Bright rays of light are seeping through her blinds, happily dancing on the walls of her room. She is still in bed, following the flickers of light with tired eyes, and she can't help but find it a little funny that today is apparently one of those perfect, radiantly beautiful days of spring and she is busy.

Busy with slowly but surely losing her mind.

Two more nights of barely any sleep have passed since the dress fittings at Serena's place. Last night she found herself once again sitting in the dark, eyes wide open, drowning in aching, gut-wrenching guilt. When she finds her expression positively zombie-like as she examines herself in the bathroom mirror, she makes up her mind.

This has to stop.

She frowns at the sudden whirl of giddy fluttering in the pit of her stomach as the thought crosses her mind. Working fuelled by determination she gets dressed in a hurry, and then does her makeup and her hair before leaving the Waldorf apartment.

She was sure she would find him in his office, but he isn't there.

When his secretary informs her that; "Mr Bass will not be coming to work today, he has cleared his schedule for the entire day." She is more than a little confused and leaves the secretary mid-sentence.

From what she has heard, 'Chuck Bass - CEO' is not one to fail showing up at the office, or take a personal day on a whim.

"Chuck is not at his office, and his secretary says that he has taken a personal day. Has something happened?"

She doesn't bother with pleasantries when Serena answers her phone, and her best friend is quiet for a few seconds before she replies.

"No B, nothing has happened." Serena reassures her, though she sounds a little hesitant. Clearly the blonde knows something that she doesn't.

"Then why isn't he at work, where he should be?" She questions, needing to get her plan over and done with before she loses her nerve.

"Blair… Don't you know what day today is?"

She scowls, quickly growing tired of her friend's sudden interest in guessing games.

"It's Ma…"

She doesn't need to finish the sentence before it hits her.

"Oh." She breathes, standing on the street right outside the Bass Industries headquarters. "I forgot."

"That is why. "An amount of concern in Serena's voice that Blair knows she would never allow her step-brother to hear. "Some things don't change that easily, I guess."

"Right." She waves down a cab. "I'll have to look for him elsewhere then."

She quickly hangs up before Serena has a chance to object.

He lets out a deep breath, absent-mindedly tracing the outline of the lilies' petals with his index finger as the limo makes a final turn and then comes to a halt.

By now he has become somewhat accustomed to the dull ache in his chest on days like this one. It doesn't hit him like a sucker punch, causing him to nearly loose his breath, as often as it used to do. And he rarely feels the need to drown the feeling in amber liquid anymore. Besides, he learned a long time ago that some things fucking float. Some feelings, that is. He might be Chuck Bass, but not even he can break the laws of physics.

Today he almost welcomes the feeling though. It offers him the chance to focus on something other than the ashes left over from his last conversation with Blair.

Almost.

A last deep breath – preparing himself for what is to come – before he opens the door and steps out into the dazzling sunlight.

She is a little surprised to find that she remembers the route so well, despite the fact that it has been years since she was last here. She pays the cab-driver and doesn't bother with asking him to stay and wait for her to return. She is going all in this time, and she is burning her last bridge back to safety on purpose by handing the driver a couple of crisp dollar notes.

She walks the last yards, her heels clicking happily against the pavement and interrupting the silence. There is not a single person in sight; the place is seemingly empty except for her and the birds that are singing in the trees. She is grateful for that, until she finds herself standing on the hill and looking out over a very, very empty field. There is no limo in sight, and no-one standing by the headstone below the tree.

Startled she looks around in search of him. She had been sure she would find him here.

Being sure hasn't gotten you very far today, has it?

Perhaps she should have checked his apartment, or Victrola or some other alcohol-providing establishment in the city. But she had been so sure that here is where she would find him next.

Beginning to regret her decision not to have the cab waiting for her, she pulls her phone out of her bag to call for another one, when an idea crosses her mind. Call it a hunch. Or maybe it is serendipity. But she finds herself putting her phone back in her bag. She then takes a turn and walks down another path, hoping her memory serves her right this time around as well.

