Chapter 15 –Panic

Blair's 6:30 alarm woke Chuck up from the most incredible dream. Her beneath him, her nails digging into his back, her legs wrapped tightly around him, their mouths fused together and murmuring 'I love you' with every gasp of air that they took. A beautiful dream. As he became conscious to his surroundings, he felt the dried, crystallized sweat on his skin, and his own nakedness. He felt sated and calm, and then he realized he hadn't been dreaming.

Smiling, he rolled to face her, to wrap his arms around her. "Turn the alarm off, Waldorf," he murmured, before realized she wasn't next to him. He was immediately awake, up on his elbows.

Blair chuckled from across the room. "I'm right here, Bass," she said, perched on the windowsill in Chuck's shirt from last night, coffee cup in hand. Her hair was tied up in a loose bun, tendrils falling down the nape of her nape and along her face. Blair was the only one who really knew the real Chuck Bass – she was the one who had seen his soul long before he knew he himself had even known it had existed. As such, Chuck also got to see parts of Blair no one else knew existed – Blair, free of makeup, her hair thrown up haphazardly. The imperfect, improper Blair. They only ever allowed their facades down with each other.

"Turn the alarm off and come back to bed, Blair," he mumbled.

"It's snowing, Chuck," she whispered back excitedly.

Chuck smiled to himself. Like many New Yorkers, he was simply resigned to the frigid cold of New York winters. Blair, however, thrived on them. Her face lit up every time she saw a flake of snow, almost girlishly. And if her face was any indication, there was more than just flake of snow outside their window right now. "A lot?" he asked, grinning.

"Come look!" she exclaimed.

He obliged, stretching lazily as he left the warmth of the bed, and stood beside where she sat on the windowsill. Without a thought, he dropped a kiss to her forehead before surveying the New York City streets before him. Everything was covered in a thick blanket of white, and it was still coming down. Only Blair Waldorf would be excited over a blizzard. "Was it even supposed to snow?" he asked, confused. Chuck checked the weather religiously every day – even the smallest amount of moisture could destroy a quarter of his shoe collection – and he did not remember seeing snow on the forecast at all.

"I don't think so," she replied with a small laugh, finally turning to him. "Morning, Bass." She smiled at him as she met his gaze.

Chuck shivered, feeling the cold emanating from the slightly frosted windows. "Aren't you cold, Waldorf?" he asked, wrapping his arms around her before she had a chance to respond.

Blair leaned back into him and closed her eyes. "No. You know how I am about snow."

Chuck pressed a soft kiss to her neck. "Mmm, yes, I do. But I'm cold, and it's very early. Come back to bed, Baby. Just for a little bit," he murmured into her neck.

"Fine," she murmured with a small grin.

Chuck smiled in triumph, and crawled back into bed, lifting the covers for Blair as she slipped in next to him. He pulled her in close and gently pressed his lips to hers. "Hey," he murmured.

"Hi," she replied somewhat shyly. His body involuntarily shivered against hers, his teeth chattering slightly, and she instinctively wrapped her arms around him to help warm him. "You're freezing," she noted.

"It is freezing, Waldorf. Just because you can't feel it…" he trailed off, teeth still chattering. "And how the hell is it even snowing?"

"It's been a rough few months," Blair replied soberly, burying her face in his bare chest. "Maybe I'm finally being rewarded?"

"With a blizzard? To hell with the rest of us, huh?" Chuck laughed.

"Oh, please," she replied with a roll of her eyes. "A blizzard means you can stay in bed all day."

"With you?" he asked hopefully.

"Nope. I plan on going to play in the snow," she replied with a smirk.

"Alone?" Chuck asked, slightly perturbed. After Blair's encounter with Estee, and now the flowers, he definitely did not want her roaming the streets of New York alone, blizzard or no.

"I was going to ask you to come, Bass, but all you've done is complain about how cold it is," she answered, a challenge sparkling in her eye.

"Obviously, I'm coming with you," he grumbled. "Just let me sleep a little bit longer?"

"Fine, Bass. You have until 8:30. After that, I'm pushing your stubborn ass out of this bed."

