Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“Amari.” 

“Yes, Miranda?”

“Call Andy.”

“Yes, Miranda.” 

“Miranda. You wanted to see me?” Andrea asked in lieu of a greeting. 

“Yes.” She paused slightly. “First of all, I never properly expressed my gratitude towards you for saving not only me, but also Runway as a whole. So, thank you, Sachs.” 

Andrea blinked, clearly caught off-guard by Miranda thanking her. 

“You’re very welcome.” 

“Following that, I have another project for you. This one could greatly improve your career.” 

The younger woman didn’t ask what it was. She knew better, and that almost made Miranda smile. Andrea always did know Miranda better than anyone else. Amari anticipated what Miranda needed, but with Andrea, it’s a completely different story. 

“I’m stepping down.”

“I’m sorry?” Andrea gaped at Miranda. 

“Did you smack your head that caused your loss of hearing? I’m retiring. It’s time to let go. Runway has reached stability, and I have no doubt that Nigel will be able to handle any problem that comes his way.”

“You’re giving Runway to Nigel? And me? Why me?”

“It’s long overdue. I will be finishing my last year, and after that, I’ll take a position as the global head of contents. And you…” she paused for a while, thinking of the right words to say. “I mean, you saved us all. If it weren’t for you, Runway would be down to the ground under Benji Barnes’ management. And now, I am giving you the opportunity to write my biography. I will tell you everything. About the husbands, the divorces, where I was born. What my name originally was. Who I was before Miranda Priestly. You name it.” 

This isn’t like the original exposé plan, and both Miranda and Andrea knew that. Writing her biography would mean she would have to tell the features editor every single detail about how she made it to where she was now. Writing it would make Miranda more vulnerable. 

“You changed your name?”

“That’s what you got from that?” 

“I mean, no. But, why me?”

“Because,” Miranda paused. “I trust you to make good use of this information. You did a good job in your previous projects, especially that of Sasha Barnes. You helped save not only Runway, but the entirety of Elias-Clarke. God knows what would have happened if Jay Ravitz was put in charge for so long, and I want to give people transparency. I can’t be the dragon lady forever, can I?” 

“Well, I guess not.”

“I know you would make a good piece out of the information I will give you, and I trust you to use it for that only. I am giving you time to think about it. Do take into account how much this project can do for you and your career.” 

“Yes, Miranda.” 

Andrea turned to leave, when Miranda called her back.

“Oh, and Sachs? You have until Monday. That’s all.”

Miranda was left in her office, thinking if this was the right decision. If she could tell Andrea now. Would it make the other woman hate her? Probably. But that was a risk she was willing to take. 

The weekend came in the form of busy days and sleepless nights. Andy tried to think of reasons why Miranda would want her to write her biography, even after claiming to not know who she is.

She wondered if this was Miranda’s way of getting revenge, thinking the woman might have some sick plan to spin all these and make Andy look like an evil person.

But, under all of these, she thought–hoped, rather–that Miranda was just pretending. She knew who Andy was. Despite that though, she couldn’t find a reason why the woman would offer her such an opportunity. 

She thought of declining. Miranda could fire her for all she cared. But something in her is telling her to take the job–to trust Miranda. 

So, when Monday came, Andy had made up her mind. She was not going to take the project. She marched into Miranda’s office, prepared to say ‘no’ and nothing more.

When she got there though, her boss was on the phone. 

“Yes, Caroline.” A pause. “I know, I won’t. Goodbye.”

She cleared her throat just as Miranda put her phone down. 

“Andy. There you are.” 

“Yes.”

“So?”

I’m not taking it. She rehearsed one last time before she said it out loud.

“I’ll do it.” What.

“Great! We can start this afternoon.”

“Miranda–”

“That’s all.” 

Well, fuck.

She was supposed to say no, she really absolutely was. Andy didn’t know what happened that made her agree to what Miranda had wanted. 

It was 5:45 pm, and Miranda was due to head home at 6:00 pm sharp–she always does. Andy wondered where they were supposed to do this. She knew anything that was said in the woman’s office can be heard by the people outside, and she figured Miranda didn’t want that. 

Not knowing what else to do, she made her way towards Miranda’s office. 

“Miranda?” 

“Andy. Come in.” 

“Hi. So, I was just wondering where the first interview is supposed to take place? I mean, this place isn’t soundproof.”

“At my office in the townhouse.” 

“What?” 

“Come on, Andy. Surely you know how much I love repeating myself.” 

“I– I mean, was I to–“

“You will be going home with me every night for however long it takes to get this done. You can stay in one of the guest suites in the townhouse if you wish.”

“I– no, I don’t think that would be necessary.” 

“If you’re certain. Go pack your things, my driver is on his way here, and we will be leaving shortly.”

“Yes, Miranda.”  

She walked towards her office, still wondering if this was a good idea. She knew it wasn't. Still, she agreed when Miranda asked. After all these years–two whole decades, Andy found that she still cannot bring herself to say no to the woman. Miranda still had so much power over her, and it was not in the professional way. 

Andy sighed. She had spent two whole decades pining for the woman who now doesn’t even remember who she is. She didn’t know why she expected Miranda Priestly to remember the assistant who walked away from her without a proper resignation, in the middle of the busiest weeks of her life. Not to mention the events that took place the night before. 

She left her newly divorced boss and threw her phone in a fountain instead of just hitting the decline button. Who even does that? 

Andrea Sachs apparently. 

She hurriedly packed her things, not wanting to keep Miranda waiting. She trudged her way to her boss’ office, not wanting to head down without her.

“There you are. You took too long. Roy is waiting downstairs.” 

It amazed her how long Roy lasted. She couldn’t believe that after all these years, he was still Miranda’s driver. 

Even Roy remembered her.

