A/N - I know, everyone knows how the story goes from here. But I had to give it the proper ending :) This is the last chapter. Thank you again for all you reviews!

Chuck had Arthur pick him up from the airport.

He debated, for a second, going back to his suite first - but by now the butterflies were driving him insane. All he wanted to do was see her. Chuck Bass rarely, if ever, wore his shirts loosely buttoned without a tie, but going home to pick out another suit would take too much time. He still freshened up in the limo, combing back his hair, straightening his suit. However great his desire to see her, he wouldn't do so looking disgusting; it was Blair, after all, and he was Chuck.

He laid out the gifts on the seat. Her favourite things. Of course it wasn't enough. He couldn't just show up with gifts and expect everything to be all right. But there was all the proof he needed, that there was nowhere he could go that she wouldn't catch up with him. Buying her favourite things had been the only satisfaction he'd got from any of Europe. He remembered what he'd told her at his father's wedding. When she'd stared at him, surprised, teasing; "Chuck Bass is a romantic. Who knew?"

Now you do. And that's all that matters.

She was the only person he would ever want, ever need, to be romantic for.

"Arthur," he called suddenly. "We have one stop to make first."

If he was going to give her gifts, they had to be nothing short of perfect. She didn't deserve any less.

They stopped at her favourite florist. He picked out a selection of pink peonies, making sure they were wrapped flawlessly.

But as he was getting back into his limo, he received a text. A Gossip Girl blast. After the last disastrous one, he was half tempted not to read it. But the topic - A New Queen - caught his attention. Of course it did. He opened it, and the first thing he saw was Blair.

Somebody had snapped a photo of her with Jenny Humphrey and a jeweled headband. Her crown. The corners of Chuck's mouth turned up as he read the text, grinning to see Blair's smirk. She'd put the mean girls in their place, as was only right; reclaimed her authority in a final blow like only she could, reminding them all that she was queen for a reason. He agreed with her choice, of course; Jenny Humphrey would make a good successor, even if she wasn't quite Blair. Even if she did come from Brooklyn. Chuck hadn't forgotten that little Humphrey had been the trigger forcing him to face up to his real problem; the fact that he'd lost Blair. And she'd actually won Blair's respect last year. That, if nothing else, made her a worthy choice.

The photo had only just been taken, and from the looks of it, Blair was in the yoghurt bar near their school. And now that she'd accomplished her mission, Chuck knew she wouldn't be hanging around. She would probably be on the way home by now.

He gave Arthur new instructions, his heart practically pounding. But with it was determination. The last three times he had bought Blair flowers, they had ended up in the trash. And he was going to make sure she got them this time.

He stood in front of his limo, gifts in his hands, watching the crowds of people. Waiting. He'd told her the limo was sacred, and it was. Not just because of their first night - it was where she'd first told him she loved him. Three words, eight letters. Except this time, he wasn't going to run away.

Finally, finally, he saw her, and he had to fight to keep the stupid smile off his face just at the sight of her. He could've sworn his heart skipped a beat.

She saw him, and her pace slowed. Stopped. He saw the shock, the sheer disbelief on her face. She stared at him. Then she swallowed, forcing herself to speak, and her voice was tight. Almost accusing.

"Why aren't you in Europe?"

He moved towards her, controlling himself, because the hurt in her eyes was agonising.

"I was in Paris," he said slowly, trying to keep his voice steady. It was hard when all he wanted to do was bury her in his arms. He held out the box instead. "But only to get your favourite macaroons from Pierre Herme."

She eventually took the box, stunned, eyes widening. He'd caught her off guard again. He'd seen it though; the briefest hint of a shocked smile.

"And Germany?" she asked carefully, confused, eyes never leaving his. Like she still couldn't believe it. He held out another box.

"To pick up your favourite Falke stockings." That trace of a smile crossed her face again, amazed, and he smiled. Lowered his voice, gentle. "You know how I adore them."

He knew what he was saying. He saw the shadow cross her face at the reminder, and her guard went back up as she remembered her anger. The pain hadn't gone.

"What are you doing here, then?" Her voice was quiet, stiff.

No more pretending. No more distracting with gifts. Chuck gazed straight back at her, as serious as she was now.

"You were right," he said flatly. "I was a coward, running away again." Her gaze lowered, pain still in her eyes. "Everywhere I went," he went on softy, almost wryly, "You caught up with me." Swallowed. "So I had to come back."

She breathed out. "I want to believe you," she muttered at last, gaze flickering away, "But I can't." Looked up at him again, aching. "You hurt me too many times."

But he wasn't going to give up this time; wasn't going to let her get away.

Because in the face of true love, you don't just give up. Even if the object of your affections is begging you to.

She hadn't given up. And he needed to show her, needed to prove to her that he never would again.

"You can believe me this time," he said firmly, his eyes never leaving hers. Letting her search them. She went very still.

"Oh."

For a second, she seemed unable to meet his gaze, which was how he knew without a doubt that her heart was thumping as much as his was. Then she lifted her eyes, finally looking up at him. Her voice caught, barely audible. Almost too scared to hope.

"That's it?"

He looked back at her, and smiled, very faintly. The same smile echoed on her lips, but it was still tentative, waiting. Nervous. And despite the butterflies, despite his thumping heart, he was suddenly filled with a sense of calm.

"I love you too."

He couldn't stop the smile as he said it, though his eyes were serious, because the words were the most natural, the most right thing in the world. And the feeling he got saying them was almost - almost - as amazing as the smile on her face as she heard them. The way her features lit up, like he'd just given her all she'd ever wanted. But he barely had time to revel in the fact that he'd made her that happy, because she had moved straight into his arms, wrapping her own around his neck, presents forgotten. And he caught her back, kissing her deeply, pulling her to him. She was in his arms, where she belonged, and he was never going to let go of her again.

She eventually pulled back from their kisses, though she still clung to him, his hands still squeezing her waist, to gaze up at him with a sparkle in her eye.

"But...Can you say it twice?" she teased, happy beyond belief, eyes still glowing.

He grinned back, kissing her again, breathing her in. She managed to pull away once more, just for a second, nose brushing his.

"No, I'm serious. Say it twice."

And she laughed; her real, unconscious laugh, the sound that made his stomach somersault, his heart squeeze.

And she might only have been joking, but he kissed her again, murmuring, "I love you." Then, in between kisses, "I love you - that's three." Another kiss. "Four." She laughed again, and he kissed her again. "I love you, I love you, I love you..."