Chapter 8 – Faceplant

A/N – So how's everyone doing during this pandemic? Everything is closed here, but it's business for me as usual. But my trip to Savannah this month got postponed so that sucks ): So here's some Chair to cheer you up during your social quarantine.

Thanks to everyone who's read, favorited, followed, reviewed. I really appreciate it!

Blair had fallen asleep hours ago, but Chuck was unable to find the same relief. He waited until it was completely dark outside before he gently extricated himself from her arms. He needed a drink. Badly. He didn't bother turning on a light on in his suite - he had drunkenly fumbled towards his ever-constant bottle of scotch on many occasions – and this was nothing new. He poured himself full tumbler of his drink of choice and took a large swig. After swallowing, he found he couldn't breathe, at all. Gasping for air he opened the door to his patio and welcomed the cold night air. Breathe. Stepping outside helped; he forced the cold night air into his lungs and felt a rickety release of breath from his lungs.

Breathe, Chuck, breathe. It was her voice he heard in his head. It was her speaking, so of course he listened, letting another shallow breath leave his body. He walked further out on his patio and took a seat on the loveseat positioned against one of the railings, scotch still in his hand. Another gulp of scotch in, another shaky breath out. It was almost as if he hadn't breathed oxygen in a few days. In a way he hadn't – the last few days had been too much and he realized he hadn't once stopped to take a deep breath. She was here, she was safe. So why did he still feel panicked in the pit of stomach? It was unmistakable and heavy, like a rock had taken up residence in his gut. Another swig of scotch in, another breath out.

"Chuck?" Her voice sounded small and far away.

Chuck looked up from where he was staring intensely staring at his scotch. "Blair," he returned quietly.

His eyes met hers slowly, and the look on his face scared her. Even from where she stood, she could see that his black eyes were full of scotch and torture. She moved to be closer to him. "Chuck?" she asked again softly, closing the gap between them.

Chuck absently twirled his tumbler of scotch in his hands. "You should go back to bed, Blair," he said quietly. Dejectedly.

"Then come with me." Blair settled herself next to him on the loveseat and took his chin in her hand, forcing his gaze to meet hers. "You ok?"

"Blair, I…" he trailed off.

"You what, Chuck?"

He shook his head slowly. "I can't, Blair."

Blair cocked her head to the side in question. "Can't what?"

"I just can't right now, ok?" he answered with a little more bite in his voice than he intended.

Blair visibly flinched and moved away from him slightly. "Ok," she replied in a small voice.

Chuck felt a pang of guilt. Here was the girl he loved, who had been through so much – too much – and here he was, biting her head off because she was cared about him. Goddammit. He grabbed her hand. "Blair, I'm sorry. I didn't mean that to sound so harsh," he said gently, meeting her gaze.

"Of course," she smiled at him. "I should head back inside."

He saw the change in her face – she had put her mask on in an instant. Chuck's guilt gnawed at him. He had scared her and now she had forced herself back in hiding. "Blair, wait." He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her gently to him. "I'm sorry," he said, kissing her forehead. "I really didn't mean to snap at you. I'm just…frankly, I'm exhausted." Chuck felt her body relax into his slightly. Chuck Bass didn't do apologies, and he had just apologized to her twice. She had to know that he was sincere.

"It's ok," she said softly. They sat in silence for a few moments, Chuck absently twirling her curls in between his fingers and her breathing in his scent before she spoke again, "What are you thinking about?"

"I don't really feel like talking right now, Blair."

Blair looked up at him. "Don't shut me out, Chuck," she begged.

Chuck shook his head. "I'm not. I just need to breathe."

"That's exactly what you're doing, Chuck. Shutting me out. I can see it written all over your face. Why?" Blair's voice trembled.

He considered her for a long moment, before he realized that she was absolutely right – he was shutting her out. "I don't know," he returned lamely.

"Well, stop," she ordered, even though they both heard her voice break at the end.

Chuck nodded solemnly at her request.

"Starting now would be great, Chuck."

