'And I'm not gonna take it back

And I'm not gonna say I don't mean that

You're the target that I'm aming at

And I'm nothing on my own

And I love you, please come home.'

Carter was feeling a hundred times better since showering and sleeping in his own bed. Well, sleeping with a certain red-head in his own bed. And spending time out of that goddamn hospital had decided one thing for him - Blair was better off as far away from it as possible. (And away from the doctors and their worried glances, away from the sight of Blair motionless with a drip in her arm, thoughts of suicide started to seem more and more remote). She needed out of there. How the hell were hospitals supposed to make anyone feel better?

Of course, as soon as he started up that squeaky corridor, now, and the hospital smell hit him all over again, so did the fear. That gnawing terror right at the back of his mind, the panic that he'd missed something. He'd left her alone last night. (And hadn't it always been because he was too wrapped up in his own life that he'd missed these things? He'd been out when his parents had died, hadn't even found out till the next morning. He'd been too busy drinking in the Hamptons when Blair had-)

Tish had sleepily told him last night that Blair seemed far too clever to do such a messy job if she really had wanted to kill herself - and anyway, how could anyone about to inherit Waldorf Designs possibly be suicidal?

She'd made it sound so simple. But it was less simple when you were looking at your sister in a hospital bed. Carter exhaled, briefly, before pushing the door open. And then he came to a stop - because his sister was not alone in the hospital bed.

A fully-dressed Chuck Bass - shoes and all - lay curled around her sleeping frame. Carter's immediate reaction was outrage. Because what the hell was he doing, suit and hair far too dark against the white of the sheets, far too close and far too large next to Blair? The bed was narrow enough as it was; he practically swallowed her. And then there was something unsettling about those pale faces, the matching shadows under their eyes, hands intertwined and Blair's brown locks spread across the pillow to mix with his. The Basstard had finally manned up enough to go in, then. (About time). They both looked exhausted. And they both looked completely at peace. For once.

Carter pursed his lips.

Well, no doubt a nurse would come and throw Bass out soon anyway. Carter might as well save his energy. He hoped the nurse was particularly aggressive, he decided as he walked out of the room and left them to it. For now, he reminded himself. Just for now.

Fucking Bass.

Chuck was woken by the buzzing of his phone. It took him a moment to recognise the sound; because the first thing he was aware of as his eyes opened was the body curled into his. The softness of her shoulder under his chin. Her warmth. He shifted, the crick in his neck forgotten as he breathed her in, half asleep. His cell buzzed again and he felt her shift underneath him. What he wanted to do was ignore the damn thing. Fall back asleep with her. Forget anything and anyone else but her.

But the phone carried on.

He stifled a groan and reached between their bodies and into his pocket to retreive the infernal device. Blair made a noise as she woke up, turning to press closer against him so that her face was buried in his chest.

He checked the cell's screen with one arm still wrapped around her.

It was a message from Bart.

Chuck, it read. I have consulted with Evelyn, and she took a flight yesterday to the Dominican Republic. She will remain there for the summer. We both agree that the space will be best for all of us. Please pass my regards on to Blair; your mother is unaware of her current situation. I expect to see you in the office next week. Don't concern yourself with anything in the mean time - the situation has been dealt with. Thank you for all your help.

Brisk and to the point as ever. (Had his secretary sent it?) Chuck just stared for a moment. The Dominican Republic?

"What is it?" Blair murmured from his shirt. She'd felt him pause against her.

And he took a while before answering. "I don't think Evelyn was behind this," he said at last. Your mother is unaware of her current situation - that was what Bart was saying, essentially, wasn't it? Though how his father had even found out - "She's gone." He glanced at the cell again. "Bart convinced her to go to the Dominican Republic."

Blair moved so that she was looking up at him. "How?"

"I don't know." But whatever his father had on Evelyn, it was clearly good.

"Are you pleased?" she asked softly. Her brown eyes were hazy with sleep as they searched him, and her touch was gentle on the side of his face. Understanding. Her fingers traced his cheek and he wanted nothing more than to lose himself in that touch forever.

