AN: Through this all, I had been writing third person from Blair's POV. And that is why some are mad at Chuck, because we couldn't see things from his perspective. I couldn't write Chuck's POV because he was too drunk, too drugged to be coherent. That I am now writing in Chuck's POV should be taken as an element to the story. And yeah, please don't stay mad at him. He's way too lovable.

Part 6

Over and over she could say those words and he would never forget the way his heart clenched every single time. She was stubborn, wouldn't stop, and he wished so bad she never would.

Wherever he was now—whatever this planet was around him, this world that he felt himself trapped within—there was only one voice that pulled him back where everyone else was. And if only for that, despite the myriad ways he insisted he did not want her, Chuck Bass would come every time Blair Waldorf called. He did it after she told him she loved him for the first time, and he found himself waiting in her bedroom in hopes of hearing it another time; he did it when he barged into her hotel after she found him; he did it at the rooftop even when he knew she would play on his undeniable desire.

Anytime he found himself trapped and sinking, her voice pierces right through and he would clutch at those thin threads and pull himself out.

Someday, he thought sleepily as the two of them lay tangled on the mussed sheets, when all was said and done, he would marry her.

His eyes were drooping and his limbs so heavy that he wondered how it was that somehow, he felt like he was only just waking.

Too few women carved their place in his life—his mother, Lily, Serena. All the other women's faces blended together to form one faceless body that he could not even sink into. They came, they laughed, they played, they flirted. But Chuck Bass could not lose himself inside any of them. Not since Blair. Never since Blair. Her body shook in his arms and he knew she was crying silently, afraid that he would know, reluctant to show him that she was hurting now. Too few women mattered enough for him to remember.

Except for this girl. God, he would marry her. He knew it for certain. The moment this was all over, and he did not feel like every breath he took was made of water, he would marry her.

All the others had been effortless. But the way to Blair Waldorf was the most difficult path he ever had to tread. She had run and he had chased her. Now he found himself running so hard, so fast, so unwilling to play the cat and mouse game and still he found her chasing. He pushed her and cheated and tripped her. And she was behind him.

The worst thing you've ever done, the darkest thought you've ever had, I will stand by you through everything.

They were the most beautiful words he had ever heard.

One day, he would marry this girl.

One day he would no longer be destroyed the way he was now, and they would come together. No trying, no crying, they would fall into place like the king and queen in a deck of cards.

The certainty allowed him to sleep.

Someday he would marry Blair Waldorf, and that was the oddest certainty he ever had in his fucked up imitation of life.

He was pressed up behind her, with his member still halfway inside her, limp and spent. She was no longer crying, and he could tell the exact moment she fell asleep when she relaxed in his arms. He found himself placing a kiss on the back of her shoulder. Someday, I'll love you.

And his body sank into the pillows as he waited for sleep to claim him.

Morning came, and he opened his eyes to a world suddenly so bright that with it came a piercing pain in his head. Of course. Cheap alcohol always caused hangovers like this. His first instinct was to reach beside him for the warm body she had fallen asleep against the night before. Chuck's eyes fluttered open and found the empty space beside his.

"Blair," he called. He quickly sat up on the bed. He hissed at the pain in his head at his sudden movement. Chuck stumbled out of the bed and into the bathroom, tripping on the telephone cord on the way. His eyes fell to the discarded clothes piled in the corner. He fell to his knees in front of the porcelain bowl and heaved. The dress was still there. No surprise given that it was still wet. As he threw up liquid contents of his stomach, he felt his strength and languor drain.

Chuck pulled himself up and went to the shower. He rinsed his mouth and spat. And then, he stepped under the shower. The water, as always, was warm, and as it sluiced through his torso, his eyes fell to the tiled floor.

Please. I need it. Please, Blair. I need you.

He grabbed the towel and pulled hard that it pinged on the metal towel rod. Chuck rubbed the water out of his hair and dried himself. He glared at the dirty laundry that he had never bothered to have the motel service picked up. For the first time since he arrived here, he looked in the mirror and took in his appearance as he pulled on a pair of pants and a yellow sweater.