Chuck closed his eyes and pressed another kiss against her forehead. Allowing his lips to linger, he murmured against her forehead. "You love my stubborn ass. And make it 9:00, Waldorf."

Blair didn't respond, and merely rolled her eyes. Her annoyed façade faltered, however, as Chuck's expression softened and his breathing evened out. Yes, she did indeed love his stubborn ass.

Satisfied that Chuck had indeed fallen back asleep, Blair rolled onto her side so she could face the window and watch the snow continue to fall. She had been obsessed with snow for as long as she could remember, marveling in the simple beauty of a landscape draped in fluffy, pure, pristine snow and the way it sparkled in the sunlight. In her fairytale, the one that she had written for herself in her head, there was always snow, always pure white - the way it was before it became tarnished by vehicles, humans, and animals. She loved watching as the snowflakes fell, every single one different than the last, never to be repeated again. Snow reminded her of happier times – skating in Central Park with her father before he moved to Paris with Roman, snowball fights with Serena and Nate, Chuck standing on the sidelines because just one well-aimed snowball would ruin his silk J. Press scarf. Nothing had ever come without determination or sacrifice for Blair, but there had been times when she had allowed herself to enjoy the simple pleasures that existed in life – in a time before Louis Grimaldi. As she watched the snow fall outside their bedroom window, Blair allowed herself to feel a small sliver of joy in something so simple, if even just for a moment.

Blair smiled softly to herself. Yes, snow could still bring her joy. She wasn't damaged beyond repair.

Chuck brought her happiness, but until that morning when she had opened her eyes and seen the onslaught of snow, she had been concerned that he was the only one who could. Without him, she felt alone, lost. Without him, she didn't feel happy. But then there was snow, and she felt happy, if just for a second. But when the snow melted, she wondered, could she still find some happiness that didn't solely depend on Chuck? She exhaled deeply, afraid to discover that her answer might, in fact, be 'no.' Chuck shifted next to her, and she realized she had woken him up.

"You ok?" he murmured sleepily.

I love you. I love you. But I don't love myself. Not anymore.

"Yes," she replied, turning towards him. "Ready to wake up now, Bass?"

He pressed his face against her back and groaned. "Not really. But since you're so hot and bothered…"

"Will you be more amenable if I bring you a cup of coffee?" she asked hopefully.

"So domestic of you, Waldorf. And yes, I would be," he replied.

"If I get you a cup of coffee, you have to get up, get dressed, and play in the snow with me. Understood?"

"Someone's bossy this morning."

"Well, you did agree to be my boyfriend last night, in case you'd forgotten. That does mean I get to boss you around once in a while," she snapped.

"I haven't forgotten, Blair," he replied softly. "Believe me, I haven't forgotten. I was just teasing. Drag me through this blizzard in my crocodile Testoni's, see if I care."

Apologize!

"I'll get you a cup of coffee, ok?" she said instead, rising from the bed without looking at him.

Chuck sat up, grabbing her hand before she could walk away. "Hey," he said quietly.

Reluctantly, she turned to face him, immediately noting the question on his face: Have I done something? "No," she said quietly, shaking her head. "Black? Or do you want half-and-half and two sugars?"

She saw him study her, to see if she was lying. "Black," he said after a moment. Blair squeezed his hand before pulling away from him.

"Blair—"

"Coffee, then snow," she interrupted.

"Coffee, then snow," Chuck agreed, apprehensively.

She was being cagey and she knew it. He knew it, too. He knew her too well. She returned to the bedroom with the requested coffee in hand. To her surprise, Chuck was already out of bed and a pair of boxers were slung lowly below his hips as he stood in front of the dresser, rummaging through one of the drawers, clearly searching for something to wear. "Your coffee, as ordered," Blair said softly, setting the coffee on the dresser. Chuck shot her a soft smile, and immediately Blair felt a twinge of regret at how she had snapped at him for no discernable reason. Determined to rectify her earlier reaction, she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulled him close, and planted a firm kiss on his lips. When she pulled away, Chuck was smiling at her. A real smile. Chuck Bass rarely smiled – no, he smirked instead. "Drink your coffee before it gets cold." She smiled back.

"I'm trying to decide what to wear. I think you're about to destroy anything luxury I own," he said, kissing her on the cheek.