He finally broke the silence as something settled in his chest. "Relieved." He felt relief. Relief, pure and consuming as the girl before him. She kissed him. He kissed her back and the sensation threatened to burst through his chest as he pulled her closer. Her hand tangled in his hair, the other fisted on his collar. He kissed her deeply, letting the feeling sing through his veins. He forgot his stiff muscles and the cramp in his legs from staying so closely wrapped round her in such a small space - forgot anything other than the glow of her dark eyes and the heat of her body and the taste of her and the sudden elation that gripped him.

There was nothing, he realised. Nothing that was more right than this.

"Chuck," she whispered. She held him tight; and as they gazed at each other, still squashed into that tiny hospital bed like nothing else existed - not the morning light streaming through the window or the lingering scent of disinfectant or the distant nurses making their rounds - he realised that he knew what she was going to say. He knew. "I-"

"Good morning!"

The door sprang open and two blondes tumbled in. And then came to an abrupt stop as they took in the sight before them.

"Oh." Serena's blue eyes were very wide. "Um, hi Chuck."

Both she and Nate were trying and failing not to stare. Nate blinked as though expecting his best friend to disappear at any moment; and Serena looked torn between a wide grin and sheer confusion.

"So," she asked innocently, gaze resting on their still linked hands, "Did you...spend the night?"

Blair rolled her eyes and sat up a little in the bed. Chuck sat up too, shifting to the edge of the matress - though their hands didn't separate. "All right," Blair muttered. "Calm down."

"I'm calm," Serena protested as her grin stretched even wider. Her eyes still looked like they were about to pop out of her head - clearly, she had a million and one questions for her best friend.

"And what exactly merits this early visit?" Chuck enquired before she could blurt any of them out.

Serena and Nate exchanged a glance as their mission was brought back to them. "Questions," Nate informed him quite seriously. "We're going to work out what happened."

"We figured the earlier we started, the better," Serena added. She pulled something out of her bag. "We were discussing it for most of last night."

Blair raised an incredulous eyebrow as she realised the blonde was holding a sheet of paper. "You drew up a...pie chart?" The paper was covered in lists and diagrams.

"Are you surprised?" Serena wondered.

Blair just smirked. "Proud." The two of them grinned at each other.

"Ok," Nate went on. "So we started with a timeline of all the events we could piece together. First of all-"

"We think someone set you up," Serena interupted eagerly. She ignored Nate's noise of protest; he'd wanted to explain their clever process. "And we think," she declared, "That it was Penelope."

"In the drawing room, with the candle stick?" Chuck's tone was dry.

Serena shot him a glare. "With pills. She was the one who conveniently found Blair in her room - she must have put the pills there, or given them to her, to make it look like Blair wanted to take an overdose." She and Nate both seemed quite proud of this conclusion.

"No," Chuck drawled after a mere moment of consideration. "Penelope's not that devious. She may be a bitch, but she's not that clever. Or unhinged." (Unlike his mother, something whispered uneasily at the back of his mind. Bart had seemed very sure that she'd had no part in it - but how did he really know?)

Blair seemed to realise the direction his thoughts were taking; she gave him a little glance. "But that doesn't explain how I got there in the first place," she pointed out. "Or why I can't remember anything before that."

Nate's brow furrowed.

"What's the last thing you do remember?" Chuck asked, slow. Because not remembering anything sounded suspiciously like the effects of a date rape drug. But at a Columbia event? "Did you feel unwell?"

Blair frowned as she struggled to recall. "I...yes." Yes, she realised. "I went outside because I needed some air. I felt dizzy."

Serena looked at Chuck - the same thing had occurred to her. "Nauseous?"

"Yes." Blair paused between the two of them. "What?"

"Did you drink anything from someone you didn't know?" Serena had done the same herself enough times; she was watching her friend with concern now.

