I've never written a one shot before, so here goes nothing. It's my response to the season three finale which I have mixed feelings on. I could have done without Chenny, but the rest of the episode was decent. I have decided to wait and see the opening episode of season four before I make an official decision, though how they're going to re-deem Chuck is beyond me. So, without further ado, my Chuck and Blair one shot. AKA, what I hope goes down in the season 4 premiere but also not counting on going down in the season premiere. Now, I'm going to go get back to my other fic, Spiraling.

WHAT I OWN: Too many Little Black Dresses. Wait… Is that possible? WHAT I DON'T OWN: Gossip Girl

There is an instant, when the game changes without warning, that a person is faced with a choice. They can stand up and fight or they can run far and fast. It's called flight or fight. It is the human's response to a stimulus, a fear, a threat. In a split second, a choice must be made: stay or go. Face their fears or run from them. It is the reason small men have been able to lift SUVs off of a victim on their own and women have managed to save their children from certain death.

But the thing with flight or fight is it doesn't just apply to accidents and natural disasters. It applies to matters of the heart as well. A broken heart is difficult to mend and easy to run from.

Blair Waldorf chose flight because there was nothing left for her to fight for. She had fought for Chuck Bass once that day, racing through the streets of New York to first the Empire State Building and then to his penthouse. The second blow, the knowledge of what Chuck and Jenny Humphrey had done, had sent her into flight, her heart too broken to stay and fight. And so, she was on her way to pick up Serena before they headed to the airport, both in flight from their sorrows to protect their hearts.

Chuck Bass took flight because he knew of nothing else to do. He had fought for Blair in a way the Chuck Bass of a year ago would have laughed at. For a few blissful hours, he had had her and was going to make her his forever. And of course, the roof caved in and the truth came out and Blair once more hated him. He had taken off for Prague just hours later, giving his pilot the first destination that came to mind. He had lost it all and running and drowning his sorrows in booze, women, and drugs was what he knew.

When those thugs jumped him in the alley behind a sketchy bar, he should have chosen flight. He should have submitted to them, let them take what they wanted and been done with it. But he had decided to fight. That diamond ring hadn't left his pocket in a week. It was the only piece of Blair he had left and it was like having her torn away from him all over again as they snatched it from him. He had fought. And now, he lay in the dirt mixed with his own blood, once more given the option to fly or fight. This time, he chose flight.

"The first thing I'm doing in Paris is renting a vespa," Serena declared as she and Blair stood and watched their bags being loaded onto the helicopter that would take them to JFK. "And then, I'm going to learn to drive it."

Blair laughed, the sheer delight at taking off to one of her favorite places in the world with the only person she could count on to always be there filling the giant hole in her heart, if only for a little while.

"The first thing I'm doing is buying a completely new summer wardrobe. After I sleep off the jet lag, of course," she replied. "Just think, Serena, three whole months to sleep all morning, shop all afternoon, and explore all night."

Serena opened her mouth to reply, but the sound of a car speeding towards them interrupted her. Both girls turned to look at it, confused. It screeched to halt several yards from them and Nate Archibald erupted from it, hair disheveled, shirt untucked and mostly unbuttoned.

"Oh great. Archibald chooses now to make his grand gesture," Blair muttered, unhappy with his arrival. She would force Serena to come to Paris, regardless of what kind of relationship-saving speech Nate gave.

"Blair!" he called as he sprinted towards them. Blair frowned. Why was he calling her name? "Serena!"

"Nate, whatever reason you're here, I appreciate it. I do. But I meant what I said about…"

"It's Chuck," Nate cut Serena off, his eyes fixed on Blair as he tried to gain his breath.

"If Chuck Bass thinks sending his blond flunky is going to stop me from getting on this helicopter…"

"He's been shot," Nate said, now cutting Blair short.

Serena gasped. Blair's face clouded with confusion.

"What?" she asked, her voice an octave higher than usual. "What do you mean? What are you talking about?"

"He's been shot," Nate repeated, still breathless. "And he's in bad shape."