"You are correct. No J. Press. No suit. Just wear one of your many Columbia sweatshirts," she teased. "Chuck Bass, you are going to try to have fun."

A cup of black coffee and several stolen kisses later, they were both dressed to explore Blair's blizzard. Chuck in a pair of designer jeans and a Columbia sweatshirt, topped with a tweed peacoat and leather gloves, and Blair almost matching, in a stolen, oversized Columbia sweatshirt and jeans. "You're going to freeze, Waldorf," Chuck said, raising a brow.

"I'll be fine, Bass," she shot back. "I have you to keep me warm, anyways." She returned his raised eyebrow with one of her own.

They rode the elevator down from Chuck's penthouse to the lobby, Blair walking ahead of Chuck in the luxurious, yet empty lobby of the Empire Hotel. "Mr. Bass—" The concierge noticed his employer heading towards the door.

"Believe me, Hector. I am quite aware of the conditions outside. I am going against my will," he stated, motioning to Blair who was walking determinedly ahead of him.

"Bass," Blair said impatiently, stopping just before the door and tapping her rain boots against impatiently against the marble floor.

"I'm right here, Waldorf," he said with a grin. She took his hand and dragged him forward, the doorman shrugging nonchalantly as he opened the door for the couple. The icy cold hit Chuck immediately, and he grimaced at the feel of the wind and snow flurries hitting him squarely in the face. Fuck the cold. Blair, however, was spinning in the snow, arms outstretched, a bright smile etched across her face. Chuck smiled to himself. As long as she continued to smile like that, he would gladly brave any amount of cold for her. He'd gladly move to Antarctica if she wanted him to.

Before he knew what was happening, she was bent over, her delicate hands forming a snowball. "Watch out, Bass!" she yelled, before chucking a snowball at him, hitting him squarely in the chest.

"You've just made a grave mistake, Waldorf," he said coldly, quickly forming his own snowball and launching it at her, smacking her directly in the face.

"Chuck!" she cried.

"Fuck, I'm sorry," he murmured, rushing over to her. "Are you ok?"

Her perturbed expression instantly changed into a grin and she pushed him down into the snow. "Got you," she replied with a smirk.

"You're going to pay for that, Waldorf," he growled, pushing her up.

Blair smiled. "You'll have to catch me first, Bass!" she shouted, throwing another snowball at him, this time she aimed for his face.

He spat the melting snow from his mouth and wiped the moisture from his eyes, and rose up to run after her. She was halfway down the sidewalk before she turned to look at him, her eyes challenging. "You want a war, Waldorf? Well, you have a war," he murmured to himself, before dragging himself to a standing position and walking towards where she stood, seemingly frozen. Her curls blew in the wind, dotted with snowflakes. Coming up from behind, he grabbed her waist. "You want to battle, Waldorf?" he whispered into her ear.

Blair didn't move or even acknowledge his presence. She stood rooted to the spot where she stood, staring straight ahead.

"Blair?" he asked quietly, disconcerted with her sudden silence.

"I saw him," she replied quietly, her voice deadpan.

"Saw who?" His blood ran cold.

"Louis." Her voice was small, painful, as if saying the name was torturous.

"Where?" he asked quietly. Blair was already unnerved, and the last thing he wanted was to distress her further.

"Just around the corner. He was walking towards Starbucks." Her voice was cold, robotic. Detached completely.

"Stay right here, ok?"

Blair nodded, and Chuck walked away from her, trudging through the thick snow towards Starbucks. Entering, he shook the moisture out of his hair and looked around. No Louis Grimaldi to be found. Sighing, he ordered an Americano for himself and a hot chocolate for her. Waiting for the drinks, he continued to look around. There was no Louis. Chuck exhaled a sigh of relief.

Blair stood in exactly the same spot as he left her in. "Well?"

"It wasn't him, Blair. I brought you a hot chocolate."

Blair took the hot chocolate from him, absently. "It was him, Chuck. I know it was," she replied, her voice shaking.

Chuck studied her for a moment, noting that all the color had drained from her face, her fingers shaking as she held the hot chocolate. He threw an arm over her shoulders, and he could feel her whole body trembling considerably – and he knew it had nothing to do with the cold. "Hey, Waldorf," he said softly, pulling her in closer to him. "It's ok."