Blair shook her head in frustration. "Of course not." She wasn't stupid. Then she stopped. "Well...there were people handing out champage all night. But they were waiters. It was champagne from the staff - everyone was drinking it. Including you," she added defensively.

Serena worried on her lip. "So it could have been anyone," she murmured. "It may not even have been meant for you."

And it still didn't explain how Blair had ended up in her dorm room surrounded by pills."Do you think you might have been trying to make yourself feel better?" Nate suggested as something occurred to him. "When you got back? Maybe you tried to find an aspirin-"

"And pulled down my entire medicine cabinet?"

He shrugged. "It's possible."

"How did you get home?" Chuck enquired. "Can you remember at all?" If she'd been feeling that ill - and if it really had been from the effects of something like ketamine - then he was sure she would have had difficulty getting anywhere far alone. (He didn't like that feeling. Because in that state, anything could have happened to her; to Blair-)

"No," she murmured. "Maybe I called James?"

Chuck was already reaching for his cell to call the guy himself. Blair's own phone was still in her dorm room, forgotten in all the drama.

"Mr. Bass?" James' voice on the other end of the line was anxious once he picked up. "Is everything ok? I heard about Miss Waldorf-"

Chuck assured him that it was all fine. "I was wondering if you remembered taking Miss Waldorf home that night?"

"Yes," James confirmed, sounding even more unhappy. "She wasn't feeling well, but her friend assured me he'd take care of her. I didn't realise she'd had quite so much to drink, or I wouldn't have just left-"

"What friend?" Chuck intercut with a frown. Surely not Penelope? No - James had said 'he'. Blair, Serena and Nate were all staring at him now.

"From school," the driver explained. "Mr. Dalgaard?"

Chuck hung up. His eyes moved slowly to Blair's as it sunk in - and the single name echoed around the hospital room.

"Damien."

Carter gazed between the four of them, arms folded. "So, let me get this straight." His brow was arched. "You're telling me geeky little Damien Dalgaard, the ambassador's son, is actually an international drug-dealer who roofied your drink," he glanced at his sister, "Then kidnapped you to your own room and faked an overdose to...?"

"Cover it up," Nate filled in helpfully.

"Right." There was a flat silence.

"I know it sounds crazy-" Serena attempted, but Blair regarded her brother.

"Carter." Her voice was quiet. "I'm not suicidal." He watched her back. "I never have been." They assessed each other in silence.

"Right," Carter said again, finally. His expression was unreadable. "Excuse me." He turned and strode out of the room.

Serena tossed her best friend a worried look. Well, she figured, at least they'd tried.

Nate scanned the befuddling row of teddies before him. Who knew a hospital gift shop could be so well-stocked? Serena had brought some of Blair's clothes and was helping pick her outfit while the boys picked out some flowers for her room. Or at least, that was what they were supposed to be doing. Chuck hadn't even bothered to search through the carnations - his reponse had been an instant no. He'd already ordered an arrangement from Blair's favourite florist instead.

"Hey," Nate chuckled as a bright green rabbit with a goofy smile caught his eye, "This one's kind of-"

"Tacky," Chuck supplied. He hardly deigned to look at the offending item - his wrinkled nose said it all. "Blair won't want that in the same room as her."

Nate sighed. Well, Serena would have laughed. He might just get it for her anyway. How could anyone not find those little buck teeth hilarious? "Well," he muttered, "I'm glad Blair's not my girlfriend."

Chuck's eyes had narrowed on him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

The blond raised his hands in defense. "Nothing, man." Clearly the subject was still a little sensitive for his best friend. "Just that I think you're one of the only people who knows what she wants." And he felt sorry for anyone else who tried to work that out.

