Title: Damn you Chuck Bass. Damn you to hell.

Summary: A very shocked Blair must deal with the news Serena just revealed to her. Chuck's been shot. Prior a very drunk Chuck fights for his girlfriend's ring…the one she never got to see.

Disclaimer: I definitely don't own anything.

A/N: Its been killing me- and so many I know- who wonder what on earth Blair's reaction will be when she finds out about Chuck. So I thought of giving this a shot. There's more to come. Hope you like it!

….

"Damn you Chuck Bass. Damn you to hell."

The words she had said laughingly, optimistically, definitely jokingly bounced back at her as she cried. She held a sparkling Erikson Beamon necklace to her chest and cried. A dress she had not worn since Victrola. A picture of his smile. And hers. His raffish, half smirk. Her courteous, cool beam. He was there. He was everywhere. She hated him. No, she didn't. Yes, she did. She loathed and despised him.

She was terrified for him.

She had cursed him with laughter, frustration and defeat in her voice, if all passions could run together. She had said it, she had never meant it.

Never this.

"Blair. It…its bad news."

She had noticed the odd look in her friend's eyes and immediately the strange subtle ache in her heart magnified. And she knew. Somehow she knew.

"What is it, S?"

Serena bit her lip looking torn. Looking downright scared of her best friend. "We can't go to Paris."

"Oh?" Always cool and collected, always Blair Waldorf. "Why not? Did Humphrey do an additional one-eighty and beg for you back?"

"Blair." Serena didn't even shoot her a vaguely disapproving frown in response. Her heart pounded. This was bad. "Blair…Chuck…"

What had he done now? What crazy stunt had he pulled to get her back? Had he rushed off to the roof of Victrola again? Had he gotten her plane hijacked? The pilots kidnapped? What? She'd thought she'd made herself clear. She'd thought he'd understood she desperately needed some time. That even if she did love him so much that it wasn't natural, that it wasn't healthy- she could not simply jump into his arms after that. Did not he see that? Did not he realize that what he had done was unpardonable? Could he not just let her be?

"Chuck what?" Blair asked evenly.

Serena looked sickeningly pale.

"Chuck's been shot."

The wineglass she held slipped through her fingers and crashed down the floor.

…..

"A gunshot," Blair repeated quietly as one of the maids hurried to wipe off the pieces.

Serena looked shaky. "Some muggers in Madrid…they held a gun and asked him for cash…He…he resisted…"

Blair looked at her squarely. "He has more money than all of Manhattan. He would not have resisted."

"I don't know B- but he did something…" Serena bit her lip. "I mean, they shot him."

"Where?" Blair asked softly.

"In…in the gut."

"When?" Blair queried.

"About…half an hour ago. He lay for half an hour…in that alley…in a-"

"Puddle of his own blood," Blair finished faintly.

"Blair, we have to go back." Serena looked around for her purse which she had dumped somewhere then gave her inattentive friend a strange look.

"Blair!"

Blair looked at her almost blankly.

"Blair, Chuck- Chuck's been shot!" Serena cried. "We have to go back."

"Go back?" Blair sounded monochrome. "Go…where?"

Serena gaped at her friend. "To the hospital, of course! He needs us right now. We're his only family!"

Blair was still looking at her colorlessly."We're going to Paris."

"Blair!" Serena burst out aghast. "B, I know what he did to you was bad but- but-Blair he's your- you love him-"

"Says who?" Blair asked a little irritably.

"Damn it, B!" Serena shrieked in frustration. "Are we really going to do this now? He's my brother- he has tried so hard to be for a long time- I have to go back."

"So go." Blair almost sounded indifferent.

"You're going to regret this," Serena hissed. "Whatever Chuck has done- whoever he is- Chuck can't survive without you. Chuck can't survive this without you. He can't. You have to come."

Blair simply looked the other way.

That's when Serena realized what was going on. She placed an unexpectedly hard hand on Blair's chin and made her face turn around. She gazed into her friend's large, luminous brown eyes. They were void of emotion.

"Blair," Serena said the words very carefully. "Wake up."

No response.

Serena took a deep breathe and carried on, "Blair. Chuck could die."

Silence.

"He's been lying in an alley and loosing blood for half an hour. It's very probable that he could die."

Something stirred in the dark pools of those eyes.

"And B," Serena now looked enraged, "If my brother doesn't make it because you're too busy being dormant while he's waiting…for us…for you…then so help me Blair- I'll never forgive you."

Something that looked dangerously like a lost tear glimmered in Blair Waldorf's eyes but a moment later it was gone and it might have just been a trick of light.

"Go, Serena," Blair whispered, detaching her friend's firm, beseeching hand from her face. "Go to him. He did for you."

Serena looked at her friend and felt her heart sink. This was not the face of vivacious, excited Blair of five minutes ago. This was the Blair as only Chuck recognized her; Blair broken and thorny and cracked in so many places that she was untouchable- this Blair had the face of stranger.

"W-what about you?" Serena stammered.

Blair gave a cold, undecipherable, unnatural smile. "I have a flight to catch."