Blair nodded quickly, too emphatically. "Yes," she agreed absently. "All ok." She smiled up at him blankly and began to walk once more, staggering slightly, her body swaying. She clung to him as they walked, clearly determined to continue her façade of normalcy. As they passed by the Starbucks in question, Blair paused her movements. She knew what she had seen – a flash of blond hair, perfectly quaffed and parted, the blue eyes that feigned innocence, but on closer inspection were full of malice and arrogance. Louis had been here, she could feel it in her bones. Looking through the window of the coffee shop, her eyes immediately darted to a shock of blond hair and nothing else. But it was him! She felt her heart beat begin to race and she instinctively tightened her hold on Chuck.

"Hey, Waldorf," he spoke, crashing through her thoughts. "You sure you're alright?"

"Can we go home, Chuck?" she said quietly. Her voice sounded weak to her own ears, pathetic.

"Ok, Blair. Come on," he replied, gently turning her around, her arms wrapped around his waist like a vice.

Chuck led her back to The Empire slowly, her pace slowing every few steps, and as she began to stumble more forcefully, he stopped her completely. "I'm ok," she whispered, her eyes shut tight.

No. You aren't.

"Waldorf, look at me," he urged. She obliged, her brown eyes large and panicked, confirming what he already knew. "Come on, wrap your arms around my neck." Blair closed her eyes once more, but did as he bade her and encircled her thin arms around his neck. Leaning down slightly, Chuck hooked one arm around her knees and one around her back, hoisting her small frame into his chest.

Blair buried her face into the crook of his neck and whispered, "I'm sorry."

"Hush," he murmured back as the doors of The Empire were held open for him. "You have nothing to be sorry for."

"Mr. Bass? Is everything-" came the voice of the concierge, Hector.

"Everything is fine, Hector. Thank you," Chuck interrupted, gritting his teeth.

He pressed the button for the elevator and was grateful for the ding of the door as it opened, and he stepped inside, still holding Blair who was clutching him as if her life depended on it. "Still with me, Waldorf?" he asked quietly, cutting through the silence of the small, mirrored room.

He felt her nod weakly against his shoulder.

"Good," he continued. "We're almost home."

The elevator let out another ding as they reached his penthouse, and Chuck removed his arm from around Blair's back to dig out his keycard. She clung tightly, as if he was letting her go. "I have you, Blair. Don't worry. I just needed to get the key," he said softly. Finally jamming the keycard through the slot in the elevator, the door opened to reveal their penthouse. Immediately, he made his way to the bedroom, where he gently laid her down and attempted to remove the sweatshirt she was wearing.

"No," she said quietly. "I want to keep it on. Smells like you."

Chuck dropped down on his knees next to the bed. Reaching out he gently tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. "Ok. Sweatshirt stays on. What do you need from me, Waldorf?" he asked softly.

"Just stay with me." Her voice came out as almost a whimper.

"I wasn't going to go anywhere even if you wanted me to," he said with a small smile. "Do you still have a prescription for Xanax?" It was obvious to Chuck that she was having her classic pre-panic attack symptoms, and he wanted to stave off as many symptoms as he could.

"No," she murmured. "Might be a few in my bag, though. Kept a few in case."

Chuck kissed her quickly on the forehead before rising. "I'll be back."

Chuck made his way across the room where her bag was sitting on his – their – dresser. Removing his gloves, he rummaged through the bag before his hand finally wrapped around a pill bottle. Relief flooded through him – the Xanax could give her even the slightest amount of relief. Pulling it from the bag, his relief instantly turned to panic as he realized it was not in fact her once-prescribed Xanax, but instead that damned bottle of Vicodin that almost killed her. His hands were shaking as he set the bottle down on the dresser.

She couldn't.

She wouldn't.

She wasn't.