Chuck ran his gaze over the room, his nose turned up, his face turned into a scowl.

Bangkok had dozens of five-star hotels, some even affiliated with Bass Industries. What the hell was he doing in this dive?

Within the hour, he checked himself out of Best City Hotel—when were they ever going to fix those dead lights—and into a hotel that better suited his last name.

Hers.

Chuck rang the doorbell outside her suite, then waited. When there was no response, Chuck rang the bell again.

"She's not there."

He turned and saw Nate walking towards him, then glowered when his best friend took a key card from his pocket and slid it into the slot. Nate entered the room. Before the door shut, Chuck stopped it with his shoe, then stepped inside. "Where'd she go?"

Nate sighed, then grabbed the suitcase from the bottom of the closet. It had not been unpacked. He reached into a drawer and grabbed a handful of Blair's underwear to stuff inside the bag. Chuck walked forward and grabbed the rest, including the lacy bra she had been wearing to Victrola the first night.

"On her flight back to New York," Nate informed his best friend. Chuck stopped breathing. "Finally."

So that was it? This is what she meant when she said she would stand by him through anything.

"Good," Chuck muttered, hoping his voice hid the hurt. "She shouldn't have come."

Nate grabbed the suitcase and zipped it closed. He picked it up and laid it on the floor by the door. "I'm leaving too. Just need to grab her stuff. She wanted to leave so suddenly we didn't even bother picking this up."

"About time you two understood that I don't need anyone."

"You really don't, do you?" Nate asked. Chuck didn't answer. He had come to see one person. She wasn't here, and there was no way he would hang around Nate right now. "Funny thing," Nate continued, and for the life of him, Chuck Bass still couldn't just walk out of a room when his best friend was talking. And so he paused. "Blair Waldorf is the biggest bitch I've ever known."

Chuck's jaw tightened, because even if she was no one was supposed to talk like that about Blair. Not with Chuck around.

"But she stuck with me for ten years even if, and I admit it, I was the worst boyfriend in the world."

Chuck turned his head a little, not enough to look at his friend, but his enough so that Nate would be sure he was being addressed. "You ignored her constantly, kept chasing after a girl who didn't want you while you had a better one waiting around." Chuck remembered all the times that Blair let off steam by talking his ear off about Nate's various lacks. And through it all, he had thought, if that were his girl, he would never do what Archibald did. "You were too full of yourself to notice that underneath that veneer, you were hurting her."

"She stayed for ten years," Nate emphasized. "Obviously whatever I did couldn't have hurt her the way you do."

Chuck faced Nate, then swallowed. "There's a difference between you and me."

Nate let out a laugh, then checked the passport in his pocket. "She stayed for ten years and the only reason we broke up is you. What makes you think she wouldn't stay longer if you gave her a chance?"

"She's already left," Chuck gritted out.

Nate picked up Blair's suitcase, appearing ridiculous even to Chuck because Blair's bag was light pink with mint green trim. "You always thought you were more mature than any of us because of everything you've done that our parents never allowed us to do. You're not. Grow up."

One month later, Chuck stepped out of a familiar elevator and stepped into the richly furnished penthouse apartment that was so simple and stylish that there was no doubt a designer lived there. He would come to her, face her, take the blame. He was in New York, for heaven's sake—the place where the woman who cuckolded his father was, the place where every move he made could be observed by paparazzi who suddenly developed a thousand times more interest in him now that the Bass billions were watermarked into his skin, the place that killed his father.

Then again, this was New York—where he had compared her to a horse, where he stood by idly when her friends brought her down, where he had refused to return her three words.

"Charles, it's good to see you!" He snapped out of his reverie by the cheerful declaration that seemed out of place with his current mood.

Chuck lowered his gaze, and was surprised to see Cyrus grinning effusively. The man extended his hand and the moment Chuck took it, Cyrus had pulled him forward for a quick, warm hug.

"Welcome back, Charles. Glad to see you in New York." Cyrus smiled. "Looking a little tanner. Looks good on you." Of course, Cyrus had last seen him in the funeral, and the paleness was probably from the way he was loaded.