Chuck was silent. Did he know what she wanted? He knew all the small things - the easy things. Her favourite restauarants and novels and movies and plays, operas and music and pieces of jewellery. Clothes that she liked, flowers, her favourite colour. Underwear. He knew exactly what she wanted in bed, always. He knew how she liked to be kissed. He knew her favourite season, her favourite holidays, all her favourite places. He knew each and every one of her moods - when she was angry, or upset, or scared, or excited. He knew how to make her laugh. Knew how to make her cry, too. He knew how to turn her on and how to comfort her. Knew her favourite foods and desserts. Exactly what drink - which wine, which champagne - she would or wouldn't like. Her knew her taste as well as he knew his own. He knew her ambitions and all her dreams. Her fears. He knew her insecurities, knew what worried her and kept her awake at night. He knew her nightmares. He knew her fantasies. He knew exactly who she was, and exactly who she wanted to be.

And he knew who she wanted. It scared him, but he knew who she wanted. He knew what she wanted. And he knew exactly what he wanted. Her. Always her.

Nate was looking at him sideways. "Did you tell her yet?"

A whispered confession while she was asleep didn't count. And what she'd been on the verge of telling him that morning - Chuck's voice stuck uncomfortably in his throat.

"So," Serena pressed. "Did you?"

"Did I what?" Blair feigned obliviousness as she focused on brushing her hair.

Her best friend rolled her eyes heavenwards. "You know what." She was still waiting, expectant.

So Blair eventually released a noise of irritation and put the brush down. "No, I didn't."

"B," Serena wailed. "He spent the whole night in your hospital bed, and you still haven't admitted your feelings for each other?"

"Hey," Blair snapped - but the blonde didn't let her finish. Or let her go on to explain that she might have been about to before a certain interruption that morning.

"Blair," she said impatiently. "You missed him all that time you were in boarding school-"

"I did-"

"Don't even try to deny it!" Serena cried. "You couldn't keep your hands of each other when you got back, you lost your virginity to him, you were sleeping with him for months, you were miserable when you were apart, he was the only one to believe you in all that," she lowered her voice a little, "Bulimia trouble, he went against his mother for you, you couldn't even date other guys because of him, and now you've finally got him to stop running away - and you're telling me, after all that, you can't even admit that you love him?"

"Keep it down," Blair hissed, terrified that Chuck might walk in at any moment.

"Why?" Serena insisted. "He needs to hear it."

"Yes, but not from a conversation with someone else!" Blair took a breath as Serena gazed at her, head titled. She shook her head. "I'm going to tell him, S. But it needs to be at the right time."

"What's wrong with now?"

Blair glared at her. "Other than the fact that I'm in hospital for a suicide I never attempted?"

But Serena refused to let that deter her. "A hospital that he stayed in. All night. All week, in fact." Her mouth curved in triumph - "He hasn't been home since you were admitted."

"So-"

"So life is short," Serena said at last, exasperated. "And don't you think you've punished yourself enough?"

Blair looked up at her best friend. "What do you mean, punished myself?" She had not been punishing herself. What the hell was Serena talking about?

"Living in dorms?" the other girl sighed. "Killing yourself with the internship and your grades and extra-curricular? Keeping your relationship with Chuck a secret? Breaking up with him at all?"

Blair blinked. "I haven't been-"

"B." Serena's tone had suddenly softened as she took the seat next to her bed. "I know you're scared. And I know...I know you want to make Eleanor happy." There were abrupt tears stinging Blair's eyes and she wasn't sure why. Where had they come from, for God's sake? "I know you're never going to stop striving," the blonde smiled a little. "But you can't keep setting all these goals for yourself and telling yourself it's not enough. You're Blair Waldorf," she said, firmly. "That's enough. Whatever you do. Whoever you become. You will always be Blair Waldorf - nothing is ever going to change that." She threaded the smaller girl's fingers through hers. "You're my best friend. And no matter how hard you try to push me away, or how far you try to run - you'll always be my best friend. We're family."

Blair couldn't speak for a moment. So she just held her hand, swallowing.

Serena smiled again and tucked her hair behind her ear. "I love you, B."

"I love you too."

The blonde bumped their noses together. "See," she teased. "That's all you need to say. To him," she added in clarification. Her head was still tilted. "It's not so hard, is it?"