Chuck ran a hand over his eyes. "What I'm thinking right now, Blair, is how badly I just want to get drunk."

Blair blanched at his words. "That's just wonderful, Chuck."

"You asked me. I told you. I'm sorry if it's not what you want to hear," he answered honestly.

"Are you mad at me?" she asked, her voice suddenly small again, so very much unlike Blair Waldorf.

His gaze snapped up meet hers. "What?" Seeing the question reflected in her eyes he took her face in his hands. "No, Blair. I am not. I just need to breathe, think, decompress. And you need to go back to bed. Please." Her gaze dropped to the ground and he squeezed her face gently. "We'll talk tomorrow, I promise."

She nodded slowly and rose to leave him. "Goodnight, Chuck," she said softly.

"Goodnight, Blair," he returned.

As the patio door shut quietly behind her, Chuck exhaled. He hadn't meant to shut her out, concern her, hurt her. He had scared her and the guilt inside of him exploded. All he wanted to do was protect her, but here he was hurting her. You're going to hurt her again. Suddenly the rock in his stomach made complete sense. Chuck downed his glass of scotch and stared blankly into the night sky.

Chuck stumbled into the bedroom hours later, waking Blair from her disturbed sleep. She was in pain and every time she managed to drift off, there seemed to be nightmares waiting for her just at the edge of sleep. She feigned sleep as she heard Chuck open and close drawers, clearly changing into his pajamas. Normally, Chuck could tell within minutes, if not seconds, if Blair was faking sleep, but Blair could tell from the sounds in the room that Chuck was highly intoxicated. Blair could feel his eyes on her before she felt the gentle dip of the mattress as Chuck slid into the bed next to her. He sidled closer towards her and she could smell the heavy scent of scotch on his breath. She wanted to look into his eyes, wanted to reach out her arms for him, but their earlier conversation told her that would be a mistake. She realized hours earlier as she laid in bed alone, fighting for sleep, that she had put Chuck through a lot these past few days. Of course he had needed to get drunk and hide in his head, if just for a little bit.

Not realizing that she was still awake, Chuck spoke, "I'm sorry." His voice was so quiet she barely heard him. He watched her for a bit longer before the scotch and exhaustion took their toll on his body and he passed out, snoring softly beside her.

Xoxo.

The sunlight streamed through the windows of his bedroom, the rays landing on Chuck Bass' face. He winced at the pain in his head before he even opened his eyes. He instinctively reached his arm out to touch Blair, but his arm fell lonely onto the empty bed. Chuck's eyes shot open and he groaned, the sun creating a dull ache in his head. He ignored it, though - locating Blair was more important. He stumbled out of bed, rubbing his throbbing temple. "Blair?" he called softly, opening the French doors of his bedroom. Even the sound of his own voice hurt his head. Chuck found her quickly; she was laying on his couch, remote in hand, staring blankly at the television. He moved towards her and sat down on the couch, shifting so her feet were in his lap. He took one of her dainty feet in his hands started to massage it. "Hi," he said softly.

Blair's gaze lazily shifted to his and she stared at him blankly. "Hey," she responded.

Chuck narrowed his eyes. He didn't clearly remember the conversation they had last night, and although he knew it hadn't gone well, it hadn't gone that badly. Right? "How long have you been up?" he asked.

She just gazed at him. "Awhile," she answered, slowly.

It was then that Chuck noticed how big her eyes were - her pupils dilated so large that there was not even a hint of the chocolate brown he loved so much - instead her eyes were black. The realization dawned on him that Blair Waldorf was high. He sighed, trying not to panic. "How many pills did you take, Blair?"

"A few."

"How many is few, Blair?" he asked, his panic rising. The Vicodin she was prescribed to was nothing compared to the morphine she was on while she was in the hospital, but it was still a serious drug.

"Dunno."

"Jesus, Waldorf." Chuck rose from the couch and went into his kitchen, where her bottle of pain medication sat. He poured the pills out onto the counter and counted them. She had taken two. The panic in him settled, but did not die. Blair wasn't about to overdose, but he was disconcerted. Blair Waldorf, high as a kite. Never thought I'd see the day.