The world spun. Blair reached blindly for Serena to steady herself as images of her last moments with Chuck played through her mind. His delight as he realized she had gone to meet him. How he had clung to her, apologized for what he had done. How he had kept a hand on her the entire evening, whether he was holding her hand or brushing hair away from her face so he could kiss her cheek and tell her again how much he loved her. How understanding he had been when she had told him she wasn't ready to make love him yet. How nervous he had been about something just moments before Dan had appeared. How he looked on the hospital's floor after Dan had punched him. How broken and defeated he had looked as she had shouted at him after learning of him and Jenny. How he had said he thought she no longer loved him.

"I need to go to him," she said through Chuck-filled eyes. "I need to go to him now." She started towards the car Nate had arrived in.

"Blair, wait!" Nate called. "He's not in New York."

Blair turned.

"Where is he?" she demanded. "Connecticut? Did he go to the Hamptons? Where did he go?" Her words came fast, cluttered together and frantic.

"Prague," Nate answered.

"Prague?" Blair repeated. "No. He wouldn't…"

"The hospital dialed the last person he had called from his cell phone. That was me. He's in Prague. Someone found him in an alley outside of some rundown bar. He was unconscious and bleeding. They think he may have been mugged. His wallet was gone."

"Then we have to go to Prague," Blair said, reaching for her phone to book the first airplane she could get her hands on.

"I'll call my mom," Serena piped up. "I'll see if we can get the Bass Industries jet. It will get us there faster than a commercial flight. And she will want to go with us."

Nate noticed how pale Blair was, how her entire body was trembling slightly. He put his arm around the girl his best friend loved more than he had ever been able to.

"Come on, B," he said, taking her phone from her. "Let's wait in the car until Serena knows something."

She hadn't spoken since before they had boarded the Bass Industries jet. Chuck had took off again, the way he used to when things got tough. Last time, he had left knowing she loved him. It was her love for him that had brought him back. This time, he had left believing she didn't love him any longer when nothing could be further from the truth. If she didn't love him, it wouldn't have hurt so much to learn that he had slept with Jenny Humphrey on top of everything else.

It was her fault. Of that she was certain. Chuck had taken off because of her. He always took off because of her. He had been in the wrong place at the wrong time because of her. She didn't need anyone to tell her he had been in an altered state of mind because of her, whether from alcohol or drugs or both, whatever he had chosen to try and forget.

The plane landed and there was talk of checking into their hotel to freshen up before heading to the hospital. They had been updated mid-flight that Chuck was stable though critical. A second update had came as they had approached Prague saying nothing had changed. Blair wasn't having any of it though. She didn't care how exhausted she was or how crumbled her clothes were from flying or how matted her hair was from the hours she had spent with her head lulling against the plane window. She needed to see Chuck. Without another thought for the others, she had hailed a cab and managed to convey her destination.

"I need Charles Bass's room," she demanded the moment she stepped into the hospital and spied a woman seated behind a reception desk. The woman answered in a foreign tongue. Blair repeated her demand, the same answer repeated in the same language she didn't understand. She stamped her foot as tears of frustration appeared. "Does anyone speak any English?" she demanded in a loud voice. A man with a mop and a bucket down the hall from her looked up.

"I do," he said in a heavy accent. He made his way to Blair, far too slow for her liking.

"I need Charles Bass's room," she told him. She listened as he asked the receptionist her question in their native tongue and she replied.

"She said sorry, but it not visiting hours for couple hours. You come back then," the man answered in his broken English.

"No, I need to see him now," Blair told him. "He's been shot and he's here all alone and he left thinking I didn't love him which is absolutely ridiculous but he doesn't know that… Please, I need to see him!" The tears she hadn't shed yet had threatened to fall now. "Please," she begged in a very un-Blair-like move. "Just give me his room number."

The man looked at her with pity in his eyes. He gave her a sympathetic smile and then turned back to the receptionist. Again, they spoke in their native tongue. Blair could tell from their tone that the man was arguing on her behalf.

"He room 801," the man told her finally. "It's on eight floor. Sneak in."

Blair reached out and grasped his hands. "Thank you," she told him. "Thank you so much." Then she ran blindly, searching for an elevator, registering that the hospital, while clean, wasn't up to the standards of the hospitals in the States. She came to a staircase before she located an elevator and running on pure adrenaline, climbed it. She was winded when she reached the eighth floor and her feet, still clad in Louboutins, were killing her, but she kept going. She glanced at the numbers on each door and found room 801 at the end of a long hallway.