Damien was sulking. He'd been in a bad mood ever since the whole Blair Waldorf mess. Because messy really wasn't him. It just wasn't his style. He was confident that he'd got away with it – he'd heard that Blair was awake, and if accusation were going to be made, then they would have been made by now. Clearly she remembered nothing. But what irritated him was that after all that stress, he hadn't even gained anything. For all his hard work – nothing.

He was done with New York. At least for now. He'd booked a ticket to Paris – and he wasn't planning on returning till he felt a bit less pissed. All those months he'd wasted on Blair – and where had it got him? Panicking in a shitty dorm room with an unconscious girl. Who, he realised now, wasn't even that hot. In fact – she was pretty average. He'd just wanted what he couldn't have. All those times he'd watched her in the shower; hell, he could've watched anyone else. The frigid act that she'd put on (and it had been put on, since it was clear she was a little slut for Chuck Bass) had tricked him into thinking she was more desirable than she really was. He'd probably return in a couple of years and fuck her easily, then wonder what all the fuss had been about. Blair Waldorf was one over-rated, stuck up bitch.

Who he still hadn't managed to sleep with.

He was also in a foul mood because he had dinner with his father that night – and spending any time with the old man was always guaranteed to ruin his day further.

He couldn't wait to get to Paris. Put this all behind him, find new clients and new girls. Hotter girls. French girls.

He was just re-checking the coke supply he had hidden in a hollowed-out Bible when there was knock on his hotel room door. Housekeeping, he thought with even more irritation, were getting later and later. It was gone midday, for Christ's sake. He opened the door to snap at them – and then froze at the figure on the other side.

Carter Waldorf didn't wait for Damien to invite him in. He simply pushed past and into the suite, slamming the door behind him. By the time a stiff Damien had followed him in, the guy was sitting in his silk-upholstered armchair like he owned the place.

"Sit," he invited. His voice was icy.

Damien took the chair opposite. "Carter," he managed. He had to play it cool. "Can I help you?"

The corner of Carter's mouth twisted into flat smile that didn't match his merciless gaze. "I'm going to ask you a question," he said pleasantly. "And you'd better tell the truth." His fingers drummed the armrest, idle.

Damien forced a smile. "Ask away." He had an alibi for the night. He was safe. Carter couldn't possibly -

"What did you to my sister on Saturday night after you drugged her?"

Damien just about managed not to choke. But he was a natural-born liar, he reminded himself. And there was no possible way Blair could have remembered. His airway felt constricted. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Carter continued to watch him. Then he gave a little sigh. "All right."

Damien thought for one wild moment that he'd actually succeeded – but Carter was reaching for his cell. "Sir?" He spoke into the receiver as his cold blue eyes scanned Damien again. "Yes, I'm there now. I'll see you then."

Damien drew himself upright. He couldn't stand not knowing what was going on. "Who were you-"

"No," Carter cut him off smoothly. "I haven't finished asking questions yet. What did you do to Blair, Dalgaard?"

"I told you," Damien snarled. "I have no idea-"

"Just answer the question."

But before Damien could open his mouth to deny it again, his door opened for the second time. And all the blood drained from Damien's face when his father strode in. He did not look impressed. Damien could only watch, numb, as Carter rose to shake the old man's hand. What was his father doing here? Carter had contacted him?

"Thank you for coming."

Lars Dalgaard gave a curt nod as his gaze zeroed in on his son. "What the hell have you done?" he demanded.

"I - nothing!" Damien was fumbling over his words like he always, always did in the presence of his father. Real panic had started to claw at his chest. "He's lying, I-"

He received a backhand from the man, hard. It jerked his head back as Carter watched quite calmly.

"Rape?" Lars hissed. He loomed over his son. "How could you be so fucking stupid?"

Damien could feel himself quivering under his father's gaze. "I didn't rape anyone! I didn't, I swear-"

"Then how do you explain the girl in the hospital?"