He hadn't seen her eyes glassy and huge, he hadn't heard her slur her words. He had seen none of the tell-tale signs that she was taking those damned pills again – but still, he was filled with dread. Not right now, he told himself reaching back into her bag and finding another bottle of pills. This time the correct bottle, an old prescription written out to Blair Waldorf for Xanax. Chuck popped the top and shook one pill into his hand, before drawing her a glass of water from the master bath. He sat down next to her on the bed and handed her the pill. "Found one," he said quietly. Blair popped the pill into her mouth and Chuck handed her the glass of water to wash it down.

"Thank you," she murmured, closing her eyes and pulling the comforter around her small frame like a cocoon.

"How bad?" he asked.

"Not the worst," she replied after a moment, her voice still shaking. "Would've been worse if you hadn't been there."

Chuck nodded before standing and walking to the other side of the bed, removing his peacoat and sweatshirt, dropping them unceremoniously on the floor before unbuttoning his jeans and letting them drop to the floor as well. He lifted the comforter and slid in next to her, wrapping his body around hers, her back pressed against his chest. "I'm here," he murmured. "Always."

Blair awoke hours later, unsure of what day or time it was. She remembered the snow, Chuck, Louis. She remembered her legs feeling like jello, the bitter pill on her tongue. Then there was darkness. Was it still the same day? She rolled over to face the sky, and she was greeted with the scenery of the setting sun. So, it was the same day. She swallowed, her throat dry and scratchy, and she grabbed the water she noticed on the nightstand, gulping it down swiftly. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood, stumbling a bit on her weak legs. Noticing the doors of the bedroom were open, she made her way towards them, and exiting she found Chuck sitting on the couch, typing away furiously on his laptop.

She couldn't help but smile at the image: Chuck wearing only a pair silk boxers and a Columbia t-shirt – Of course! – his hair rumpled from his fingers constantly passing through it, and his eyes laser-focused on the images in front of him. Without a sound, she made her way to the couch and sat next to him with a smile, not wanting to interrupt.

Surprised, Chuck looked away from his laptop. He shot her a small smile. "Hey, you're awake. How do you feel?"

"I feel…weird. I don't know what day or what time it is. My legs feel like jello. What happened?" she asked, wiping the remaining sleep from her eyes.

Chuck exhaled and closed the laptop, placing it on the coffee table. "Come here," he murmured, gesturing for Blair to come closer. She obliged, and he wrapped his arm around her shoulders. "It's Thursday. I don't know what time it is. Maybe 4:30? You almost had a panic attack earlier today."

"Louis," she said quietly, nodding.

Chuck sighed. "Blair, I know—"

"It was him, Chuck," she insisted, seething. "I know it was."

"I went and looked for him, Blair. It wasn't him."

"Well you missed him then! Because it was him!" she cried, pulling away from him.

Chuck leaned forward and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger. "Maybe I did, Blair," he relented. "I just…"

"You just what!?" she cried.

"I hate seeing you like that," he admitted quietly. "I know sometimes you just have panic attacks. I know that. But you just losing it because of him. I want you to be able to walk past this block without you having a panic attack."

"Well, I'm sorry," she whispered.

Chuck shook his head. "Don't be. You have nothing to be sorry for. You've had these for as long as I can remember – even before I found you that time in the bathroom. Yes, I've always known," he confirmed, seeing the questioning look on her face. "But this is different, Blair. We both know it."

"What do you mean?" Her eyes fell, seemingly to watch her own fingers twiddle in her lap.

"You aren't just having panic attacks anymore. There's a reason now," he replied quietly.

"And what do you want me to do about it?" she asked, with a slight edge in her voice.

"Honestly?"

"Yes, honestly," she replied.

"I want you to talk to someone."

"I'm talking to you right now."

"Blair," he murmured. "I want you to talk to a therapist."

Blair froze. "I haven't made myself…in a while, Chuck. I swear," she said quietly.

"I know that," he replied gently. "I know that, Blair. That's not what I'm talking about."

"Then what?" she pleaded.

"You used to have a panic attack maybe two, three times a year, Blair. That's happened in a few months. Baby, you almost died," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I almost…I want you to be happy. You aren't happy."

"I am, too, happy!"

Chuck shook his head. "You're not happy. You're happy with me, I see that. But I need you to be happy beyond just me."

"So?"

"So, I want you to talk to someone. Dr. Sherman. Someone different. Anyone."