When she spots the familiar figure a bit further ahead - as well as the black limo parked close by - she is relieved and more than a little surprised.

He takes one last look of the single, white lily before he turns around and walks away.

One, single flower. Never a bouquet. The thought has barely ever crossed his mind. It doesn't matter that Bart Bass has been dead for years now. He still can't find it in himself to bring the man a bouquet of flowers.

It would be too much, too weird, too un-Bass.

Had his father been around, he wouldn't have been that shocked if the old man had scoffed at this small gesture anyways. He assumes it is a little sappy, and the first couple of times he almost did it in childish spite. Bringing one single flower from the bouquet of flowers he left with his mother in a way of saying "Look who's making the calls now, old man."

Besides, he doesn't bring flowers that often anyways.

Walking across the lush, emerald grass he looks up towards the limo, and his heart skips a beat. He blames the date of today for not noticing her earlier. Not sensing her presence or feeling her eyes on him until this moment.

Perhaps he should be offended by the invasion of privacy, but finds that he isn't. After all, the fact that he is even here at all, is all thanks to her.

"I didn't know you came here too." She admits softly once he is standing in front of her.

It wasn't what she planned to say as an opening line, far from it, but she is too puzzled by this latest turn of events to say anything else. This is a new Chuck, a version of Chuck she doesn't know that well.

She has spent so much time being angry with what she thought was the 'old' Chuck, only to realize that he had indeed ceased to be that version of himself. And now she's come to see him, only to find him having changed again, grown more.

It hurts, but there is also a part of her – no matter how reluctant she is to admit it – that wants to laugh and throw her arms around his neck and tell him how proud she is, and that she understands how huge of a deal it is for him to be here. She doesn't though.

He doesn't reply at first, but as their eyes meet she can see the whirlwind of emotions hidden beneath his calm and collected appearance.

For the first time since she returned to New York – or since that dreaded night a long time ago – she looks into his eyes and really sees him, and as he looks back at her so does he.

No anger or blasting hate is shielding their senses, rendering them blind to what is right there for both of them to see.

He isn't tirelessly keeping his walls intact and the mask in place and neither is she.

"…this is your entire fucking fault!"

The words escaped his lips in acombination of a hiss and a scream, as he paced back and forth in barely contained fury. He had been there a while now – pacing, yelling and cursing fierily – fuelled by more than a fair amount of alcohol.

"You useless, pathetic, son of a bitch!" He continued, gesturing vividly as he marched back and forth continuously in the snow that was covering the now wilted grass.

"This," He snapped and came to a halt, making a gesture towards himself, "is all your doing! You…"

An older couplewalking by gave him the most disapproving looks that reminded him of the unorthodox nature of his behaviour - but he only shot them a murderous glare in return.

"You were never there when I needed you. Never!" He spat,continuing with his tireless pacing and the menacing glares.

"You fucked me up!Now everything is shot to hell, and surprise! - You're still not here! This is your entire fault! And you have to fix this, because I don't know what to do!" He yelled and facing the dark, wet marble half-covered in snow he let out a frustrated roar.

The feeling of defeat and loss was suddenlyoverwhelming, and he found himself struggling to keep back the tears that started to burn in the corners of his eyes. It didn't matter that he was completely alone in the vast field, standing in front of a very inanimate headstone that was not likely to mock or comment on his lack of self-control. It didn't matter.

For a while focused entirely on notletting one of those treacherous drops of sorrow spill down his cheeks, he clenched and unclenched his fists repeatedly, his jaw set so hard it begun to ache.

Then he let out a ragged breath and his whole posture slumped.

"I don't know what to do…"He repeated once more, this time in a barely there whisper..

"Dad?I need you to tell me what to do."

Guilt. Sadness. Determination. Pride? Warmth?

It is all in her eyes, and he briefly looks away before he replies;

"What are you doing here?"