"That had nothing to do with me," Damien insisted. It couldn't be traced back to him. It couldn't. "She took an overdose, you know I've never touched drugs." He was a straight A student, he'd been on honour roll. He was polite and charming and helpful -

Carter had nonchalantly got to his feet; he moved, easy, to the other side of the room. Damien didn't understand what he was doing. But then his insides turned to ice when the guy turned back round and he saw what he was holding. The bible. It was almost in slow-motion that Carter tilted the spine of the book, allowing the pages to flutter open and all that white powder to spill in silence to floor. White powder that drifted everywhere, coating every surface as Lars' nostrils flared in sheer fury and he started to shake his son hard enough that Damien thought his head would snap off.

"You better start telling the truth!" he roared with every shake. And Carter still watched impassively.

"I didn't rape her," Damien gibbered. "I swear, I swear I didn't - I put something in her drink, and she had a bad reaction, and I freaked out - I left her, I left her - I didn't touch her! I swear, I didn't touch her!"

"Oh - you swear, do you?" Lars sneered. His grip hadn't losened one bit. "Are you going to swear that in court?"

Damien turned to Carter, desperate. "I didn't touch her. I didn't touch her, ok? She was unconscious - that wasn't supposed to happen - I didn't touch her. I put the pills around her to make it look like an accident - but I never touched her. I didn't rape her. I didn't!"

Carter just cocked his head. "Why should I believe you?" he enquired without emotion.

"Because - she was unconscious. I don't do unconscious girls." His father's fingers bit into his shoulders. "And Penelope came in," Damien struggled wildly. "I wouldn't even have had time - ask Penelope! I didn't touch her! Dad," he added in vain. "It wasn't rape."

Lars' face was inches from his own. "You'd better hope for your sake," he growled, "That it wasn't."

Carter considered a while longer before giving a little nod. "Well, I can see that the two of you need a conversation. I'll be on my way."

Lars still had one hand clenched on his son's shirt as he shook in Carter's hand in his other. "My apologies again." His hard eyes flickered back to the boy and Damien gulped in fear. "Don't worry. I will be dealing with my son."

Cater left them to it. He closed the hotel room door behind him on Damien's snivelling - and the last thing Damien saw was his brief, pitiless smile.

"I love it," Serena laughed, scrunching her face up at the stuffed green monstrosity. Blair only just managed to keep her repulsed expression in check. What had Nate been thinking? But unfortunately Serena's enthusiasm was not faked; both she and Nate were cooing over the hideous thing.

"It's...different," Blair agreed.

Nate grinned at her. "Don't worry. Chuck's just picking up your flowers from the desk."

Blair breathed a sigh of relief. "They're not-"

"They're not carnations," Nate sighed. The brunette smiled and settled against her pillow contentedly.

Chuck was on his way back up the corridor with the peonies when he saw Carter. The other guy had the grim light of satisfaction in his eyes that Chuck knew all too well - it was the light of vengeance.

"You spoke to Dalgaard?" he ventured with a raised brow.

"Better," Carter smirked back. "I spoke to his father. Let's just say I don't think he'll be seeing the light of day for quite some while."

Chuck paused for a moment. He almost didn't want to ask the next question. "Did anything-"

"I checked with James and Penelope," Carter stopped him brusquely. "He was only with her in the apartment long enough to position all the pills."

Chuck released the breath he didn't know he'd been holding. Truthfully, he was disappointed he hadn't been there to see Damien's demise himself. But he knew that, he and Blair aside, Carter was the best person to execute revenge. If Carter wanted someone gone, then they were gone. The two boys carried on down the corridor in silence, pausing only when they got to Blair's room.

"So...she can leave?" Chuck knew she'd be over the moon.

"I need to speak to that shrink," Carter sighed. "Though they might have a hard time swallowing any of this." Plus he was quite sure Blair wouldn't want what had actually happened to get out - it looked like the hospital might be due a hefty donation. He paused as his eyes lingered on the bouquet Chuck was still holding. "I hope you don't think you're going to win her back with a bunch of flowers."