Chuck returned to his former spot on the couch with Blair, who was back to staring at the television with her wide eyes. He turned to see what she watching and was shocked to see Jerry Springer. Chuck could barely contain a laugh. Blair Waldorf, high on pain killers and watching Jerry Springer. Gossip Girl would love this, he thought to himself, knowing he would never tell anyone about this. "Feeling good, Waldorf?" he asked her.

"Feelin' good," she mimicked.

"Were you in a lot of pain? Is that why you took two?" he asked, running a finger absently on the arch of her foot.

Her dark eyes turned back to him. "Yes," she whispered.

There was more in that sentence that just her ribs hurting and he knew it, but there was no point in trying to discuss it with her now. She was too stoned to have a serious conversation, so he just nodded at her. "Wake me up next time."

She nodded slowly at him. At that moment, Blair's phone began to vibrate on the coffee table in front of them. Blair's eyes widened as she stared at it, as if she had never seen the object before and was completely bewildered by it. Chuck stifled a chuckle as he reached for her phone. Daddy, read the screen. "Harold," Chuck answered.

"Hello, Chuck, how's my girl?"

"She's doing ok. A bit loopy at the moment. You'd think she's never seen a phone ring before. And she's watching Jerry Springer," Chuck answered.

"Ah, painkillers. I remember them vividly. Or rather, I remember mostly nothing," chuckled Harold on the other end.

"What can I do for you, Harold? I'm sure you want to speak to Blair, but she's only been giving me one-word answers."

"Mind if I stop by later? Now that's she out of the hospital I must be getting back to work and Roman."

Of fucking course. "Of course, Harold. I'll make myself scarce and you two can have dinner in my suite tonight. I'd hazard a guess she'll be sleeping the rest of the afternoon," Chuck answered, trying to contain the venom in his voice. This was just like Blair's parents. Of course they'd be there if something horrible happened, but the moment everything appeared all right on the surface, they were the first ones to jump ship.

"Sounds wonderful, Chuck," said the other man brightly.

"8 o'clock, then."

Chuck and Harold shared goodbyes and Chuck hung up Blair's phone, placing it back on the coffee table. "Sorry, Waldorf," he said softly.

"Daddy?" she asked quietly.

"Yeah, baby."

Blair nodded solemnly, understanding even through her drug-induced haze.

"He's coming over for dinner tonight," he said, seeing her crestfallen expression.

"Then France," she replied without a hint of a question.

"Then France," he affirmed.

"Figures," Blair responded quietly. She closed her eyes slowly and willed herself into a drug-induced sleep.

She woke hours later, groggy, but feeling well-rested. Opening her eyes, she saw Chuck sitting with her feet in his lap, looking at her curiously. "Stop looking at me like that, Bass," she said, irritated.

Chuck ignored her. "How do you feel, Waldorf?"

"Fine," she snapped.

He chuckled. "Someone's testy.

"You know my feet are in your lap, right? I could seriously damage you if you're not careful," she answered darkly.

Chuck smirked back at her. "You wouldn't."

"Oh, I would, Bass," she threatened, even though they both knew her threats held no wait. After a long pause, she changed the subject. "My father?"

"He'll be here at 8," Chuck responded.

She felt tears well in her eyes. "So it wasn't a dream. He's going to leave already?"

"I'm sorry," he replied gently.

Blair blinked back her tears and smiled. "It's fine. I shouldn't have expected anything less."

"Doesn't mean you don't deserve more," he countered.

"I guess," she responded doubtfully. She grabbed her phone from the coffee table – missed text messages from Serena, Nate, and a few other numbers she didn't recognize; she'd deal with those later – and checked the time: 6:30. "I can't believe you let me sleep so long, Chuck! I should start getting ready…I don't have any clothes here," she suddenly realized.

