Chuck's bloodstained corpse lined the bottom of the abyss, he would have her no longer. How long had Carter fantasized about burying a bullet in Chuck's smug face?

His hand tensed on the cool handle of the pistol, expert in his grip. Grushnitsky gave the signal, and Carter cocked the gun back. His hand was steady as he raised it, finger sliding smoothly to the trigger-

"Carter."

The small voice carried in the wind and an apparition appeared before him; face pale, brown eyes filled with cold loathing, dark curls framing her face in the wind, the muzzle of a gun - his hunting gun, he realised confusedly - aimed straight at him. It made him jerk backwards, catching him; his hand squeezing the trigger almost as a reflex - but the trajectory was all wrong now, skewed -

Chuck heard the shot, body tensed, waiting for the end - and he felt the bullet whiz by him. Missing by mere seconds. For a split second, he froze; how could he still be alive? And then it kicked in, his mission - he wasn't dead and he wasn't leaving Blair, and he had his chance to destroy Carter once and for all. He cocked the pistol, whirling round.

A shot.

Two pairs of dark eyes met each other as the figure in the middle buckled under the impact. Carter staggered back, and his foot slipped, and then, as they both watched, two guns still pointing and held in tight grips, his body tipped over the edge.

Carter was gone.

Grushnitsky was still struggling to understand what had happened - Blair had sprung up from nowhere - Carter had gone over the ledge - Chuck was still standing. The last registered the most clearly, along with Carter's earlier order. No matter what happened, Bass was not to leave alive.

Hands fumbling, he reached for his own pistol, and, before any of them could react - none of them were looking at him, anyway - he took shaky aim and fired.

Blair heard the third shot, saw Chuck stop in his tracks, falter backwards. His eyes were suddenly darkened with pain.

He teetered, dangerously close to the edge, and she could've sworn her heart stopped beating as his foot hit nothing.

"No!" It ripped out of her before she could stop it, and she tumbled forwards, towards him, as he rocked and she caught him, yanking him away from the edge with all her might, pulling him back. The force knocked them both back, into the safety of cliff, where they collapsed on the ground. She didn't stop, though; she struggled to sit up, turn him over, wrapping her arms around him, clinging to him. His face was white.

She was barely aware of Grushnitsky aiming again, of Eric tackling him, smashing the pistol out of his hands and knocking him unconscious.

Chuck was still. Blair could see the blood staining the front of his jacket, the pure white of his shirt.

"No," she muttered desperately, again and again, feeling for his heart, his breathing. She tilted his face up, cupping it in her hands, brushing his hair off. "Come on, Chuck," she hissed. "Wake up. You're not allowed to die."

His eyes fluttered and unfocused, closed again. His breathing was there, but it was shallow as he slipped out of consciousness again.

"You're not leaving me," she insisted, not even noticing her own tears as she gripped his broad shoulders. His body was still warm. "Do you hear me? You can't."

Then Eric was at her side, helping her tug off Chuck's jacket to get to the wound, his hands steadier than hers. Eric had some experience in medicine from his service; he just didn't know if it was enough. The wound was a deep hole in Chuck's side, but Eric couldn't tell if it had hit any of his internal organs. If it had, Chuck wouldn't be alive for much longer.

He was still losing blood, his face losing even more colour.

They tore strips from Blair's dress and Chuck's now discarded jacket and shirt, trying to staunch the wound.

"He needs a doctor," Eric muttered once they'd finished. He was already getting to his feet, eyes flickering anxiously down the path, calculating how much time it would take to get back to town. Blair was still gripping Chuck's hand.

"I'll stay with him. Go." Her voice was shaky, tight.

Eric nodded. He spared Grushnitsky a swift glance - no danger there, he was out for the count, and Eric had bound his hands and disarmed him, anyway - before he broke into a sprint.

Blair was too busy watching Chuck to see Eric disappear down the path. A fine sweat had broken out on his brow, and she kissed it, pressing her lips to him like that could make him hold on.

"Please," she whispered against his skin. "I'm begging now. Don't you dare do this to me."

She couldn't lose him. Not now. The bleeding had at least been stopped, but he still wasn't gaining consciousness, and his face was still far too pale.

"You're not allowed to die," she murmured again. "You haven't told me you love me yet. I'm not letting you get away with that."

He was still as she cradled his head, but she could feel his heart beating underneath her. He was still there. Her fingers traced the familiar planes of his cheeks, burying in his thick hair as her own tears fell.

"Chuck Bass," she whispered, "I love you. I love you so much it consumes me." Her voice shook fervently. "And I know you love me too." She eased her body down next to his, curling into his side, their hands still interlinked. "And I'm not letting you die without admitting it."

She didn't know how long she had lain there, clinging numbly to him, trying to keep him warm. She didn't take her eyes off him for even a second - because this wasn't going to be like the last time she'd held him and begged him to stay, where she'd allowed her eyes to close and he'd slipped away from her in the middle of the night.

It was cold on top of the cliff, but she hardly noticed. She was only dimly aware when Eric returned, accompanied by a group of men, a stretcher, and a doctor; their voices sounded far off. They had to prise her away from Chuck to get him onto the stretcher - she tried to hold on, struggling, but Eric caught her and soothed her, wrapping his arms around her.

"It's all right, Blair. They've got him now."

She allowed Eric to carry her back down the cliff, though usually she would've fought with all her might and insisted on walking - but her legs were strangely weak, and, from Eric's arms, she could see Chuck on the stretcher.

"He's going to be all right," Eric promised as he helped her onto a horse. He climbed up behind her, supporting her, and she was distantly grateful for the circle of his arms. "It's over."

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