Chuck's lips twitched, wryly. As if. "Of course not."

Carter regarded him. "Good." He went to push in front to get to his sister's room first; and the he paused for a moment, glancing back. "Oh, and Bass? Hurt her again," he bared his teeth, "And you'll wish you were Damien Dalgaard."

"So." Carter studied his sister. "How are you feeling?"

It was just the two of them in the room - Carter had sent the others out to get dinner, although he highly doubted they'd be away for too long.

Blair looked thoughtful. "Disappointed," she reflected. "I wish I could've seen Damien's face. Or at least played a bigger role in his takedown." Carter rolled his eyes; she smiled, faintly, at him. "Thank you."

"Oh," he murmured, "It was my pleasure."

Blair shifted in her bed. "No, I mean...thank you for believing me." Her brown eyes were serious this time, her voice quiet. "I mean it."

Carter exhaled, jaw sliding briefly. "I should have believed you from the beginning," he admitted at last. It came out very tight - Carter was not accustomed to admitting he'd been wrong. Ever.

"Well, no argument there."

Her brother gave her a quick glower. "You could have been more honest about certain things," he pointed out archly. "You can't lie that convincingly and then expect me to somehow know when you choose to tell the truth."

He watched Blair purse her lips. "There are some things-"

"I'm talking about the nightmares and therapy," he intercut. And he then pulled a face. "Not whatever you get up to with Chuck." Her mouth twitched, and they were both quiet for a moment.

Then; "I'm sorry too." She looked up at her big brother. "I...should have told you." Carter just nodded - but his eyes, for once, had almost softened. The situation was verging dangerously close to heart-to-heart - a little too close for any Waldorf.

Fortunately they were interrupted by the chime of Carter's phone - he was quick to glance down at the screen. "Tish wants to come over." Blair noticed that the softness in his gaze hadn't entirely disappeared.

"To see me?" she queried. "Or you?"

His scowl was instant. "You, of course."

Blair sent him a perfectly guileless smile. "Of course."

Blair had been told she'd be staying in one more night for observation - and then, finally, she'd be free to go. She could hardly wait until morning came. But the truth was that she was feeling quite exhausted by the time night crept up. Tish had only just left, followed by Serena and Nate. She'd convinced Carter to spend the night at home again; her brother had made some kind of pointed comment about no non-family members being allowed to stay the night before he'd gone. Blair, of course, had rolled her eyes and ignored the comment.

Her head sank back against the pillow now as the lights outside dimmed. She'd planned on staying awake, but...

She was half awoken - she didn't know how long later - by a familiar weight on the hospital mattress. She shifted into his body, head seeking the hollow of his throat. He smelt of cologne and a freshly pressed shirt, soft against her cheek.

"You changed," she said sleepily.

"As requested." His voice was a rumble against her. She wanted to drink him in, even in the dark, but sleep was threatening to engulf her again. She had to tell him, she remembered.

"Chuck..."

Surely the nurse had been lying when she'd said the medicine was non-drowsy. Bitch. Tomorrow, she swore as she nestled closer to the warmth of Chuck's body. She would tell him tomorrow. First thing tomorrow.

Chuck felt her head loll against him in sleep. He really had been planning on telling her, this time, when she was awake.

Blair awoke the next morning to an empty bed, rather than Chuck's familiar heat – and to the irritated scowl of that bitch nurse instead of Chuck's dark eyes. "Miss Waldorf," she started sternly. "I just caught a young man sneaking down your corridor. You know that we have a very strict policy for visitors-"

"I'm aware," Blair snapped back. Had Chuck heard the woman coming and made his escape? "I have no idea who you're talking about." It was clear that the woman didn't believe her for a second - but Blair was well past caring. Because as of today, she suddenly remembered, she was free. She pushed aside the slightly hollow sensation that Chuck's absence had left. The nurse was prattling away about breakfast now. As if Blair was ever going to touch hospital food again. "I won't need any," she cut the woman off, sweetly. "Thanks. I should be getting picked up in about an hour."

