Blair flexed her ankles, lifting her Miu Miu heels off the floor until she felt a stretch in her calves. She adjusted the laptop balanced on her thighs and quickly typed the last sentence to her second European history essay. Nate had sent her the Beowulf paper Chuck had left at his place last year and she thought she'd done a halfway decent job of mimicking Chuck's writing style. She liked thinking about what he would say and how he would have said it, and she could almost see his self-satisfied smirk. She skimmed the text before hitting print--the commentary on the industrialization of Europe and the failed opportunity to capitalize on the American line system was especially Chuck-like.

Nate had raised his eyebrows at her when he handed over the paper. "It's sweet, Blair, but are you sure you—" and she'd cut him off. Was she sure? Months after the break-up, she found it hard to believe that she'd spent years with Nate. His blue eyes were beautiful, that much was certain, but the appeal was gone. He was too shiny for her now, too new and naïve, easily outraged with shallow emotion.

Chuck had been gone for three weeks and missed four days of school—well, five, unless he showed up today. Blair printed the essay and slid it into her tote, glancing at her reflection in the mirror and smiling brightly at herself, practicing. She was wearing the pink orchid headband from Lily and Bart's wedding, and the patent flowers gleamed against her dark hair. It wasn't healthy, she knew it wasn't, to keep wearing the things that reminded of him. She'd even worn the Erickson Beamon necklace to bed one night with a silk negligee, dreaming of him walking into her room and sliding between the sheets with her, touching her neck and kissing her shoulders. She shook her head and slipped past Dorota, making the final adjustments to her outfit in the elevator.

Serena was waiting in the lobby and chattered brightly when they slid into the chauffeured car, courtesy of Lily's inheritance. She turned her attention back to Serena, who was once again predictably torn between Artist Step-bro and Cabbage Patch. Blair was bored. It was such a bland problem, like picking which brand of vanilla ice cream was best.

"And Aaron's great. I mean, the trip was so romantic, and I felt terrible about leaving you, but I just had to see what it would be like," Serena explained.

"S." Blair put her hand over her friend's and Serena startled at the gesture. "I'm sorry, but I can't hear about this right now."

"Sorry, B." Serena gave her that small smile. Her pity smile, Blair noted, but she didn't care. Chuck's voice was still ringing through her head from the night she'd spent drafting his history essay. She could almost hear him say her name and whisper those three lines that had haunted her for weeks. "I'm sorry for everything. You deserve much better. Don't come looking for me."

"Where do you think he went?"

"B?"

"I mean it. He isn't anywhere that Gossip Girl is reporting. We know he went to Thailand and then came back to New York. Do you think he stayed here?"

"B, I don't know. Maybe he's at one of Bart's buildings, or even his Palace suite. But I don't know--Mom checked it two weeks ago and room service said they hadn't made a delivery."

Blair looked out the window at Constance Billard. She knew Chuck. He would have paid off room service to keep quiet.

"Can you turn these in for me?" She unbuckled her bag and gave Serena the history essays. "And can I borrow your car?"

The blonde pressed her lips together and nodded. "Just… be careful."

Blair nodded, and they both knew it was a lie, but Serena swung her legs out of the car and shut the door.

Blair fixed her headband and spoke sharply. "The Palace."

***************

She managed to slip past security by pretending she'd left a scarf at Serena's penthouse, and now she was outside suite 1812. Blair reached into her purse and removed the keycard she'd had since Bart Bass's funeral. She breathed in, one quick deep breath, and opened the door.

It was dark inside. The drapes were closed and she maneuvered carefully through the suite. Empty bottles and broken glass littered the floor and her heel crunched down on shards of crystal. She made her way over to the bedroom and pushed on the half-open door. Her breath caught in her throat and her hands tensed in front of her. A beat passed and she breathed again, a shaky gasp that she tried to smooth into a steady stream of air. She told herself to stay calm, to stay strong, but her heart was beating out an allegro song.

Chuck Bass was sprawled across the bed. His right arm dangled off one side and his fingertips were inches away from a nearly-empty bottle of scotch. He was wearing a rumpled white t-shirt and the cashmere pajama pants that she recognized as a gift she'd given to him for their trip to almost-trip to Tuscany. She set down her purse and removed her coat.

The bed creaked when she crawled across it and she sat next to Chuck. He breathed in and out shallowly, and his eyelashes flickered in the bits of sunlight creeping in from the spaces in the drapes. Blair reached out her hand and stroked his forehead. He turned his face to her and his eyes stayed closed. She gently touched his forehead again and smoothed his hair before he caught his hand in hers and opened his eyes.

"I told you not to look for me."

His voice was steely and he was gripping her wrist tightly, but his eyes were soft caramel rimmed in red and she hated that it'd taken her this long to disobey his request.

"I told you I love you." Her voice was stronger than she'd expected.

He let go of her wrist and sat up, turning his back to her. She wanted to touch him, to hold him in her arms again, but she resisted and laid her hands flat on her thighs. The quiet hung in the room.

"How can you love me?" His question was less than a whisper, but she'd been waiting for any words and heard each letter. She rose off the bed and walked over to him, placing her hands on his head and stroking his hair.

"Chuck," she said, and she couldn't help it, her voice wavered and a tear slipped down her cheek. In an instant he was standing and she was in his arms.

His touch was light, but his hands were on her waist and she felt feverish all over. He was hot against her, and his stubble brushed against her cheek as he touched his face to hers. She touched his back before moving her fingers up to brush through his hair, and he stumbled against her. His hands tightened on her waist for a moment and then he pushed her away.

Blair twisted her ruby ring around her finger and watched him. He was still standing, but he was crumbled over and his gaze was fixed to one side. She stepped toward him again and he tried to step back, but his legs hit the bed and he reached out instinctively and caught Blair's waist. They toppled onto the mattress and she pressed her weight on top of him. He stilled.

"Chuck Bass," she whispered, and he turned his face to her and she saw that flicker in his eyes, that softening from the night he'd knelt before her at her dressing table. "How can you ask me that?" He was watching her now, and he looked like that night at the Victorla, when he'd asked her if she was sure in the limousine. But she was sure, she'd been sure for months now and she thought maybe she'd always known.

"I love you," she said and his eyes welled up. "I love you," she said again, and Blair's voice sounded stronger even to herself. "I love your hands and the way you look at me, I love your disgusting comments, I love your scarves and bow ties, I love the way you raise your eyebrows and how you glare, I love the way you walk, how you put your hands in your pockets, how you manage to use your limo's automatic windows to dramatic effect." She was smiling now and his face relaxed, and he looked like a little boy in his white t-shirt. "And I love you, Chuck Bass, because I do. Because I think I always have, and I know—" her voice wavered, but she continued, "I know I always will."

"Blair," he rasped, and he drew her to him. He touched her lips and sat up, holding her close to him. "You don't want me," he protested, but his words were weak. "You deserve better," he repeated, but his hands were touching her back and his body leaned into hers.

"I don't want better," Blair whispered, "I want you."

And then he laughed. She gasped happily and kissed him mid-laugh and his lips curved under hers as he kissed her back with soft, quick pecks. She drew back and smiled at him and they were there, Chuck and Blair, and he was looking at her with those red-rimmed eyes and she knew he was on his way home.

***************

She woke suddenly, tangled in the bedsheets of suite 1812. Her headband was on the nightstand and her clothes were rumpled, and he was gone. She closed her eyes and willed herself not to panic, and when she opened them again her pupils adjusted to the darkness as she slid off the bed. She pushed open the door to the living room and spoke his name, more a wish than a question.

"Chuck?"