Chuck sputtered, searching for an response, taken aback by the unexpected greeting. He had been prepared to face Dorota and what was undoubtedly going to be Dorota's wrath. Instead, he had a short man hugging him. "I'm looking for Blair."

"Eleanor, look who's stopped by for a visit!" called out the older man towards the kitchen.

Chuck held his breath as he waited for Eleanor to step out. It had been silent for a good long time, and now suddenly it seemed like he were stepping into a frenzy. When Eleanor peered, then stepped outside tying her robe in front of her, Chuck swallowed. "Where's Dorota?" he blurted out.

Eleanor broke into a smile. "Charles!" And he watched as if in a dream as the woman walked towards him with open arms, then enfolded him in a hug. Blair had obviously not told the two about Bangkok. "How are you dealing?" Eleanor asked, patting his cheek as if he were still the foul-mouthed little orphan boy that his daughter sometimes brought home from kindergarten.

Chuck tried not to breathe in Eleanor's perfume, but the woman was all over him and the scent assailed him. It was unfamiliar and uncomfortable to have people surrounding you. Chuck stumbled backwards. "Blair?"

"You just missed her. She and Dorota left about two hours ago."

"Would you like to wait in the living room for them? I have some nice wine that we brought with us from Nice."

Eleanor placed a hand on Cyrus' shoulder. "Darling, he's underage."

"I'm sure Charles can appreciate the value of a fine wine." Cyrus' eyebrows rose, waiting for Chuck's response.

"I'm—I'm not—" Chuck took a step back and hit the call button of the elevator. "I'll come back."

When the doors opened, Chuck stepped in, leaning heavily on the back wall. As the elevator doors closed, and Eleanor's and Cyrus' smiles disappeared, he sighed in relief.

That was absolutely not him.

Lily and his father never looked like that.

When did Eleanor start caring that much?

And were the two of them wearing bathrobes in the middle of the day?

The flashing numbers on the elevator turned to G, and Chuck straightened to get off. And then, the doors slid open with a ding. Chuck turned and saw Blair Waldorf, in dark shades, wearing a thick coat, black tights and flats.

"Mr Chuck!"

Standing beside Dorota.

Chuck searched his brain for the best way to address Blair, after four weeks, knowing what the last week was like before she left. He licked his lips, then asked, "Going up?"

"We were in the hospital," Dorota blurted.

She stayed there, just looking at him, or with her eyes closed—he couldn't tell because her glasses were so dark. What he could tell was she was still for several seconds, and he pressed the open button.

"Why?" he breathed.

And then, Blair hugged her clutch to her chest, then turned her back on him and started walking away.

"Let's go, Dorota," she snapped.

"Blair!" he called as he ran after her. He caught her arms and stopped her. He turned her around to face him. Chuck pushed the sunglasses up her head like a headband and saw her eyes shining with tears and she looked up at him.

She shook her head. "I'm not ready to talk to you yet," she said truthfully. "I didn't even know you're back."

And because he had pled with her to give him time, he couldn't claim not to understand what she needed. "Can we meet tonight?"

Blair took a breath, and released it slowly. "Okay, Chuck."

And by now he recognized, the sad surrender in those words meant she was unconvinced, but would agree to it for him. That was her answer in the shower. "I brought you a gift," he said slowly.

Her lashes lowered. "That fixed a lot of things last year. I'm not sure if it will now."

He clasped her hand, then drew out a medal badge from his pocket. He placed it in her hand and closed her fingers around it. "If this doesn't make a difference, don't meet me," he said, giving her complete control over her choice. He wouldn't plead, because then she would come for him. If she came, it would be for them. "Tonight at eight, in the hotel bar."

It would be hell for him, but it would show her what he needed her to know. He leaned towards her and placed a lingering kiss on her cheek. Then, he walked away.

"What is it Miss Blair?" he heard Dorota ask in a hushed voice.

"I have no idea," Blair answered. "Let's ask Cyrus."

He smiled, and hoped Cyrus Rose knew what 15 days meant on an AA badge.

tbc