"What?" The bitch stared at her. "That's impossible. You're not due for discharge till you've seen Dr. Newman for another consultation."

Blair's smile back was quite sanguine. "Ask at the desk. I'm leaving today." And, as the nurse became even more indignant - "Maybe now this hospital will be able to afford a decent psychiatrist."

She watched the nurse's eyes widen in realisation, and then watched her as she stormed away, muttering under her breath, with a wide smirk.

Serena grinned as she stood behind her best friend, both of them scrutinizing her reflection in the hospital mirror. The sooner she got away from this fluorescent lighting, Blair decided, the better. But it felt good to be out of a hospital gown and in her own clothes - and to know that she was actually going somewhere in them. Black floral dress, tights, pumps; a green cape and even her pearls. She felt a little more like Blair Waldorf again.

She felt...in control. She felt good.

"Ok," Serena informed her. "Carter says he'll get out of the lawyer's meeting as soon as he can - he should be there by the time we get back to your penthouse."

Blair nodded. She could not wait to be sleeping in a properly sized bed again. Her eyes strayed briefly to the narrow mattress - to the imprint she was sure Chuck's body had left next to hers.

And she faltered. She felt in control. But there was something else - something in her stomach. Fluttering. Fluttering. She was free. Free to walk out there and do whatever she wanted; free to find him and tell him. Her hands strayed to her hair as she suddenly realised she knew what she wanted to do first. What she needed to do.

"Serena." She breathed out. No more postponing. No more excuses. She knew what she wanted - and nothing, nothing, was going to get in her way. "I want to stop of at Chuck's place first."

Serena's face brightened in surprised delight. "You mean-"

"I'm doing it. Now." She straightened her skirt. "I'm going to tell him how I feel."

The sun was dazzlingly bright as Blair and Serena exited the hospital. And Blair let the fresh air fill her lungs, greedily inhaling the cool spring breeze, the roar of traffic, the hard conctrete of the sidewalk. God, it felt so good to finally be out. She never wanted to be hospitalized again, she decided. Ever. She glanced from the familiar hulk of towering skyscrapers to the waiting limo -

And the figure.

The figure standing by the limo, dressed in a suit and holding a bunch of peonies.

Her heart caught in her throat.

She wasn't even aware of Serena grinning at her side anymore - she'd already left the blonde behind, was already closing the distance between them as she stared. Drank him in. The sunlight gleaming off his dark hair and his quiet smirk. And then she was in his arms, peonies crushed between them and her hands twined around his neck as she gazed up at his face, grabbed him tight.

"What are you doing here?"

His own hands had fastened around her waist. "Blair." He breathed out her name as their foreheads touched, eyes swallowing her. "I-"

"I love you, Chuck." It tumbled out as she held onto him. Her gaze shone, her breath trapped. "I love you."

Her smile lit up her whole face - she'd finally said it, and why hadn't she realised before that they were the easiest words in the world? - and he laughed, quietly. Their noses brushed. "I love you too," he murmured against her skin. The words trembled between them. He loved her. He loved her, he loved her.

And then, finally, they were kissing.

Hello! Erm...remember me? I am so, so, so sorry that I've been away from fanfic and haven't updated ANY of my stories for so ridiculously long. I'm afraid real life got in the way :( I feel awful for making anyone reading this wait for literally months - but I just wanted to say thank you so much for all the lovely PMs, reviews and alerts I got in the meantime; I had a wonderful surprise when I finally logged in last week. So, this is finally - FINALLY - the penultimate chapter of this fic; an epilogue will follow! (Hopefully in a much, much shorter space of time!) So if there are any readers still out there, please accept my very humble apologies...and thank you hugely for your patience. I am also just about to put up another chapter of 'Old Yellow Bricks'. 'In This City', however, may take a little longer as I need to get back into writing it :s but I promise, none of these stories will be abandonned. Sorry, sorry and thank you again!