The ride to the townhouse was mostly quiet. Andy hoped to at least make small talk with Miranda, but who was she kidding? The older woman had plenty of other things to do instead of talking to her old ex-assistant turned features editor, who she didn’t even know anymore. The point was, there were probably a million other things Miranda would rather do than make small talk with Andy.

When they got to the townhouse, Miranda led Andy to her study. 

“Do you want anything? A drink? Coffee, water, wine?”

“Coffee is fine.” 

“I’ll tell Juliette. Wait here.” 

When she came back to the study, Miranda was wearing casual clothing–or at least, what was casual for Miranda. She wore a pair of wide legged pants from god knows who, and the comfiest looking sweater Andy probably can’t afford. She had two cups of coffee in her hand, and Andy quickly stood up to help her put them down to her study table. 

“Thank you.”

Miranda merely waved her hand in a form of dismissal. “Shall we start?” 

“Whenever you’re ready.”

“I am.” 

“Okay. It would be easier if you start with your upbringing, and then we can go from there.” 

“Alright. I was born in Yorkshire in England. As I told you before, I wasn’t born as Miranda Priestly, it was what helped me climb the ladder though. Nobody would have taken me seriously if I kept my original name.”

“You don’t have to say it, we can just exclude that part.” 

“Transparency, Andy. I was born as Miriam Princhek. I wasn’t from a rich family, we were struggling, actually. My mother’s maiden name was Elizabeth Foster, and her husband was Francis Princhek. They never married. I was a child born out of wedlock. They often told me that I was an accident. Not that the way they treated me didn’t give it away. Francis was abusive, and a drunk too. He would drink until he blacked out, and when he woke up, he would call me in the living room and look for reasons to hit me. My mother was no different, although she didn’t physically abuse me, she never defended me from Francis’ wrath. Instead, she threw verbal assaults my way.” She paused, clearing her throat. 

Even after all these years, the memory still haunted her. She still dreamt at night about Francis hitting her until she bled and was too weak to cry. She stopped for a moment, because if she went on, she would turn into a sobbing mess, and she didn’t want to be emotional in front of Andrea. Not when she doesn’t know if the younger woman cared enough about her to not be disgusted by Miranda’s vulnerability.

“I was barely able to attend school. If money was the only problem, I would have made do of it–of what we had. I spent too many days unfed to be bothered by a grumbling stomach. Francis never fed me. My mother did, but she was too scared of her husband to do so sometimes. I couldn’t go because of the amount of bruises that could be seen in my body. My face was often wounded, and my teachers wouldn’t have believed me if I told them it was only because I fell.” She stopped for a moment to take a sip of her coffee. It was now lukewarm. She watched as Andrea did the same, before she continued. 

“Are you recording already? Or did I start too soon?” She asked. Miranda knew that the features editor was already doing so, she saw her press the button after putting the cups of coffee down. She asked merely to divert the attention for a little bit. 

This was a very vulnerable moment–possibly the most vulnerable state Miranda has ever been in. Not even that night in Paris when she told Andrea about the divorce would compare. She was opening herself–laying her soul bare for the younger woman to judge. It was like taking her heart out and handing it to a person who holds a machete in their other hand.

“I am, don’t worry about it.” Andrea answered. She took the recording device that was in her lap and placed it on the table for Miranda to see. “All good.”

After a moment of silence, Andrea spoke up again, as if sensing Miranda’s hesitation.

“Hey, this isn’t forced. We can always stop and I will delete the existing recording right here. I’ll even let you do it.” She lifted the device again. “Here.” 

Miranda held her hand up.

“No, that won’t be necessary. I want to do this.”

“Okay. Do know that we can take breaks whenever you want to. I’ll even stay the night if it gets too late for me to go home.”

Miranda only nodded at that before taking a deep breath and speaking again. 

“My mother– it was clear that she did not want to hurt me. She only did it out of fear of Francis. She used to call me Miri, actually. I remember her taking my side once and speaking up to him. She said; ‘Get in your room and lock the door, Miri. I’ll handle your father.’ She gave me a kiss on the forehead before she started pushing me in. I saw Francis take out a knife from the kitchen and use it to cut my mother’s arm, all the while she was pushing me to go into my bedroom. After that, she never stood up to him again. He was capable of killing us both and she knew it. I also knew it. It was my 5th birthday when that happened, can you believe it? She only wanted to celebrate my existence. Instead of giving that to us, I almost got my mother killed.” She swallowed. 

“Every now and then, she would sneak into my room when she thinks I’m sleeping, and she would whisper apologies in my ear, while planting kisses all over my face. I wanted to tell her that it was okay, I knew she didn’t have any choice. But I didn’t dare make a move. I was too afraid that she would tell Francis and he’d hit me again. So I stayed quiet.” Miranda took a deep breath. She was about to tell Andrea something that she swore she would take with her to her tomb. 

“When I was 12 years old–” she paused, not really knowing how to begin. “I was at school. It was during my English class that I got called to the Principal’s office. She told me that Francis had finally killed my mother, and that he was gone. He killed her in the bathroom of a local casino and fled. She asked me if I had somewhere to go. At the time, I was always told by my mother that lost kids were brought to juvenile hall, where they would spend the rest of their lives waiting for some kind of miracle to save them from that awful place. I didn’t want to go there. I didn’t believe in miracles. So I said yes. I told her that I was going to stay with an aunt for a while, whose husband is a police officer. I even gave her a name for them. There was no aunt. I was told not to return to my house, because Francis might come back and kill me too. I didn’t really care if I lived or died at that point. My mother was gone, and I basically had nobody to…” she paused, hearing a sniffle. 

“Are you crying?” 

“I’m sorry.” Andrea answered, fanning her face with her hands. “It’s just that– you were so little. And how could anyone do that to their own child?”

“Well, I would ask Francis but the man has long been ended by the people he had debts to pay to.” 