"First of all, you were on drugs and I don't think I'd have been able to wake you if I tried. Second," he paused, grinning sheepishly, "I had Dorota bring over a few things while you were passed out."

"You think of everything, don't you?"

"That I do," he replied with a smirk.

Blair spent the next hour getting ready. Her choices in makeup and clothes were scarce, but Chuck had Dorota bring her all of her favorites. Society could see Chuck Bass as a soulless degenerate all they wanted, but Blair knew better. From her Dior foundation, her NARS blush, and Anastasia eyeshadow palette, she had all her favorites. All thanks to the behest of Chuck Bass. But while she knew how beautiful she looked on the outside, she felt completely disgusting on the inside. Her father was leaving her when she desperately needed him. Every time she said it to herself, she felt the knife drive a little bit deeper into her back. How could he?

She heard a knock at the door. "You don't have to knock, Chuck, this is your suite," she called.

"Your dad's here, and I'm heading out."

Blair turned from where she was sitting to look at him. "You're leaving?"

"I thought you two should have some time alone."

"Where are you going?"

Chuck just shrugged. "I'll find somewhere. I have some business to attend to, anyway."

"Like?" she asked with a cock of her head.

"Wouldn't you like to know? You're cute when you're jealous, Waldorf."

"Chuck," she said softly, beckoning him to step further inside the room.

Chuck noticed the shift in her mood immediately. He strode towards and kneeled before where she sat. "Blair?"

"What do I do?" She asked after a moment of hesitation.

"You tell him how you feel. You tell him the truth," he replied, gazing up at her. "Just talk to him. He's somewhat clueless, but he does love you. Don't pretend like everything is ok when it isn't."

"Says you," she scoffed.

"Yes, says me," he replied. "Talk to your father, Blair."

Blair gulped. "Ok. I will."

Chuck rose to kiss her cheek. "I know you can do it, Waldorf." He held out his hand for her. "Come on, I'll escort you on my way out. You look gorgeous, by the way."

"Always the flatterer," she responded with an eye roll.

"Only for you, Waldorf."

Xoxo.

Chuck left his suite at The Empire and got into his limo. Truthfully, he didn't really know where he was going, and he didn't really have any business to attend to. Well, at least none that he knew of. He had been ignoring Bass Industries for almost a week. How could I ever trade her for a stupid fucking hotel? Hindsight. Chuck pulled his phone and dialed Andrew Tyler's number. Andrew picked up almost immediately. "Tyler," Chuck seethed.

"Mr. Bass?"

"I need eyes on Louis Grimaldi at all times. I'm sure he's been bailed out of jail by now. I have to make sure he's nowhere near Blair. So follow him, everywhere. Gather all the dirt you can."

"Understood, Mr. Bass. He has been bailed out but he's been spending most of his time on the Lower East Side with his personal assistant, Estee. You never called me off, Chuck," Tyler responded. "And with the fortune you're paying me, I figured I'd do my due diligence."

"You never disappoint me, Tyler. You might even get a healthy Christmas bonus this year," Chuck responded.

Chuck had barely hung up with Andrew Tyler before his phone started ringing again. Eleanor Waldorf. Fuck. "Mrs. Rose?" he answered with as much nonchalance as he could muster.

Eleanor's voice was panicked as she answered, "I've been trying to reach Blair all day. Do you know where she is?

"Yes. She's fine. She lost her phone and Ha- I bought her a new one."

"Louis has been calling me nonstop, he doesn't know where she is either. Is she in some kind of trouble, Charles?"

"No," he replied.

"Charles, you're lying."

"You Waldorfs always know. But I will say nothing else. She's with me, and she's safe. But don't believe a word Louis says. They're done," he answered.

"I imagine she's inconsolable, this is a complete disaster," Eleanor said.

"Eleanor, may I speak frankly?"

"Quickly, Charles, I have to get back to work."

"Jesus Christ, Eleanor, think about your daughter. She's suffering right now."

"So she's gained a few pounds because of the break up. Whatever she's done, I'm sure can be fixed - "

"Eleanor," Chuck's interrupted, his voice cold, "Really?"