…

….

Madrid

Chuck Bass was not in a good mood.

First there had been the never ending agony of what he had lost. He could not forget Blair's beautiful, shocked face as she whispered, "You didn't." He could not help but imagine what might have happened if Humphrey (curse him to the deepest pit of hell) had shown up just a heartbeat later. He would have shown Blair the ring. He would have said it. Four words. Thirteen letters. If she would have seen…if she would have known… then maybe…maybe she would have stayed.

The mingled curiosity and defeat was so agonizing that Chuck did what he did best at a time of crisis. He ran.

Madrid seemed like a safe option. Monaco brought back ridiculous memories. Paris was out of question. Bangkok, too. So Madrid where hopefully no one would think to find him.

The week had started off particularly badly. No amount of alcohol could numb Chuck out of his pain. The very sight of a hooker now made him feel nauseous. It made his skin crawl- the very idea of touching someone again…after that look on Blair's face. The staff at his hotel treated him too nicely. He'd taken it to stumbling across the streets, getting as drunk as he could get. At least there, no one recognized him. No one offered ten hands as he fell. No one showered him with courtesy and respect he did not deserve.

The only thing that got him through was that little box. The one tucked so deeply into his coat's pocket. He had held it like a talisman every day of the week…hoping that what it held would one day bring Blair back. It was his only hope. Maybe….maybe if she saw it…

Blair loved him. He knew it. And maybe if she saw it, she wouldn't be able to help letting that love show on her face.

Of course then he had run into a couple of ham-fisted thugs. He could tell even from a drunken glimpse that they were hopelessly incompetent. He tried offering them money but they were too thick to get it. Hell, they didn't even know he was Chuck Bass. Not even when he told them.

Amateurs.

And then one of them dug his hand into Chuck's coat pocket.

Chuck's eyes darkened as all the intoxication wore off. He burst at them as they ripped his heart out from his coat and took it away. For the first time in a week he felt entirely shattered. They were taking it away…the last piece of Blair he was allowed to keep…

His voice rang furiously through the street as he demanded the box back. They could have anything, everything but he couldn't lose Blair. Somehow it was very important for her to know this….His business, his assets weren't the most vital possessions he held…she was.

The Empire had never meant more to him than her. The deal had been a stupid mistake he regretted bitterly. One foolish oversight, one inexcusable moment of taking her for granted….it was that choice that had led to all of this.

He tried to explain it to the inept muggers over their foreign babble. Between the choice of anything and everything, including his own life…he would always pick Blair.

"…I would've done anything to help you. All you had to do was ask."

"I did what I had to-to win."

She shook her head looking horrified. "No…"

"I can't let my feelings cost me all that I've built."

"Even if it means losing me instead?"

Why hadn't he held her as she had faced him with sheer hurt in her eyes and tears in her voice? Why didn't he tell her that without her he would perish?

"All I ever did was love you," she whispered tearfully and her words devastated him to the core. But he was so angry…at himself for doing this to her…at her for loving him so much…at Jack for daring to ask such a thing…that he lashed out.

But she had been right. The worst thing he had ever done, the darkest thought he had ever had…had revolved around Blair. When she had told him those words the day his father had died, she may not have realized it but it but what she had said saved him…made him feel safe…hopeful…encouraged…that maybe despite all he was there was someone who could love him like that. Just the fact that Blair loved him the way he loved her had brought him back home even as he escaped.

And he had turned that beautiful declaration into a horrible excuse for what he had done.

Chuck didn't care as he made to snatch the box back, he didn't care as he felt the sound of the gunshot fire into the air, he only knew he had to tell her…let her know somehow that he hadn't meant it…that he was a heartless coward and he knew it…that he was so…so… very sorry.

Nothing but that sensation of a thousand knives of acid ripping through his gut could have caused him to waver. Nothing but that colossal blast that thrust him back and made him jerk into the air could have made him falter. For a moment he felt nothing. For a moment the pain that no amount boozing could numb was in fact- numbed. For a moment Chuck Bass found himself thinking that seeing gunfire on an Audrey Hepburn movie was one thing- experiencing it was quite another.

And it hurt. Not nearly as much losing her had hurt…but eerily close. He fell back into a graceful arch and quietly crumbled onto the floor. He felt the blood seep out of system and found himself too anesthetized to grasp the situation…to even murmur in pain.

He lay there shocked and silent and somewhere within him, just very, very sad. A whisper in his head informed him that he was dying. With a calculating mind he considered this information.

And that was when he found that he just did not care.

Chuck was too tired to give a damn. Too tired to fight.

But never…never too tired to fight for her.

It was the thought of Blair that aroused him, the idea of never seeing her again, the idea of dying without telling her just one last time…the words he had taken too long to tell.

What he should have said the night he had wronged her so terribly…when she had fittingly slapped him and walked away in tears.

Don't go. I love you, Blair.

The box was gone but it was the image of Blair that made him battle the casualty.

He thought of her as he made himself do it…he thought of her as he fought for his life.

"Help…" Chuck Bass whispered; his voice cracked and soundless in the night