The question doesn't escape his lips in a sneer or a hateful growl - words produced with the lone intention to scorn and hurt – but in a tired and honestly curious tone.

What are you doing here?

Suddenly she isn't so sure anymore. Like that day in Central Park, the words aching to be said are too many and too important. Though this time she looks him straight in the eyes, hoping to find something there to give her the courage that she needs to swallow her pride and get what she came to say off her chest.

Confusion. Sadness. Hesitance. Curiosity? Warmth?

It is all in his eyes. Having found what she was searching for, she fills her lungs to the rim with oxygen, and braces herself for what is to come. Then, still looking him straight in the eyes;

"I am sorry."

The lump lodged in her throat grows bigger, making it hard to breathe, and she can feel it swell and reach her eyes.

But she refuses to cry. She has cried enough in front of him these last couple of weeks, and she doesn't deserve to this time. She is the villain in this chapter of the story, and crying now in this round of the game - that never really was a game to begin with - would be unfair.

"I am so sorry." She breathes and has to bite her lip to keep it from trembling while she waits for him to say something – anything – in return.

Seconds pass and she is beginning to feel light-headed, her breathing rapid and shallow.

Then he finally looks back at her, and nods in acceptance. The look in his eyes cancels out the harsh nature of the gesture.

He can feel something inside of him tug. Not snap and break the way it does when your world stops and the hurt cuts like a knife, but in the way two cogwheels are reconnected and something that was once broken is jolted back to life. He should probably offer her a scornful comment in reply. Make her grovel or simply refuse to accept her apology, but he doesn't.

He is too tired of this. Too tired of them like this.

She is close to crying, he can tell. But she doesn't. Before she would have, be it six years ago or two weeks ago, there would have been tears pouring down her cheeks. Maybe not from knowing the effect it would have had on him, but from self-pity and loss of pride. She would have cried for her own sake.

But this time she doesn't cry, even when she has to bite her lip so hard the skin around her teeth turns white from the effort to hold it back.

"I am sorry too."

He is amazed by how collected he sounds. How every word that is coming out of his mouth is true and honest.

A wave of surprise flashes by in her tear-filled eyes, and then she nods, mimicking his gesture from earlier.

"I really am so sorry," She continues seconds later. "I should never have…"

"Don't." He interjects, cutting her off mid-sentence. "Not now."

She stops immediately, and he knows that she can tell how truly exhausted he is.

"Not now." He repeats. "Some other time."

"Yeah." She agrees. "Not today."

"Can I offer you a ride back?"

"You sure?"

No, not at all if he is to be completely honest. A negative answer to her question would have been the easy way out for him, and once again he finds himself astounded by this new Blair standing in front of him, offering him a way out.

"Yes, I am sure."

"Then yes, I would." She replies, offering him a hint of a smile.

They ride together in silence after he informs his driver of the new route. He finds himself glancing over at her constantly, eyeing her cautiously from the side.

She looks as exhausted as he feels, and equally at ease with the fact that the silence between them isn't screaming bloody murder.

When the limo comes to a stop outside her building, he is the first one to get out.

"So…" He begins, suddenly nervous.

"So" She replies, fidgeting with the shoulder strap of her bag. "I guess I should get going."

"Do you want to come to dinner tonight?"

Once again he seems to have no proper control over his own vocal chords. But on second thought he doesn't mind. When the corner of her lips tugs into a broader version of the hesitant smile from earlier, he is even more positive that actually - he doesn't care at all. Who needs brain-to-mouth coordination anyways?

"Not like…I don't know…" He stutters, and scolds himself inwardly. Maybe a little control would be preferable after all. "Everyone's coming…Serena made the reservations."

"I'd like that." She admits. "I will call Serena and ask her for the details."

He nods in agreement before she turns and walks towards the entrance of the building. Right before he slams the door shut, he can hear her call out for him.

"Chuck?"

"Yeah?"

"Happy Birthday."

tbc