"Yes, really. Charles, what is going on? What has Blair done now?" Eleanor responded, clearly exasperated.

Chuck gritted his teeth on the other end of the phone, debating internally whether he should tell Eleanor about what was really going on with her daughter. Eventually, he decided to keep Eleanor in the dark.

After Chuck didn't answer for a few moments, Eleanor's voice once through lilted through the phone. "How bad, Charles? How many sizes?" she asked, her voice full of concern and fear.

Really? That's what you're afraid of? That she's gained ten pounds!? "Call you daughter, Eleanor. And at least try to be understanding." Chuck spat out Blair's new phone number and

swiftly hung up his phone, completely fed up with Eleanor and her expectations and inability to care about the right things where Blair was concerned. No wonder her insecurities were so deeply rooted. Now completely tense, Chuck sighed deeply in the cold dark night of New York, and headed towards Nate's, hoping his best friend had a bottle of scotch and maybe a joint.

Xoxo.

Blair was quiet as she sat across from her father at the dinner table in Chuck's suite. In her lap, she was fidgeting with her hands and twirling her ruby ring absently on her finger. You can do this. "So, Daddy."

"Yes, Blair Bear?" he returned easily, as he cut himself another piece of steak, dipping it delicately in mushroom sauce.

"Are you really going back to France?" There, it was out. She had asked.

Her father looked up at her and his smile faltered a bit. "I am. I have to get back to work, Blair Bear."

She had hoped that she was wrong, that her father wasn't actually leaving her. She had hoped her drug-induced memory was actually a dream, and she had hoped that Chuck had grossly misunderstood what her father had said on the phone. "You can't stay a little bit longer?" she asked, her eyes dropping to her plate of roasted vegetables, which she pushed around aimlessly with her fork.

"I'm afraid not, my dear; I'm in the middle of a very important case and I must get back to it."

"Oh," Blair responded weakly.

"What's this about, Blair? You're out of the hospital and you've got Chuck here, and I took care of the Louis situation personally."

No, you didn't. "So that's just it then? You fly in for a few days after my fiancée almost kills me and then you just leave? Like it's no big deal?"

You tell him how you feel. You tell him the truth. Just talk to him. He's somewhat clueless, but he does love you. Don't pretend like everything is ok when it isn't.

She couldn't raise her gaze to meet her father's, but she heard him gently set his cutlery down on the plate before him. "Blair—"

"You always leave, Daddy. You always leave when I need you the most," she interrupted, tears welling in her eyes.

"That's not what I'm doing, Blair. I can't just abandon –"

"You can't abandon work. But you can abandon your daughter," she finished. "It's fine, I understand." Blair threw her cloth napkin down on the table and rose to stand slowly, masking a wince. "You should go. Wouldn't want you to be late for your flight." Blair turned away from her father and opened the French doors to Chuck's bedroom, closing them and locking them soundly. She leaned her back against the door and waited, hoped, her father would come for her. He would tell her he realized his mistake, he would tell her he would stay. Minutes passed, and nothing she hoped for happened. All she heard was the gentle click as her father left Chuck's suite. A strangled sob escaped her throat. He had run to her from France as soon as she found out she was in the hospital – how could he be so willing to leave her?

Shaking her head and forcing her tears back, Blair stepped out of her clothes and went to look for some pajamas. All she wanted to do was sleep. Spotting Chuck's fluffy white robe thrown over the chair, she immediately grabbed it and wrapped it around her small frame, allowing it to envelope her in his scent. It provided her with a small comfort. Blair desperately wanted Chuck to come back. He was the only thing holding her broken pieces together, he was the only thing that made her feel normal, like she was worth something. Letting out a sigh, Blair shook her head at herself. He said had business to attend to, and as much as she wanted him – no, needed him – to come back, she wouldn't bother him.