“I never would have imagined what you’ve gone through.” 

“Yes, well. I’m only starting.” She paused. “I suppose we could take a little break, for you to get yourself together. The bathroom is by the coat closet near the stairs. The second door.” 

She breathed a sigh of relief after Andrea had gone. If the girl was able to hold her tears a little longer, Miranda was sure she would have broken down right there in her study. 

It was a little over 5 minutes before Andrea came back. 

“Are you alright now? Shall I continue?” She felt her stomach grumble just as Andrea nodded in response. 

“Dinner must be ready. I suppose we could go to the kitchen and continue this while eating.” She stood up. 

“Am I not keeping you from doing anything?” She asked as they were walking towards the kitchen. 

“No. I’m all yours. I mean–”

“A woman could only dream, Sachs.” 

As they sat down, Andrea laid the recording device on the table. “Just tell me if you want to continue, I’ll continue recording then.” She told her as Juliette served their dinner. 

“Thank you.” She expressed her gratitude towards the maid. “You may go home for the night. We will be fine here.”

“Thank you, Miranda.” Juliette replied before taking off her apron and heading towards the door. 

“I’m ready.”

“It’s recording.”

“So, where was I? Ah, yes…”

I went back to our house that night. It didn’t have locks. Anyone would be able to enter if they wished. It was this broken down suburban looking house, except that we lived in possibly the dirtiest part of all of England. 

I did not sleep that night. I feared that Francis might return. And he did, eventually. It took a week. Just as I was getting ready for school. It had been a week since I last ate a full meal. A couple of nice girls from my class gave me a little of their food, but that was about it. He entered the house just as I was getting dressed. He thought I was about to run away. He took me by the arm and dragged me outside where I saw another man. 

Nicholas Diaz.

“Here she is. This is the kid I promised you.”

The kids at my school always told me I was pretty. I had big innocent looking eyes and curly blonde hair. The teachers always praised me and told me I looked like a porcelain doll. I was glad that I did not get Francis’ brown eyes and ginger hair. I always thought he looked awful.

So at that moment, when I saw the man waiting at my front door. I knew what was coming for me. I’ve seen that man. He was one of the many Francis owed a lot of money to. He was giving me to him as payment along with some of my mother’s belongings. 

“She does look like a pretty doll.”

“Just as I told you. When did I ever lie to you?”

“More times that I can count, Frank.” Francis chuckled at that. 

He practically threw me into Diaz’s waiting arms along with a sack of my mother’s jewelry. It hit my face, and he yelled at Francis about it. He said something about being careful, that he might ruin my pretty face. He said that if that happened, I would be useless.

“So, we’re good then?” 

“Sure we are, Francis.” He answered before he pulled out a gun out his left pocket and shot Francis in the head. 

He was a rich person. There were a lot of things he could get away with. That included killing those who owed them more money than they were capable of paying him. 

“Come along, Miriam.” 

After that, I woke up every day wishing that I hadn’t, even more than I used to. He would hit me for the smallest of things. That was not all, though. He would touch me in inappropriate ways whenever he called me to make me do something. 

“You’re so beautiful, Miriam. Any man would be lucky to have you. You’d make a fine lady.” He would always say, before hitting me hard in the face.

“No man would ever have you, Miri. Just me.” He would add, and I would nod to prevent him from hitting me more. 

He still sent me to school to prevent suspicions. He bought me new things. Although, he made me wear the most revealing clothing he could find for someone my age and made me wear them after school while he bossed me around. I knew that it would only be a matter of time before he crosses a line that would change everything.

So, after a month, I gathered up enough courage to run to Mrs. Albert, my health teacher at the time. I told her about the abuse, and the ways he would touch me. I told her how he would grin while I squirm under his hands. She asked me if he sexually abused me. He hasn’t. Still, I nodded. She took me home with her that night. Luckily, I reached her in time before she packed up her things and went. She was the one who brought me to New York. She fed me, and raised me. She showed me what it feels like to have someone protect you from harm. She wasn’t rich, but that didn’t stop her from helping me as much as she could. She sent me to a private school that had good security. She said it was to prevent Diaz from coming near me. Nobody knew him in New York. 

It was at that school that I met Nigel. We have become inseparable since then. 

It was 10:30 in the evening. 

“It’s getting late.” Miranda pointed out. 

“It is.” 

Andy was in disbelief. She felt bad for the older woman. She didn’t know how much she went through before she was even a teenager.

She spent her childhood being doted on by her parents and older siblings. She couldn’t believe someone would do something to a little child. She wanted to cry. This was Miranda. The same woman people think of as nothing but an evil bitch. The woman Andy has loved for 20 whole years. She now understood why Miranda barely let anyone in her life. She wasn’t being cruel–she was protecting herself. She went through so much already to even find it in her to trust someone. But she trusted Andy.

Why would Miranda trust a lowly features editor who had no stable job? She didn’t know who Andy was. 

She couldn’t understand why the most private person she knew would lay herself bare in front of Andy for her to do whatever she wanted with her. This was everything she hid for years. 

“It’s best if you stay the night. I cannot let you go out and take public transportation at this hour.”

“Roy could always take me home.”

“Roy goes home at 9:00 pm. He cannot take you home. I did not notice how quick time went by.”

“I don’t want to intrude.”

“I insist.”

“Miranda–” 

“This is not an argument you’ll win, Sachs. It will do you no good even if you keep doing so.” 

“Alright. I will. Let me do the dishes, though.” Andy insisted.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You are a guest. Go up to the fourth floor and take the room on the left, the one across it is mine. There are clothes in there that might fit you.” 

“You have clothes in your guest bedroom?”

“Those were Cassidy’s. She took most of them but still left plenty. Apparently her closet is not big enough to fit everything. It still irks her to this day, and I have to hear about it every single time she calls.”

