Hey Upper East Siders. People really are starting to lose it – I heard C had a panic room installed in his penthouse. Wonder if B's invited?
Taking all bets on when S will get back into town. She's been gone for two years, but at times like this everyone has to come together for better or for worse. I'll give good odds on worse.
There's a strange quiet about Grand Central that day; none of the usual rush and murmur, people bubbling out of the doors and up the stairs. There's a sense of urgency and nothing else. People keep almost knocking the cup of coffee out of Serena's hand as they hurry past her.
"Dan, is that – Serena van der Woodsen?" Jenny Humphrey pulls at her brother's sweater, pointing up at the blonde girl gazing across the station. He slaps her hand down, gently, in case she sees, and then looks himself. Of course it's her. The timing is like a cruel joke. He watches her, sipping coffee from a paper cup, leaning against the railings: she's wearing a brown trench coat and a turtleneck sweater; her hair is wrapped up in a scarf, hidden, but he knows that underneath it's long and soft and golden. She's prettier than he remembers, if that's even possible, but she looks anxious.
"Yeah, that's her," he says, finally.
"Are you gonna talk to her?"
He takes another look, in time to see her disappear from the railings and melt into a crowd.
"I guess not."
"Pretty bad timing," Jenny shrugs, then hoists her duffel bag onto her shoulder. "We should go, anyway."
Dan looks back, once more, to where Serena van der Woodsen had been.
Serena is texting, swishing her way in her long coat towards the doors. She tries to focus on her phone and not notice how many of the food outlets are closed, shutters down, doors barred. She's in a Gossip Girl blast – the first for a long time, and the last one was a stupid story about her and a guy at boarding school a year ago. She sort of thought that enough time had passed – that people had forgotten all about her. I should be so lucky. She finds some sunglasses in her purse and puts them on, even though its grey and cold outside. If she still hasn't made herself invisible, well, at least people won't be able to see her cry
Across town, Blair is curled up under Chuck's silk sheets, staring at her phone.
"If Serena comes back," she says slowly, biting her lip, "it's not like we can just be friends again."
"Who cares?" Chuck yells from the bathroom. "It's the end of the world."
Blair springs up from the bed, wrapping the sheets around her like a cape, and marches to the bathroom doorway.
"Don't say that."
He looks up at her from where he stands, bending over the sink, water dripping from his freshly-shaven face.
"The world is not ending until I say it is." Blair can feel herself being childish but she doesn't care. It's all too much for her to handle right now – Serena, school, her mom – and this.
Chuck smiles, and that makes her feel a little better.
Then all the windows smash at once, glass flying into the room around them like tiny, perfect crystals.
Dan is checking that they're at the right platform when he feels something change. The intensity pervading Grand Central ramps up a little, people are moving faster. The atmosphere is tense, electric. Someone falls over and no one stops to help him up.
"Dan," is all Jenny says. She can feel it too. Her hand finds his, for the first time since they were kids, and he squeezes it. He sees two people in suits at the end of the platform, running.
Then everything seems to happen at once. There's a rumbling, a banging, two noises like gunshots. The station alarm starts blaring. Everyone is running, now. He pushes Jenny onto the train, then their suitcases and bags after her. A whistle blows, the train engine starts.
He looks back.
"I'll be right back," he says to Jenny, quickly, no room for argument in his voice, "do not get off this train."
"Dan-," she's yelling but he's already pushing his way back through the crowd. And, miraculously, Serena runs straight into him. She tries to push on past but he grabs her by the shoulders, pulling a little too vigorously – her sunglasses fly off, clattering onto the tile.
"What are you-,"
"I'm Dan Humphrey. I don't think you remember me - we went to school together."
She looks perfect and shell-shocked. He hates himself for thinking, now, of how close she is to him.
"They've locked the doors," she says vaguely. Maybe she is actually in shock.
"Come on." He takes her suitcase from her and leads her towards the train. She follows, limply. Her mind feels blank; her mouth feels like it's full of cotton balls.
"Wait, what are we doing?" Serena manages to say as Dan pushes her gently onto the train. "Where are we going?" She thinks she does remember him, from somewhere, from a party, or a photograph. There's a younger blonde girl now, too, looking relieved and terrified all at once. Dan doesn't answer her question. The doors of the train slam closed. There are still people on the platform, battering on the doors now, shouting.
Maybe she passes out, because the next thing Serena sees is a chair armrest above her head, and through the window the New York skyline receding into the distance.