Slightly comforted by wearing Chuck's robe, Blair unlocked the bedroom doors and walked quietly back out into the living space of Chuck's sweet. She immediately spied the dinner table, with Harold's food half eaten and hers completely untouched. Just the sight made her heart drop into her stomach. The dull ache in her side suddenly became unbearable and tore her eyes away from the dinner table and continued her way into the kitchen, where she found her bottle of Vicodin. That morning she had been woken up by the pain in her side, and had immediately gone to the kitchen to take a pill, desperate for the pain to stop. When she didn't feel relief immediately, she had down another. She had been on the verge of swallowing a third pill before the numbness hit her. A delicious nothing enveloping her body. Nothing hurt and everything was right with the world.

Once again, she was desperate for the pain to stop. She shook two pills into her hand and downed them with a gulp of water without a second thought.

Xoxo.

"Chuck?" Nate answered the door with a surprised look on his face.

"Nathaniel. Busy, or can I come in?"

"Yeah, sure, man. Just wasn't expecting to see you."

Chuck strolled into Nate's apartment with an ease of familiarity. Heading directly for the kitchen, he pulled a glass from a cabinet and poured himself a glass from a waiting bottle of scotch. "Blair's having dinner with Harold," he answered, taking a sip.

"So?" Nate responded, as he too poured himself a glass of scotch.

"In my suite. Wanted to give them some time to talk. He's going back to France," Chuck answered darkly.

Nate's brow furrowed. "So soon?"

"My sentiments exactly, Nathaniel," Chuck sighed, taking another sip of his drink.

"How's she doing anyway, man?" Nate asked softly.

"Honestly, Nathaniel, I don't know. Most of the time she seems ok. But there are moments when I wonder if she really is." Chuck swirled the amber liquid in his glass absently. "When I woke up this morning, she was high on Vicodin."

Nate just laughed. "Blair, high? You have got to be joking."

"I'm not. She was watching Jerry Springer, Nathaniel. Well, not really watching. But it was on."

"You're worried," Nate replied.

"Indeed I am, Nathaniel. Got any pot? I could really go for a joint right now," Chuck replied, effectively changing the subject.

"You know I do, Chuck. Come on. I've already got a few rolled," Nate responded with a smile, signaling with a nod of the head for Chuck to follow him into the living room.

Sitting down on the couch, Nate pulled a plastic bag out of the small box sitting on the coffee table and with a grin, pulled a joint from the bag and handed it to Chuck, as well as taking one for himself. The two friends lit their joints and smoked in silence. "I talked to Eleanor tonight," Chuck started.

Nate grinned at Chuck. "I'm sure that went well."

"I think she was more upset that Blair wasn't engaged to him more than she was about Blair being in the hospital. How fucked up is that?"

Nate's eyes were completely glazed over. "Super fucked, man."

Chuck exhaled deeply. Nathaniel was not being helpful tonight. "Sorry to smoke and run, Nathaniel. But I'm going to head home."

Nate turned his head lazily to look at Chuck. "Sure, man."

Thanks for nothing, Archibald.

When Chuck returned to his suite, he was immediately unnerved. All the lights were on, but there was no one in sight. Complete silence. He spotted a half-eaten steak and a plate of roasted vegetables that hadn't been touched, save for a fork moving them around to give the impression it had been eaten. Blair was nowhere in sight. Chuck walked into his bedroom and spotted her lying atop his down comforter, wearing his robe. Clearly dinner with Harold had not gone well.

Removing his shoes and tie, he climbed onto the bed and settled next to her. "Blair?" he whispered.

"Yeah," she replied, without opening her eyes.

"How was dinner?"

"You know."

Her short answers alarmed him. "Open your eyes. Look at me," he demanded softly. Blair's eyelids opened slowly and his fears were confirmed. She was high again. "Blair…" Why was she doing this?

"Don't," she said simply.

Chuck moved to be closer to her, and put a protective arm around her, his fingers reaching for hers. "I won't." He knew better than most how easy it was to run away from real feelings by using alcohol or drugs. But seeing Blair Waldorf doing what he did on instinct unnerved him. He didn't like seeing her like this. A thought crossed his mind, Is this how she felt after my father died? The thought made him feel ill. Because he didn't like this feeling at all.