Andy did not know where she found the boldness that got her to ask Miranda where the twins currently are, but she did, and Miranda answered.

“Cassidy lives in London. She’s a surgeon there. Caroline on the other hand is in France as a photographer. She also writes. She took inspiration from a certain someone.” She replied, eyeing Andrea. She thought it was the time she told the woman she remembers who she is. 

“A certain someone – me?”

“Yes, Andrea. Apparently, you inspired my daughter so much, that she took up journalism.” 

“You remember me?”

“When did I ever forget someone?” Miranda rolled her eyes.

“You used to make us review the names of the people who will be there in every event you attend, Miranda. You forget plenty.”

“Yes, well. Would you rather me forget you too?” 

“I thought you did.”

“I didn’t. You’ve made quite an impression that was hard to forget. What? Would you prefer it if I did forget who you are?”

“No, Ma’am.” 

“Good. Now you see why I insisted on you writing my biography? I trust you, because you are not a stranger, Andrea.” Miranda said in a soft tone.

That made her smile.

“Yes, Miranda.” Andy replied with a wink. Wherever she got the courage to do so, she did not know, but was so glad she did. Miranda gave her a smile before she turned around to load the dishwasher. Andy was grateful that she got to see Miranda like this. So domestic, so simple, and so undeniably human. She was grateful to be trusted enough by Miranda to let her in. 

“Go on. Don’t let me keep you from your beauty rest or whatever it is that you need to do.” 

“Do I really need that, though? The beauty rests? You certainly don’t.” She teased. 

Miranda shook her head, smiling. “No, I suppose you don’t.” 

Did Miranda just blush?

Andy lingered in the kitchen until Miranda herself headed upstairs and into her room. She didn’t sleep much that night either. How could she? Not when Miranda was so close to her yet still so far. 

Husbands be damned, she thought. Andy would offer herself to Miranda as a wife. 

Andy was woken up the next morning by the quiet sound of a door opening and closing. It took her a while before she fully came back to her senses and realized where she was. 

She hurriedly went to the guest bathroom and got ready. She opened the closet Miranda told her about. Andy marveled at the hundreds of pieces of clothing hanging in the racks, most of them exactly her size. 

She closed the door without taking anything. Instead, she slipped into yesterday’s clothes and headed downstairs to Miranda’s office. There the woman was looking absolutely ethereal with her face bare of any make-up. 

“Andrea. Are you heading out already?” Her boss greeted with a slight frown. 

“I actually am. I just wanted to say goodbye and to thank you for letting me stay over.”

“Nonsense. Eat breakfast here, Juliette has prepared some for us.”

“I still have to go home and get ready for work, I’m sorry.” 

“Did I not tell you to borrow clothes from the closet in the guest bedroom?” 

“I can’t possibly do that, Miranda.”

“Are they not your size?” 

“They are. It’s just that– I really don’t want to intrude.”

“Then I see no problem with you borrowing one. Cassidy would not mind, I assure you.” 

“But, Miranda–”

“Andrea. It is absolutely alright. Think of it like you were borrowing clothes from the closet at Runway.”

“I– fine. I will go get ready.”

“Good. Now, be quick. Breakfast is getting cold.”

“Thank you, Miranda.”

“Go on.” That got Andy running. She came back down wearing a white button up, under a black corset, with a pair of white trousers.

The moment she got to the kitchen, Miranda was already there, all dressed up. She gave Andy her usual once over and nodded. “Acceptable.” Andy beamed at her. 

Later, she offered her a ride to Runway, and after everything that had happened in the past 24 hours, Andy did not bother to decline. 

Miranda didn’t see Andrea for the rest of the day. It was a very eventful and chaotic day, filled with staff incompetencies. Although, despite how busy she was, and how frustrating all the incompetence of her staff was, the event that took place the night before made her smile. 

It wasn’t that pleasant. Miranda told Andrea the most vulnerable moments of her life. She knows she should be worried, but somehow – somehow she wasn’t. It was then that she realized how much she trusted the younger woman, that she allowed herself to be open just so Andrea would know that she trusts her.

Of course, this was all a part of Miranda’s plan. She wanted to woo the other woman, in hopes that even when she steps down as the editor-in-chief of Runway, she would still have someone by her side. She wanted to still have stability, and she wanted Andrea to be the one to offer her just that. She wanted the younger woman to be by her side when she became nobody. 

That may be a hard bargain, but it didn’t keep Miranda from hoping. After all, it was something she lived on. 

She was broken out of her thoughts by a series of soft knocks on her door. 

“Miranda?”

“Andrea. Come on in.”

“Hi. I just wanted to thank you for last night and this morning.”

“It was no problem, considering what it is you’re doing for me.” 

“Right, but still. Thank you.” 

“Well, then. You’re welcome, Andrea Sachs.” 

Neither of them spoke for a moment. Miranda’s huge office was filled with silence.

“Also, I was going to tell you that I may not be able to go to the townhouse early tonight. I have an article to finish, and I don’t think I can get it done before 6:00 pm. It wouldn’t take long, I just like to reread it a couple times and look for whatever it is that needs fixing before I submit it, because you know–” the girl rattled off.

“Andrea. It is alright. I am your boss, and if you cannot get it done tonight, then there isn’t a need for you to come by the townhouse. We can continue tomorrow.” Miranda cut her off.

“No! I’ll be there. I’ll just take maybe 30 minutes longer after 6:00.”

“Then I shall wait for you here.”

“What? No! You don’t have to do that.”

“I will do it anyway. Andrea, it is best that you go back to your office instead of arguing with me when we both know you are not going to win. You’ll get a lot more work done that way.”

“It’s really not necessary.”

“You must be foolish for thinking that I would let you take public transportation on your way to do more work after work hours. Now, I suggest you go either go back to your desk and get your work done over there, or take your things here and get it done in my office.”

