A/N: So, here's a surprise one shot. I say surprise, cos that's what I am! I had started writing More Than Just Baggage, then I heard a song, and you know how THAT goes! So here we are. The song is Unsteady by the X Ambassadors. Bit different from my usual fare, but there it is. Hope you all enjoy it. I feel the love coming back to my writing brain. Ironically, I needed to get busier for all those nice little ideas to start creeping back. So here we are. Hope you like it. Not beta-ed and I really only had a cursory glance over it, so forgive me for that. I'm sure you'll all let me know if there's anything obvious! Also, where the hell did all this come from. I intended it to be something VERY different to what it ended up as. And also, disclaimer. I have a good friend with Epilepsy, but I don't have it myself, so basically, I've relied on research. Apologies if I got anything wrong.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.

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Andy didn't see the phone hit the water. Truthfully, as she rounded the corner, she wasn't even sure why she'd dropped it. It had seemed so simple in the heat of the moment, and now, now it was the most complicated thing she could have done. But she knew what it meant.

Rule number 1. Don't ever let Miranda's call go to voicemail.

As the gravity of what she'd done hit her, she choked. Stumbling down a little alley she vomited, only narrowly managing to avoid her shoes.

Not her shoes.

Miranda's.

She heaved again, and her eyes watered at the force of her emptying stomach. Between Christian, and the luncheon, and Miranda's words, Andy didn't know how to feel. She was more unsteady on her feet at this moment than she'd ever been learning to walk in heels.

Fumbling for a tissue in her clutch, her hands trembling, she wiped her mouth and looked around. She didn't know Paris. She knew the areas where the fashion shows were. She'd made sure she did, but this area was not that. This area was somewhere else, and she blinked, wondering how she'd even got here. Had she walked all this way without realising?

Gulping a few deep breaths, she glanced around looking for a water fountain - the irony wasn't lost on her. She needed to rinse her mouth.

"Mademoiselle? Ça va?"

She turned, frowning at the young busboy who was looking at her in concern. Her French was even worse than her geography.

"Um, yeah, I'm fine."

"Anglais?"

"Oui," Andy said, shaking her head at her own stupidity.

"Are you okay madam?"

"I'm fine," Andy tried to smile, but didn't think she'd been very successful. "Do you, do you know the way back to the Hotel Plaza Athénée?"

"Oui bien sûr," he smiled. "Perhaps some water?"

She thanked him as he passed her a bottle of water and she took a big gulp, wincing at the taste.

"Thank you."

"De rien," he smiled. "Ze hotel, it is down the Rue Saint-Florentin to the Place de Concorde, do you know your way from zere?"

"Um, I might," Andy said, glancing up at the sky and frowning at how dark it was getting.

"Cross the plaza, to the Place de la Concorde. Stay at ze edge of the park and follow ze Champs-Élysées to the," he frowned. "Le cercle?" He made a circular motion with his hand.

"Circle?"

"Oui!," he smiled. "It would not be good for you to be in the park after dark. You will find Avenue Montaigne at the circle. l'Athénée is half way along."

Andy struggled to keep the instructions together in her head, but she nodded, noticing a car pull up to the curb.

"Merci beaucoup," she said, leaving him to his work and walking the way he pointed.

She made it back to the plaza, pausing to watch the fountain for just a moment.

How could she have been so stupid, to have thrown everything away like that. Just as, she shook her head, trying to rid herself of her thoughts. Just as you were getting somewhere, an unhelpful voice supplied.

She felt the pure exhaustion creeping up on her shoulders, and she knew she needed to get back. There was a throbbing pain behind her eye. Experience told her that if she left it too long, she'd be in danger of a migraine, or worse, a seizure.

It had taken her so long to get her fits under control. Epilepsy was no joke. It was the one thing Andy worked at most. Finding a treatment regime that suited her, and that worked to keep the seizures at bay. And now there was a persistent pounding behind her right eye.

She muttered the instructions to herself as she walked past the fountain, turning back at the last minute to look for the phone. In the waning light, the bottom of the fountain was obscured. She sat down with a huff and looked in her clutch. She had no money, relying on Miranda for transportation. She had her entry badge to the fashion shows, but they didn't look as official as they could. No cab driver worth their salt would accept that as collateral for payment at the other end.

Rolling her neck a few times, she stood, wincing as her shoes pinched and walked down the Champs-Élysées. She realised as she passed the first entrance to the park that the busboy was right - she did not want to go there after dark. It was stressful enough as it was to walk beside the six lane road - if it could be called that. She winced as a particularly aggressive driver swerved around some traffic and his lights shone right in her eyes.

There was no escaping it tonight. Andy knew already. At some point between where she was and getting back to the hotel, she'd almost certainly have a seizure. And it was exactly not where she wanted to be. She was already fuzzy. She recited the directions in her head, and then out loud when her head became too muffled. By the time she came to the traffic circle, she wasn't sure she was saying it right anymore.

She found the crossing and watched the man turn green. And then red, and then green again. Someone bumped into her and she blinked, realising that green meant go and rushed across the road. Only she had no idea what she was supposed to do next. She stood, looking around and realised she was well and truly fucked.

Struggling to control her breathing as the fuzziness got worse, she swallowed a few times, feeling like her tongue was two sizes too big for her mouth. She found another crossing and followed the people on it until she read the sign on the road she now faced. She was pretty sure that was it, so she followed someone who went that way without thinking. Nearly anywhere was better than on the busiest road in Paris.

Even as she walked, she felt a familiarity as she struggled to focus on one thing or another. She could feel it coming as she stopped in front of a very bright light on the side of a building.

"Excuse"

She blinked hard, as someone bumped into her. She was desperate to come back from wherever her brain was slipping away to. She needed to tell someone. She could hear someone talking nearby, someone familiar and she stumbled as she tried to move closer. Her legs were going. And it wouldn't be long until she was on the ground.

She tried to call out to him, but her mouth wouldn't move either.

"Hang on Miranda, there's someone about to be killed in the road. Madame sortez de la route!"

"Nigel," she breathed.

"Shit, Andy?!"

"Nige," she breathed, as she felt his hand on her arm. "Gonna go, can't stop it. No hospital."

"What? Andy, I don't understand, what happened? Andy?" his voice got further away, but she was sure he was still holding her arm. "Fuck, MIRANDA!"