"I hate therapy, Chuck," she whispered.

"I know. It's terrible. But it does help – It helped me."

"You were in therapy?" she whispered.

"I started right after you started dating Louis." He flinched as he spoke.

"Why?"

"Because I had to let you go. But I also needed to move on…as much as I could."

"Chuck…"

"I went to therapy to let you go, Blair. I did the best that I could. The best I could do was love you from a distance."

"I wish you hadn't tried to let me go. Then I wouldn't feel this way," she murmured.

"Blair—"

"I'm not blaming you, despite how that sounded. I…Do you love me, Chuck?" she asked quietly

"You know I do."

She nodded solemnly. "I'll call Dr. Sherman tomorrow."

"I will carry you through a blizzard while you're on the verge of a panic attack everyday if you need me to. But I want my Blair back – the one who made girls cry because they wore leggings as pants," he said with a smile.

"And what if I'm not that Blair anymore?" she asked quietly, fearful of the answer.

"I think you're still that Blair. But if you're not, I'll still love you," he replied with a shrug.

"Will you?" she choked.

"Blair, I've been in love with you since I was thirteen years old. Nothing has changed that."

"Thirteen?"

"Yes, thirteen."

"You're lying," she accused.

"No, I'm not. I didn't know what love was then. But, I know now that I was," he replied with a shrug.

"How?" she asked suspiciously.

"Nathaniel never bought a single one of your gifts. It was always me," he murmured.

"Not one?" she questioned.

Chuck paused. "The ruby ring. That was the first one I picked out. After that…they were all me."

"I adored the ruby ring. I still do," she said, twirling said ring around her finger. "I thought Nate was so observant and thoughtful. I loved red that year, and gold. He didn't know that at all, did he?"

"If I remember correctly, he was going to get you an iTunes gift card."

"But you knew, Chuck?" she whispered.

"I saw it and I knew you'd love it, that's all," he said with an unceremonious shrug, as if it was insignificant.

Blair smiled up at him. "I've been wearing this ring for years, Chuck. Why didn't you tell me you picked it out before now?" she inquired.

"You probably would've flushed it down the toilet a few years ago if I had told you before now," he replied.

Blair couldn't help but chuckle. "You're probably right, Bass."

Chuck sighed and pressed his nose into her hair, relishing in the smell of her shampoo - rose and sage. He inhaled deeply before pressing a kiss into her dark curls, still slightly mussed from sleep. "I need to ask you something," he started hesitantly.

"Yes?"

"When I was looking for your Xanax earlier, I found that bottle of Vicodin, too," Chuck finished.

"C-Chuck—" she stuttered

"Tell me. Have you been taking them again?" he asked quietly.

Tears began to well in her eyes and she made an attempt to push them back. "No, Chuck. I haven't. I promise. I didn't even realize I still had them," she pleaded.

She felt him nod against the top of her head. "Ok," he replied softly.

"Ok?" she questioned.

"I believe you. I just…I had to ask. And I flushed them, so they're gone."

"Good," she replied quietly. "I'm sorry, Chuck, about everything."

"I'm not. You're here now." He pressed another kiss into her dark tresses and closed his eyes.

She's here now and that's all that matters.

Xoxo.

Hours later, Chuck once again found himself staring out the window at the New York City skyline, covered in the powdery white substance that Blair adored so much. The blizzard itself had stopped, but small flakes continued to dot the night sky in front of him. In his hands, predictably, was a crystal tumbler filled with scotch. Blair had gone back to sleep hours ago, clearly still exhausted from her earlier episode. Chuck, however, was once again unable to find his own sleep, his mind running rampant with a jumble of thoughts – Blair, Louis, those damned pills.

Blair had been adamant that she had seen Louis earlier that day, and Chuck was currently questioning the veracity of her conviction. Even though Chuck had looked for the weasel himself, she had been engaged to the man. Wouldn't she know her own fiancée from across the street?

Of course, he reasoned as he took a healthy sip of scotch, she could have been overreacting, right? Her moods had been erratic and unpredictable since she called him that night of the gala – the night he found out the true nature of her Prince Charming. There were thousands of blond men in New York visiting Starbucks. What were the odds one of them was the detestable Louis Grimaldi?