“I will be going to my office and I’ll finish my article there.”

“Good. Now off you go.”

“Again, thank you, Miranda.”

“Yes, well. You’re welcome.” 

God, Andrea will be the death of her.

It was 30 minutes past 6:00 when Andrea came knocking on Miranda’s office.

“Andrea. Are you ready to go?”

“Yes, Miranda. Sorry for keeping you waiting.” 

“It’s alright. Not like someone is waiting for me at the townhouse. Although, Juliette probably is waiting to be sent home.” She chuckled.

“Come along, then. Best to hurry or you’ll end up staying the night again.”

“I wouldn’t mind that.” She heard Andrea mumble but chose to not say anything about it. 

When they sat in the car, Andrea immediately turned to look at her. 

“I don’t mean to intrude, but, what happened to Cara?”

“Cara is dead, Andrea. It has been 20 years. She died of old age. Juliette is her daughter actually. Apparently, Cara told her to take great care of us before she went. She always was a kind soul.”

“Oh. That’s– one last question.” Miranda raised an eyebrow at her and urged her to continue. 

“Is– I mean, how– Patricia.” She stuttered out.

“Andrea, Patricia is a dog, a healthy one, but still a dog. She’s long gone.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It has been a long time coming. She’s been with us for over 15 years by the time she died.” 

“It must have been hard. You love that dog.” 

“Didn’t we all?” 

“I loved her. Where is she buried?” 

“The backyard, by that tree she used to love so much.”

“Can I go visit her before we get started?”

“Why not? She did love you too.”

“How did you–”

“I know about your little get-togethers with my girls, Andrea. Surely you must know by now that nothing goes past the dragon lady.”

“I just wish you wouldn’t call yourself that.” Andrea frowned.

Miranda chuckled, making the younger’s frown deeper.

“It’s what the people call me. You hear one story about my upbringing and you suddenly think I’m a good person. I am not.”

“I never thought you were,” She paused. “Bad, I mean.”

“Elaborate?”

Andrea took a deep breath, as if gathering the courage to respond. Then, she took Miranda’s hand. “Not tonight.”

“Alright.”

When they reached the townhouse, Miranda noticed the way Andrea’s steps faltered during their walk to the older woman’s office.

“You know, before she died, I was looking for a breeder. But she got sick, and never got better. You may visit Patricia, I will call you when dinner is ready. I’d like for us to eat before we get started, would that be alright?” 

Andrea smiled. “That would be wonderful. Thank you so much, Miranda.”

“No problem. Now go have your heart to heart talk with my dead dog.” She said before turning around and heading upstairs. Before she did though, she heard Andrea let out a snort and a small giggle. 

Andy headed to the backyard after Miranda went upstairs. The tombstone would be seen from a mile away. Of course, even the family dog had to have such a beautiful place to rest. 

Patricia Priestly

Beloved and loyal family dog. 

1995 - 2008

She ran her fingers through the engravings on the tombstone. The dog had lived longer than most Saint Bernards usually do. She kept the Priestly family company for 13 whole years. At the very bottom of the tombstone, there was a sentence engraved in such a tiny way. 

“We hope you’re happy in dog heaven.” C & C

Andy sighed. She fully sat down on the ground, her knees crossed. 

“Hey, Patty.” She started, running her hand through the tombstone, as if it was the dog’s fur. “I really don’t know what to say to you. Before I left– well, I guess I have to apologize for that. But, before I left, I told you what I felt for your Mom, didn’t I? And I told you that I might need to leave, because it’s wrong and I needed it to go away. I did leave. I left all of you. I wish I was there to hold them when you left. Instead, I abandoned you all. I thought the feelings would all be gone, but I was wrong. They’re still here, and much stronger. But don’t worry, Patty. I won’t leave her again. I’ll be here whether she wants me to be here or not.” 

She wiped a tear that she could hold back.

“I suppose I should get going and help your Mom set up the kitchen. I hope to come and see you again, Patty. Love you.” Andy kissed her hand and rubbed it softly on the dead dog’s tombstone, before standing up and making her way back into the townhouse.

She was greeted by Miranda, who was now in an oversized brown off-the-shoulder cowl neck sweater, and black flowy pants. She was out of her heels, so Andy towered over her. 

“I’ve yet to call you in.” Miranda stated. 

“I know, but Patty wouldn’t want me to talk her ears off when she’s supposed to be peacefully resting, would she?” Andy teased.

“Well, no. I suppose not. You always did talk a lot.” Her boss smirked. 

“So you should be used to it by now.”

“I am, a little,” Miranda replied. “I sent Juliette home already. It’s only the two of us now. We should eat, so we'll finish early.”

“You can tell me about it while we eat, but only if you’re comfortable doing so. Otherwise, we can start after I do the dishes.” Andy offered.

“We can start at dinner,” she paused briefly. “And you are not doing the dishes. Nice try, Andrea.”

“I should.”

“No.” Miranda shot her a stern look. “I was just offering.” Andy raised her hands in mock surrender, determined to try again after their meal. 

“Come on, dinner is getting cold. Juliette made pan-seared scallop pasta.”

“That sounds delicious.”

“It is. She’s a really good cook.”

When they sat down, Andrea pulled out the recording device. 

“Whenever you’re ready, Miranda.”

“We can start.” With that, the features editor pressed record, and Miranda took one bit of her food before she started talking. 

“So, where did we leave off? New York, right?” Andrea merely nodded at that. 