Blair woke up the next morning desperate for water. Her tongue was thick and heavy, almost like it didn't belong in her mouth at all. Her tongue felt dry and sandpapery, like a cat's. She sat up quickly and immediately regretted it. Damn ribs.

Chuck was immediately awakened by her movements. "Blair?"

"Water," she choked.

He nodded and immediately went to the kitchen to grab her a glass of water. He strode back, glass in hand, and she grabbed it from his hands before gulping all of the water at once.

"We need to talk, Blair," he said quietly.

Blair's heart dropped. "Oh, ok," she replied quietly.

"Don't. It's not like that. You're self-medicating and it scares the shit out of me."

"I don't know what you're talking about. And you self-medicate, Bass," she replied coolly.

Chuck nodded. "I do. Which is how I know you're doing the same thing."

"Dinner last night didn't go well," she replied sadly.

"I know. I could tell."

"I just wanted the pain to stop."

"I know, baby," he replied, stroking her hair.

"I wanted you to come back, but I knew you were working. I didn't want to bother you."

Chuck closed his eyes. Goddammit. "Blair?"

"Yes?"

"I don't give a fuck what I'm doing. Tell me you need me and I'm here." Who castrated you, Bass? Blair Waldorf.

She gave him a small smile. "Really?"

"Really." You are everything. "Tell me what happened?"

"I asked him to stay for a little bit longer. But he has a super important client. He can't just abandon work. Just me," she replied, her voice small. "What's wrong with me?"

"Nothing," Chuck answered immediately, kissing her forehead. "It has nothing to do with you, Waldorf, I promise. It's all them."

"How can you be sure?"

"Because I know you better than anyone. Great, good, bad and absolutely demonic. It's not you, it's them."

"Did you just call me demonic?" she pulled away from him.

"You can be, when you want to be," he smirked. "But seriously, Waldorf. We're cut from the same cloth, absent parenting and all that.

"I just don't understand how he could hop on a plane at a moment's notice to come here and then just leave me alone," she replied sadly.

Chuck settled back into the bed next to her and put a protective arm around her. "I don't know either, Waldorf."

"You're not going to leave me, are you?" she asked, voice uncertain.

"I told you before, Waldorf. I'm not leaving."

Blair's eyes rose to meet Chuck's and seeing the sincerity in them, she pressed her lips to his. The kiss was gentle at first, but feeling Chuck moan against her mouth, she slid her tongue is mouth, deepening the kiss. His tongue eagerly entwined with hers, and she felt his body shift to be closer to her. She groaned as Chuck's lips left hers, but she felt a flutter in belly as he pressed his lips against her pulse point and then against her collar bone and then against the nape of her neck before his lips met hers again. Their kisses were hurried, tortured. Blair felt her hands move of their own volition, and suddenly she was pulling his shirt from his pants and unbuttoning his shirt. Chuck groaned against her lips and pulled away. "Stop. We can't."

"Why?" she asked seductively, seeking his lips again.

Chuck allowed a soft kiss to meet his lips before he pulled away. "Blair. Stop."

"Why?" she asked meekly, hurt.

"You have a broken rib, Blair. I can't. I'll hurt you," he returned softly.

"You just don't want me. Right, Chuck?" she asked heatedly.

"Blair…"

She rose quickly, ignoring the pain in her side. "You know what? Just don't. I'm leaving."

"Blair, don't."

"Shut up, Chuck," she seethed, hurriedly pulling on an outfit she found in his closet before pulling on a pair of shoes she wasn't sure even matched, and grabbing her bag off his dresser. Chuck made another attempt to grab her arm, but she shook him off. "Stop, Chuck," she said mockingly.

Without another glance, she left his bedroom, and not long afterwards he heard the soft click of the door to his suite. Chuck sat on alone his bed, confused and with his lips tingling from her kisses. And once again, she was gone.

Let me know what you think? Please?