Here's the next chapter to the terrorist drama. It's heating up now…
It was a pretty normal Monday morning in New York City. Nothing even hinted towards the nightmare that was to be.
Kurt woke up at six am sharp to the sound of Teenage Dream, sung by his boyfriend, on his cell alarm. His outfit already lay across a chair, always carefully picked out the day before, although sometimes he ended up changing his mind and picking out new garments.
His shower-and-skincare routine, plus of course the teasing of his hair into a perfect quiff, took the best part of half an hour, after which Rachel woke up. She wasn't the best of morning people. All she gave Kurt was a vague grunt.
It took Kurt his usual half hour to install himself in his clothes to his complete satisfaction. Tight white jeans, black shirt, white waistcoat, red tie. Then he had breakfast.
He didn't have to be at the Vogue offices until nine, but he liked to come at half past eight, because then he could make the coffee and that meant meeting important people and that meant really interesting gossip and a chance to make a good impression.
He took the subway to Manhattan, using the time to phone Blaine, and then to the Vogue offices. He made some coffee and visited the main offices one by one. This was where he shone in comparison to other interns- he was pretty good at remembering what each person liked, and not even the usual milk-and-sugar preferences. He'd worked out a system of mug preferences, temperature preferences; he was even working on a list of which hand each person seemed to prefer the coffee in.
As a result, most people were glad to see him and he was able to pick up on the latest office chitchat.
The morning's work was nothing out of the ordinary. He was able to take his lunch break at two thirty, and strolled around Times Square to pick up a sandwich from a nearby bakery. At five, slightly earlier than usual, he headed back to his Bushwick loft.
Santana, who was still trying to find a job, was arguing again with Rachel, who had had a hard day at NYADA. Kurt, fed up with their bickering, suggested they take a walk to the nearest park, the Maria Hernandez.
'How old do you think we are? Five? I don't need taken for walkies.' snapped Santana, throwing another vicious glare at Rachel.
'Suit yourself.' shrugged Kurt. 'Just know that a walk in the fresh air stimulates your brain function and, more importantly, helps clear your complexion. And that is something you could do with.'
To his surprise, they both agreed after only about five more minutes of bitching at each other. So Kurt grabbed his laptop bag to finish some work whilst they were there and they headed out.
It was great at first when they got there. A few families had taken picnics out and there were a few joggers. Kurt found an empty spot in the middle of the grass and the girls lay down near him.
The first thing they knew of the disaster was the flash. The sky behind them briefly lit up a bright orange, immediately followed by a horrible shaking and the earth-shattering, low, rumbling noise of a huge explosion.
Immediately, the place was a riot. People started screaming and racing for cover. Everywhere, bricks and tiles were falling from houses, branches tearing off trees as a huge wall of pressure bore down on them. Kurt braced himself flat against the ground but was still propelled forward by several feet. He felt leaves and twigs raining down on him and someone smack into him from the side.
Then it was over, and suddenly everything was eerily, completely silent.
Kurt, dazed and bruised, sat up. His ears were tingling, and he realized why he couldn't hear: the huge noise had momentarily deafened him. He turned, trying to see through the haze of smoke and rubble. The person who had smacked into him was Rachel; she was whimpering and grabbing at him. He took her hand.
Santana was also close by them. She seemed to have struck her head on a tree and was cradling it in her hand, muttering something in Spanish.
Further away, other people were moving. He could see several families huddling together, a few joggers sitting dazed like him.
He didn't want to try getting up yet. What if another explosion came?
A brisk breeze had come up and was clearing away the smoke. A few people were standing now, picking their way through fallen objects. Kurt's ears were still ringing, but he could hear a bit now- sirens wailing somewhere in the city, someone crying.
He crawled over to where Santana was sitting, coaxing Rachel along with him.
Santana stopped muttering and looked up at him. An expression of incredible recognition and relief crossed her face. She had her hand on the huge lump on her head, but seemed otherwise okay.
After about ten more minutes, they realized vaguely that ambulances were pulling up and somewhere, helicopters were landing.
It might have been five more minutes or another half hour, Kurt couldn't tell, until someone handed the three of them a blanket and a bottle of water to share. He thanked them vaguely but was too dazed to unscrew the bottle. Rachel did it for him, and they took turns sipping from it.
'Santana, let me look at your head.' said Rachel. Her voice sounded strange, and Kurt realized it was the first thing any of them had said.
The bump was not so bad and there was no blood, but Santana looked slightly unfocused and Kurt knew that blows to the head could be anything from not dangerous to fatal. He made her lie down, reasoning that that was least dangerous.
A loudspeaker was hailing them from a police car somewhere. The words were too faint to hear at first, but as it drew nearer they heard: 'Make your way to the nearest meeting point. Make your way to-'
It looked like police were standing by the road, pointing people to the nearest meeting point. They were lucky, as this park was the meeting point.
Someone- it looked like police again- was putting up a huge tent in the middle of the park. They were meant to walk over to it, but Kurt found he couldn't. First, his legs were too shaky. And secondly: what if that had only been the first explosion?