“Right, so, Mrs. Albert took me to New York. I mentioned she sent me to this private school, right? At the time, I didn’t have the mindspace to question where she got the money to do so. Whitney – that was her first name – she didn’t have much money. She told us she was barely making ends meet. I just thought she was really nice. She sent me to school after the previous one finished, so I spent the first three months of my time in New York looking for jobs while Whitney started hers. This was 1961, so there were barely any jobs that were interested in hiring a girl, and Whitney said it “wasn’t what she wanted for me,” and that I would be wasting my potential. I thought she was really kind, so I stayed home. I knew her job didn’t pay her that well, but I got great things for school. I assumed she was putting my needs before hers, especially when she started buying me great clothes. She even gave me this bear that I put on my bed. I was not quick to make friends at school because of my heavy accent.” She for a while, taking a bite of her food that was now cold.

“The Yorkshire accent just sounded awful. But, Nigel. Oh, Nigel, bless his kind soul. He stuck with me. He would fight the girls who bullied me, and the boys who would pull on my hair and make fun of my accent. He said “Miri, it’s okay. It’ll go away. I’ll help you.” And he did. I don’t know how he did it, maybe the exposure helped, but he helped me get rid of my accent in only one year. By the time school started the next year, my accent was almost fully gone. That was when I made friends, only a few though. I limited my group to Nigel and me only. I didn’t care if I didn’t have any friends, because I had Nigel. He told me he wanted to work in fashion one day, and I told him that we would make it happen. I promised him that when I make it up there, he will be coming with me, and vice versa. We made this blood pact on a piece of paper he let me keep at Whitney’s house. He’s always been a good friend. Everything was going well, until when I turned 14, and puberty hit me.” 

Miranda looked at Andrea, as if gauging her reaction to what she was saying. The features editor’s head was tilted to the side as she chewed. 

“You don’t have to tell me about this part. We can just leave it out.”

“I have to, Andrea. This part is what led me to become who I am today.” 

“Okay, we can take a break then, start again whenever you’re ready.”

“Whitney loved to take pictures, mostly of me. Anyway, I was having people over that day. I was cleaning the house. I saw this box where she kept all of the photos of me she’d taken over the years. I opened it, out of curiosity mostly, but a part of that was that she always used to tell me how pretty I was in those photos, but she never showed me what I looked like in them. There weren't any photos in the box. Instead, she had letters, all sent from one address I knew well. They were from the man who killed Francis. I read one letter, it talked about the checks he’s been sending her in exchange for my photos. He told her about the things he used to say to me. He–”

Miranda choked on her words. She stood up and headed for the bathroom. She knows Andrea heard the sounds she made as she wretched in there, because not even a minute after she kneeled down the toilet, she felt a comforting hand on her back, and whispered words into her ear. 

“Are you alright now?” Andrea asked, her hand rubbing smooth circles in Miranda’s back. The older woman merely nodded. 

“Okay, come on. Let’s go to the kitchen and I’ll get you a glass of water.” She helped Miranda stand up, leading her back into the kitchen and to the stool by the counter. “Would you like some tea, Miranda?” 

“No, thank you. Water would be alright.” She rasped out.

“We don’t have to continue tonight. I can go home, and you can rest. Or if it makes you feel better, I could stay here with you. I brought a change of clothes with me, so in case I stay over, I wouldn’t have to borrow clothes from the guest room closet.”

“I– I want to finish this story tonight.”

“Alright. No pressure, remember that. I’ll go ahead and put away the dishes.”

“I can do it later, Andrea.”

“So can I, and I’ll do it now. Rest for a little, alright?”

By then, Miranda was too tired to argue. Andrea gave her a kind smile before lightly squeezing her shoulder and heading to the dining table. When she returned, Miranda was feeling slightly better. 

“Do you mind if we go to the den instead of my office?”

“Not at all, wherever you feel comfortable the most is good.”

Andrea took a seat next to Miranda, a little bit further than she would like the features editor to do so, but she appreciated her respecting boundaries. Almost immediately when they got to the den, Miranda started talking again. Andrea offered her hand to her “for support” she said, and Miranda took it with no hesitation.

“Diaz has been sending Whitney money. He said in one letter that she has to return me to Yorkshire when I turn of age. That was merely 4 years away from then. Whitney never planned to keep me, she only wanted the money. When Nigel arrived, I asked him if it would be alright for me to stay with him that night, he knew his parents wouldn’t allow it. We were too old for sleepovers. So naturally, he said no. I showed him one of the letters I found, and when the other girl came, I sent her home. I confronted Whitney that night. She reasoned that it was supposed to be temporary, that she only wanted to make our lives better. Then, she switched her tactics. She told me that nobody would want to keep me, that she was doing me a favor so I would not end up in the streets.” Miranda squeezed Andrea’s hand. 

“She threatened me that if I left, she would tell Diaz, and he would send out men to find me, and they would kill me. I stayed with her for a few more days. I acted like everything was alright at home. I told Nigel that it was a false alarm. Whitney changed then. She would ask me to put on clothes so she could take a photo and send them out to Diaz. It hurt, of course. I fully trusted her. So, one night before school started, I gathered up the courage and I ran away. I didn’t stop until I was certain she would not be able to find me. By then, I was out of the city. I didn’t know how but apparently, somebody found me and took me to this orphanage. Whitney has yet to adopt me, I realized that it was because of her plan to hand me over to Diaz that she couldn’t put me to her name.” She took a deep breath. 

“Well, we’re done with the dramatic sad part. I was an orphan both in reality and on paper. So, they took me in. It was a really small place, and they used to send kids they took in this public school the furthest away from Nigel’s. I stayed in that orphanage until I was out of school and was old enough to work, and I never saw Nigel again. By then, I had woman-ed up and started looking for jobs. That was almost 20 years later, women had more jobs than just housemaids or teachers. I worked as a waitress while I sent myself to college. I graduated drowning in debt. I realized I had nobody to help me, so I applied to every job. The college program I took had nothing to do with fashion, actually. As a matter of fact, I have a nursing degree. I figured it was the most in demand job, and it would be easier. But, I didn’t apply to any hospitals, instead, I went to Elias-Clarke and took the first available position. I was the second assistant to the Editor-in-Chief then, Jacqueline Follet’s father.” Miranda looked at the clock. It was 10:00 pm. 