She stopped outside the door, stared at it. She was terrified suddenly of what she would find on the other side. She barely registered Lily saying he had been shot in his abdomen, too full of relief after learning that he was, for the time being, stable. She didn't know if he was conscious or if he had any other injuries. She had no idea how he would react to her being there. With a deep breath, she pushed open the door. She closed it softly behind her and drew in another breath before turning to Chuck.

She let out a soft cry as her feet propelled herself towards his bedside.

"Chuck," she whispered, her tears finally falling as she stood by his bed and took in the sight of him. He was unconscious and bare-chested, a crisp white sheet pulled to his waist. A large bandage was wrapped tightly around his abdomen. Blair could see the slightest red stain seeping through and prayed he wasn't still bleeding. There were tubes and IVs and monitors and he was covered in heavy bruises and scrapes, signs of being beaten. She sat down on the edge of the bed, unable to support her own weight as the reality of the situation sunk in. She timidly took his hand, terrified that she was hurting him.

"Chuck," she whispered again. "Please wake up." He didn't. She didn't expect him to. She used her sleeve to wipe at the tears falling down her cheeks. "Please." She registered the sound of a door opening and shutting and heard footsteps, but she didn't take her eyes off of him.

"Excuse me, miss, but you aren't supposed to be in here."

Blair turned to face the voice which she discovered belonged to an older woman with a kind face.

"I know," she admitted. "But we flew here from New York and he was all alone. I had to see him." She braced herself for a fight, determined to remain at Chuck's side regardless of what the woman told her. Instead, the woman nodded.

"He should have someone," she agreed. Blair noticed her English was much better than the man who had helped her downstairs though her accent was still prominent. "He was far from home in a bad place."

"How is he?" Blair asked her. "We were updated on the plane, but they only said he was stable but critical."

"He is stable but critical," the woman confirmed. "The bullet entered his abdomen and luckily missed any major organs. He lost a lot of blood however. He was in the alley for a while before he was found by the looks of it."

"He's unconscious," Blair stated. "Is he comatosed or just sleeping?" She knew the question sounded trivial, but she didn't care. There was a difference and she wanted to know which Chuck was.

"He's sedated," the nurse answered, checking the monitor measuring his pulse. "He'll come around when the sedatives wear off in a few hours. Our biggest concern is infection now and of course pain management when he awakes."

"How was he treated when he came in?" Blair pressed.

"He was stabilized first and then taken into surgery to remove the bullet."

Blair nodded in understanding. "I'm not hurting him by holding his hand am I?" she wanted to know.

The woman shook her head and smiled at the girl. She could feel the love she had for the boy lying unconscious even if it wasn't clearly written across her face. It was the reason she was letting her stay and telling her information that was generally confidential. "It's not hurting him at all. It's helping him, if anything." She checked the level of one of the IVs and picked up the chart at the end of his bed and scribbled a note. "I'm really not supposed to let you stay, but he's been through a lot and no one should wake up alone. If anyone gives you any trouble, tell them Ivanka said it was okay."

"Ivanka," Blair nodded. She reached out her hand that wasn't holding Chuck's. "I'm Blair," she introduced herself. "I'm Chuck's…" she trailed off, not sure what to say. "Well, I was his girlfriend, but…" Fresh tears covered her face.

"You love him," Ivanka said, taking Blair's hand and shaking it. "That's all that matters right now." Blair gave the woman a grateful smile.

"Our friends and his stepmother will be here shortly, if not already. It may be selfish of me to ask, but could we keep them out? At least until visiting hours start?"

"We can," Ivanka nodded. "If you need anything, let me know. Maybe try to get some rest while he sleeps." She left the room, Blair sitting by Chuck's side. Blair reached out and brushed a matted chunk of hair from his forehead.

"Rest," she whispered. She leaned down and lightly kissed his forehead. "I'll be here when you wake up."

Everything was blurry. He wasn't sure where he was, but he knew it wasn't a bar. That was the last thing he could remember. A bar, a failed attempt to hit on two women and then those thugs. As he remembered being shot, he registered the dull ache in his stomach. He tried to move a hand to assess the damage, but something was weighing it down. He moved his head slowly, his neck stiff. For a moment, he lost his breath.