Except it wouldn't have been a coincidence at all.

The man had gone out of his way to subtly torture Blair, he knew. Estee, the flowers. Chuck gritted his teeth before taking another sip of the smoldering amber liquid. No, it was entirely possible she had seen Louis, after all. Chuck pulled his phone from the pocket of his robe, knowing what he had to do. Pressing 'call,' Chuck held the phone to his ear. Within seconds Andrew Tyler answered. "Mr. Bass," he greeted smoothly.

"Tyler, are you still watching Louis Grimaldi?"

"I've had my eyes on him, Mr. Bass," the other man reassured.

"And?" Chuck asked, impatient.

"He's still on the Lower East Side, with that woman."

"Any possibility he made his way anywhere near The Empire today?" Chuck asked.

"No way. I've got one of my guys tailing him, reporting his every move to me. He didn't even leave her apartment today, I'm told."

"Tyler," Chuck bit out. "I am paying you an obscene amount of money simply to follow this weasel around. And you're telling me you've delegated the task to someone else?"

"Mr. Bass –"

"Here's what's going to happen, Tyler. You are personally going to keep up with Louis Grimaldi or you are fired – from this endeavor and any I may have in the future. Am I clear?" Chuck seethed.

There was a short pause before Tyler agreed. "Understood, Mr. Bass."

"Wonderful," Chuck replied before hanging up on the man.

So, there was a chance Louis had been there today. It wasn't extremely likely, but Chuck didn't trust anyone but Andrew Tyler when it came to a private investigator. Someone else simply wouldn't do.

So, it's a possibility.

"Fuck," he murmured to himself, pressing his forehead against the cool glass.

A soft knock came from the front door and Chuck forced himself from his musings to answer it. Unlocking the door, he was surprised to find no one on the other side. Chuck rolled his eyes in annoyance and went to close the door when his gaze dropped to the floor. Sitting right in front of the door was a small vase, filled with purple pansies. Chuck felt his heart drop into his stomach as he leaned forward, searching for a card.

Thinking of you on this snowy day, my dear.

Snow was always your favorite.

-L

Chuck could feel his heart rate increase rapidly, and it took every ounce of his self-control not to slam the vase and flowers against the wall at full-force. Instead, he closed the door behind him and picked the arrangement up, walking to the end of the hall where he knew the trash chute was located. Opening the chute, he tossed the entire arrangement into the darkness. As he heard it hit the bottom with the unmistakable shatter of glass, Chuck almost felt like he could breathe again.

Finding the flowers had been strenuous for him. And he wasn't even the one who had been hurt, abused, tortured. So, what did Blair feel when she found them? Every day, for weeks. Realizing he hadn't moved a muscle in a few moments, Chuck suddenly couldn't bear to be away from her for another second. He rushed down the hall and back to their door, slamming it behind him and locking it swiftly.

He wanted to see her right then, right now, but he knew his breathing was ragged, and he could feel himself trembling slightly, and the last thing he wanted to do was worry her. She had enough to deal with as it was.

You have to calm down.

Chuck found his abandoned glass of scotch and resumed his position in front of the window. He took a large gulp and pressed this forehead against glass, hoping the frostiness would calm the boiling of his blood.

He felt the petite arms wrap around his abdomen and he instantly relaxed into her. "Chuck?" she whispered. "You're tense," she continued when he didn't respond.

Chuck took another sip of scotch before placing the glass on the windowsill. "I just have a lot on my mind," he replied, crossing his arms over hers, his fingers searching for hers.

"I know."

He felt the shadow of a kiss through the fabric covering his shoulder blade. Slowly, he turned to face her. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. Sorry for what? He was unsure. The flowers in general? For lying to her right now? For not believing her about Louis earlier?

Blair shot him a soft smile. "Shhh," she said, loosening the belt of his robe. "Come, Chuck, let's go to bed."

Chuck nodded slowly, his senses slightly dulled from rage and alcohol. But she was clear, she was here, and he'd follow her anywhere. "I love you," his voice was hoarse, ragged.

"I love you, too," she murmured, pushing his silk robe to the floor. "Now, come, show me."

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