“It’s late. Would you like me to call Roy now?” She asked Andrea, whose thumb was still drawing circles on the back of Miranda’s hand.

“I promised you I’d stay, didn’t I?” Andrea replied softly, and Miranda’s heart nearly melted at the sincerity in the younger woman’s words. 

“If you’re sure, I can always ask Roy to pick you up if you’re not comfortable staying here.”

“Would you be opposed to me staying the night?” Andrea asked, her eyes suddenly sullen. For a moment, Miranda wondered if she knew how expressive her eyes were. 

“No, not really. You may stay.”

“Then I’m staying. I don’t have anyone waiting for me at home anyway.”

“I suppose I should let you rest, it has been a long day. Goodnight, Andrea.”

“Goodnight, Miranda.”

Miranda was already walking towards the staircase when Andrea called her back.

“Hey, Miranda?”

“Yes?”

“If you, you know, need someone to talk to, or just a shoulder to lean on, I’m here.” 

“I don’t need you to pity me.”

“I don’t. I just think you’ve gone through so much, and yet you’re still standing. I know it takes a lot, and not everyone can do that. I mean, I know I won’t be able to. I’d have ended it all already, if it was me.” Andrea rambled.

“Thank you, Andrea. I appreciate it. I’ll be sure to tell you whenever I do need someone. Now head to bed, your boss would hate it if you’re tardy tomorrow morning.” Miranda teased. Teased! 

“Oh, she would hate it.” The features editor agreed half-jokingly before running towards the older woman. They both know how much Miranda hates tardiness. “My boss kills tardy people.” Andrea added.

“Does she?” Miranda questioned with a raised eyebrow.

“She so does.” 

When they got upstairs, and Miranda was about to head into her room, Andrea called out for her again.

“Miranda?”

“Andrea?”

“Can I hug you goodnight?” She asked quietly. 

“Why not?” Miranda replied, opening her arms out for the girl who practically threw herself to her. She reciprocated the embrace just as Andrea tightened her hold on Miranda. 

“I’m so proud of you, Miranda. I might be over-stepping but I just need you to know that.” Andrea whispered into her ear. “And fuck the people who wronged you, I hope they rot in hell.” She added before loosening her hold on Miranda, who in response, tightened her arms around the younger woman. 

“Thank you, but not yet, please.” She felt Andrea nod and Miranda buried her face against the taller woman’s neck, inhaling her sweet scent. When they finally broke apart, Andrea’s face was flushed, and Miranda was sure hers was too, but she couldn’t find herself to care. “Goodnight, Andrea.” 

“Goodnight, Miranda. See you tomorrow.”

“Stay for breakfast?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

“Good. Now go to sleep unless you want your boss to kill you.” She winked at Andrea before she sauntered into her bedroom. 

The moment Andy closed the door, she immediately burst into tears. She remembered her childhood – the way her parents offered their full support on the things she wanted to do. She put her hand over her mouth to muffle her sobs. She felt so bad for Miranda. That woman who’s been doing nothing but her best for her twin daughters, was the same person who did not even get to experience what it’s like to have a mother. 

Suddenly, it all came crashing down on Andy. The guilt of hating Miranda for how she treated her, when the woman was just doing her best to survive too. Yes, Miranda was in a better state, but she will always carry the pain of what she went through as a child. She felt guilty for calling her evil, when Miranda was just a victim herself. She felt like an awful person for not trying harder to understand Miranda, and leaving her just like almost every person in her life did. 

She imagined how that god-awful man would touch such a young person inappropriately – a person who couldn’t do anything to protect herself. She could not even fathom how much pain Miranda had to endure. 

Andy stood up, rushing towards the bathroom. She knelt by the toilet, clutching it while she wretched. She hoped this room was soundproofed, because if it wasn’t, Miranda would surely be able to hear her. 

She knew she couldn’t sleep here, or anywhere else, really. She knew that she would not be able to be at peace without seeing Miranda, and – as creepy as it sounds – without watching the rise and fall of her chest while she slept. She needed to feel that Miranda was alive, and that Nicholas Diaz did not manage to take her and beat her to death. 

Before she knew it, Andy was already in front of Miranda’s bedroom door, her hand moving on its own, slamming itself on the door. 

“Andrea, whatever is it that got you so agitated?” Miranda asked. Andy could tell she was about to say more, but refrained on doing so after seeing her current state. 

“I- I’m sorry,” Andy choked out. “I k-know it wasn’t my experience. I d-don’t know w-why I- why I’m this affected.” She continued, struggling to speak in between sobs. She felt like she was being strangled. Andy knew she was embarrassing herself in front of Miranda once again. She knew that she shouldn’t be reacting this way. It was Miranda who struggled so much, not Andy. It was her who came near death countless times. 

Oh god, Miranda could have died.

“Would you like to come in?” Miranda asked tentatively. Andy nodded at that. She was so pathetic. 

“Sit down.” Miranda told her when she entered the room. It was huge, but Andy did not have the strength to appreciate it at the time. Her boss gestured towards the bed, before heading towards the mini refrigerator. She took a bottle of Pellegrino, taking a glass from one of the cabinets above it and pouring some for Andy. She handed it over, before she sat down beside the younger woman. 

“Will you tell me what happened? You were hysterical, and I heard commotions coming from your room.” She asked when she noticed that Andy had finally calmed down. 

“I- I don’t know. I just- I couldn’t imagine how much you suffered, and when I entered the room, it all sunk into me. You could have died, Miranda. They could have killed you. I would have- I would have had to lose you before I even met you.” Andy rambled.