Sound asleep in what had to be an uncomfortable chair, her hand clinging to his, was Blair. His Blair. She was the only thing in the room in focus, sharp as the high definition picture on his too big flat screen, her warm hand telling him he wasn't imagining it. She was really there.

He could barely believe it to be true. All he had wanted, all he had hoped for, was Blair. She was his last thought as he had lain in a pool of his own blood. She was his only thought as he wandered through Prague, drinking and drugging and sexing. Now she was here, halfway around the world, clinging to his hand even in her sleep.

"Blair." His voice was weak, cracked from lack of use, his throat dry. He tried again. "Blair." She stirred, her eyes fluttering softly. Weak though he was, he turned his hand over and laced his fingers through hers. "Blair." Her eyes opened and he felt his world brighten. She was there, he told himself. That had to mean something.

"Chuck," she whispered, moving toward him. "You're awake."

He nodded weakly. "I'm awake," he agreed. "And you're here." Tears pooled in her eyes. "Please don't cry," he croaked. He reached across his body to wipe away her tears. Pain shot through his stomach and he hissed through gritted teeth.

"Don't try to do too much," Blair warned him, guiding his hand back to his side. A tear fell and landed on his bare chest. "You need to rest and get your strength back."

"You're here," Chuck said again, staring at her in wonder. Blair nodded.

"I'm here," she agreed. "Serena and I were leaving for Paris and Nate caught us on the helipad. The hospital called the last number in you had dialed from your cell phone and told him what had happened. Serena called Lily and got the Bass Industries jet. They're out in the waiting room – Serena and Nate, Lily, even Eric came when he heard."

Chuck closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them, he was happy to see that Blair was still there, as though he believed she would disappear if he looked away.

"I'm so sorry, Blair," he said, determined to get out the speech he had worked on every night while in limbo between hungover and intoxicated, the only states he had been in since the moment he had boarded the plane leaving New York. "I really thought you didn't love me anymore. I really didn't care if I lived or died. I was drinking and she was there and I didn't want to be alone. I don't want to be alone, Blair. Not now that I know what it's like to have someone."

"Shh," Blair soothed, running her fingers through his hair. "We'll talk about this later."

Chuck shook his head. "I need you to know I love you," he said. "I need you to know that, Blair. It was all I could think of while I was lying there in that alley. It's the last thing I remembering thinking about before I lost consciousness, that I would give anything to tell you I love you one more time." His eyes filled with unshed tears. Blair's welled up once more.

"All I could think about on the plane was how you thought I didn't love you. I was terrified I wouldn't get to tell you that I love you again," she confessed. "Because I do, Chuck. Even after everything you've done, I still love you."

Hearing her say those words triggered his tears to start falling. Despite the gravity of the current situation, Blair realized what a rare sight she was seeing. She suspected she was the only person outside of his nannies when he had been a young child to see Chuck Bass shed tears, first over his father and now over her.

"I can fix this," Chuck said, his voice stronger. "I can fix it if you'll let me. I'll do whatever you need me to do…"

"Later," Blair said. She leaned down and kissed his forehead. "We'll fix us later, when you're stronger and not in pain."

"You'll stay with me?" Chuck asked. "You won't leave?" It broke Blair's heart to see him this vulnerable.

"I won't leave," she promised. "And you can't leave either." They both knew they were no longer talking about her sitting by his hospital bed.

"I won't leave," Chuck promised. "Never again." Somehow, Blair knew he was being as honest as he had ever been.

"Everyone else wants to see you," she told them. "And I should probably tell your doctor that you're awake."

"Let them wait for a few more minutes," Chuck replied. He knew as soon as they were allowed in, he wouldn't be able to get time alone with Blair for a while and the doctors would spend far more time than necessary poking and prodding. For just a few more minutes, he wanted it to be just him and Blair. "Come here," he said. "Lay with me."

"Chuck, I don't know if that's such a good idea. I don't want to hurt you."

"You can't," he said seriously. He tugged on her hand weakly. Blair carefully climbed into bed beside him and rested her head on his shoulder. For the time being, they put their problems aside and let themselves be Chuck and Blair, Blair and Chuck. Both of them had chosen to fight this time. And to fight hard enough to do it right, neither of them a flight risk any longer.