“But wouldn’t that have worked out in your favor? If you never worked for me, you’d still be with that cook boy. I’d say it would have been better for you if I did die.” She said in a joking manner. 

“Don’t joke about that!” Andy screamed, tears forming in her eyes again. Miranda’s eyes widened. “I- I’m sorry. Just please – please don’t say things like that.”

“I won’t. I’m sorry.” She gently took Andy’s hand. “Would you– stay here tonight? With me?” She asked.

“Would it be alright if I did?” Andy asked. 

“Well, I am offering, aren’t I? I don’t make offers that I don’t mean, Andrea. You should know that by now.” 

“O-okay.” She stuttered out. “I can take the couch.”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous. I invited you in here to make sure you’ll be okay, I am not making you sleep on the couch. We’re sharing the bed.”

“But–”

“We are sharing the bed, Andrea Sachs. If I wanted you to sleep on a couch, I would have let you stay in the den. If you are not comfortable, then I shall be the one to sleep on the couch.”

“No! Here is fine.” She jumped into the bed and under the covers, before patting the space beside her. “Come on, it’s night time. We should sleep.” 

“It’s been night time hours ago, you silly girl.” Miranda replied, slipping under the covers as well, the fondness evident in her voice not going unnoticed by the journalist. It was only then that Andy noticed that the older woman was no longer wearing the cashmere sweater she wore before she entered her room. Miranda was now wearing a nightgown. Andy could not tell what color it was due to the only source of light being the bedside lamp on both sides of the bed.

“Miranda?” Andy called out. 

The older woman was now laying down on her back, her eyes glued to the ceiling. She hummed, acknowledging Andy. 

“Can I– can we– nevermind.”

“Do you want me to hold you?”

“Would it be inappropriate?”

“I have a feeling that you do not really care about that.”

“Well–”

“Do you want me to hold you, Andrea?”

“Yes.” She answered quickly. “Come here, then.” 

Miranda opened her arms, gesturing for Andy to come closer.

“Oh, turn off the lamp first.” She asked Andy, who complied happily. “Come on here, now.” 

She scoot closer, laying her head on Miranda’s shoulder, right feeling the steady beating of the older woman’s heart against her cheek. She felt Miranda wrap an arm around her shoulder, which prompted Andy to snake an arm on the older woman’s waist. 

“Sleep now, Andrea. I assure you, I will still be here tomorrow.” She paused. “Or not. You did wake up a little bit late yesterday.” She murmured against Andy’s hair. 

Andy, already half-asleep on her part, snuggled closer to Miranda’s side, enjoying the scent of the older woman. 

“G’night, M’randa.” Andy said, not even attempting to stifle the yawn that escaped her throat.

“Goodnight, Andrea.” She didn’t know whether it was a dream or not, but Andy swore that she felt Miranda press a kiss on the crown of her head, as she tightened her hold on the younger woman.

The next morning, Miranda woke up with something warm pressed against her side. She tried to move, not wanting to open her eyes, when an arm tightened around her waist. She felt hot breaths caress her neck. That was when the events of the previous night came to her. 

She remembered inviting Andrea to sleep in her room. On her bed. Beside her. 

She also remembered how hysterical the younger woman was when she banged against Miranda’s door, and how disheveled Andrea was. She remembered how relieved the features editor was when she finally opened the door and let her in.

Despite her situation the night before, Miranda did not miss the way Andrea seemed to hold back from throwing herself into her arms. She didn’t know what else to do to comfort her except offering a place in her bed, which she was glad Andrea took. 

She shifted slightly, nuzzling the brunette with her cheek. They were tangled, their limbs entwined, and as if that wasn’t enough, Andrea attempted to pull Miranda closer, burying her face further into the older woman’s neck, sniffing the skin there. 

Miranda checked the time. It was 7:00 am. She was due at the office in 2 hours. She wanted to sleep in. This was probably the best sleep she’s had since Paris, and that was 20 years ago. She ran her hand through soft locks one last time, before rubbing Andrea’s arm softly in an attempt to wake her up.

“Andrea. Wake up, or you’ll be late.” She nudged Andrea softly, who in response, tried to somehow bury her face further into Miranda’s neck, the arm around her waist tightening.

“Andrea, darling. Come on.” The term of endearment slipped out of her mouth unconsciously, but the younger woman only whined in response. 

God, this woman is adorable. 

“You better wake up now, Andrea Sachs. I need to go to the bathroom.” 

“It’s early.”

“It’s 7:00 in the morning.” 

“Still early. Just 5 more minutes, please.” She mumbled, and Miranda’s heart nearly melted.

“I already gave you 30 minutes. I could have woken you up long ago, but I didn’t. But now, you really have to get up.” 

Andrea jolted awake at that. 

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, Miranda. I thought– I thought it was a dream.” She tried to push herself away from the older woman, but Miranda held her down.

“Do calm down, Andrea. I assure you, it’s alright. You were quite adorable, actually.”

She let her get up, and Andrea only stared at her in horror. 

“What? Not even a ‘good morning’? That’s not too polite.”

“I– I’m sorry. Good morning, Miranda.”

“Good morning, Andrea. I had to wake you up, it would be in my conscience if I let your boss kill you without doing anything to prevent it.”

“I– thank you. And I am sorry for last night, for how I acted.”

“Don’t be. I appreciate how much you seemed to care for me.”

“I do,” Andrea said. “Care about you, I mean. A lot.”

Miranda smiled at her, getting up and making her way to the bathroom. Before she entered though, she looked at Andrea for a moment, who stared right back at her. 

“I care about you a lot, too, Andrea. Go get ready, breakfast should be done.”

“Yes, Miranda. Thanks again for last night.”

“It’s no problem, Andrea.” She replied, before her back on the younger woman and entering the bathroom. She heard the door open and shut a few moments later.