Hi! :3
This is my first fanfic in a really, really long time. And the first Mirandy one I've ever done, so I'm a little nervous. Each chapter (there will probably be 4 + an epilogue) is loosely inspired by a song, but it is a complete, multi-chapter story (another first for me, yikes!)

This is my take on what could've happened if Andy decided to stay.
The rating is for later chapters, and that's a promise ;)

Chapter 1 – God Only Knows

To say that Andy Sachs was scared shitless would be the understatement of the century. The walls of her Paris hotel room seemed to close in around her as the events of the past day swirled in her head. How could she have been so stupid? No. Stupid wasn't nearly a strong enough word for this. Not even close.

The lost look on Miranda's face as she searched for Andy in the crowd of paparazzi swarming around her haunted the young woman. She rubbed her temples in frustration and inhaled slowly, trying to shake the feeling of guilt that physically clenched her heart. Fuck. Why hadn't she simply sucked it up and dealt with whatever comments and demands Miranda spat out at her? No. She just had to go and walk away from Miranda and deposit that incessantly ringing phone into the nearest available place – which happened to be a rippling fountain on the other side of the road.

She was so fired. And beyond that, she was utterly fucked. Miranda would personally fire, torture, murder, and finally watch her burn in hell for this. To start with, the phone she'd tossed into the fountain probably cost more than her month's salary, and that wasn't even an issue compared with everything else she had done. It was one of the most important days of Paris Fashion Week, and she had left Miranda to fend for herself in the middle of a raging crowd of paparazzi. And she felt like shit for doing it.

The second she'd realized how royally she'd screwed up, there was no going back. So instead she'd spent the day in a state of panic, alternating between pacing the huge hotel room that somehow managed to feel claustrophobic despite its size and curling up on the king-sized bed, sobbing at her own stupidity. She had spent hours trying to figure out what she'd say once Miranda got back from the benefit tonight. She'd come to the conclusion that no matter how good she was with words, there was no way she was going to talk herself out of this one. So she'd done the only thing she could think of: she wrote a (pathetic, now that she thought of it) note of apology for Miranda, slid it under her hotel room door and prayed that when the woman read it she'd come over and let Andy explain herself.

The truth was she was genuinely sorry. She didn't want to let Miranda down, not ever. And she had. She knew she couldn't tell the truth about why she had reacted the way she had, not without risking something that was worth much, much more than her job. To be honest, she wasn't sure she even knew why she'd acted the way she had. All she knew was that there were feelings inside her that she couldn't quite control. Feelings regarding her beautiful, blue-eyed boss that she was not ready to confront even in her own mind. Feelings that said blue-eyed beauty should under no circumstances come to be aware of.

As if on cue, there was a firm knock on her door. Oh fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. She'd been waiting for hours, and she wasn't even close to ready for what was going to happen once she opened that door. Trying to gather up what was left of her dignity, Andy made her way towards the door as slowly as she could, dreading the moment she'd have to face her boss' wrath.

"Andrea?" Miranda's low, surprisingly soft voice floated through the door, "I know you're in there. Not even you could've arranged tickets for a flight out of here that quickly."

Typical. Count on Miranda to be sarcastic right before she rips your head off. Andy shuddered at the thought. Surely there was some way she could convince Miranda that it wasn't that bad after all. That she could finish her job here and then leave without a fuss once Miranda no longer needed, or wanted to see her. Who was she kidding? She was about to have both her pink slip and ass handed to her and she knew it. What was worst, with a snap of her fingers Miranda could make sure Andy never got a job in any publication in the entire country. Or in fact, the world.

Andy slid the door open, her hand shaking slightly as she tried to get a steady grip on the handle. She stepped aside, her eyes glued to the carpet as Miranda stalked past her into the room. She let the door shut on a soft click, and turned around to not-quite-face Miranda. Her eyes refused to leave the carpet and her cheeks burned with sheer guilt.

"Miranda I'm so sorry. I-"

"Why are you still here?"

Andy looked up to see two piercing blue eyes trained on herself, as if trying to solve a puzzle. "What do you mean?" Hadn't Miranda herself just declared that even Andy couldn't have gotten plane tickets this quickly?

"Don't play dumb Andrea, it's most unattractive. Frankly, I don't care why you were going to leave. It's quite obvious. What interests me is why you decided to stay."

Andy considered her options. She could say it was a momentary loss of confidence, but that would make Miranda think she was weak, which was almost as bad as telling the truth. She could plead that she'd been so stressed she didn't know what she was doing. Yeah. Even better. The truth was there wasn't really any fight left in her. All she wanted was to throw herself into Miranda's arms and tell her there was no place she'd rather be than right there with her, and she'd been so scared of that, that she'd tried to run away. But that was obviously out of the question.

"Andrea," Miranda's icy tone cut right through Andy's musings, "I'm waiting."

This was not the situation to get hot and bothered in, but when Miranda used that tone, all Andy could do was try to breathe steady and wiggle her hips without the other woman sensing her discomfort. Damn Miranda and her low, seductive voice.

"Why didn't you go?" There was something almost soft about Miranda's words, like she somehow understood that this wasn't a simple decision of whether or not to leave her job for Andy.

"God only knows," Andy muttered under her breath, squeezing her eyes shut at how pathetic the words sounded even to herself.

Miranda let out a huff, her voice back to its usual superiority as she spoke again, "Speak up, silly girl. I can't make any sense of your muttering. And will you look at me when you speak to me."

Andy's cheeks burned scarlet and tears prickled in her eyes, but she did as she was told. Slowly raising her eyes to meet icy blue, she said the only thing that she could think of, "I just couldn't go, Miranda."

There was a tense silence, cut only by the incessant ticking of an antique clock on the wall, as the two women stared at each other. Neither willing to break the gaze, but at the same time too scared to speak. In the end Andy couldn't take it any longer, the tears in her eyes threatening to fall any second.

"Listen Miranda, I'm exhausted. Can we just please get this over and done with? Fire me, shout at me, bite my head off for all I care. But please do it quickly, because I need to get to bed or I'll pass out right here."

There was something unrecognizable in Miranda's eyes that made Andy's spine tingle as the older woman ran a finger over tense lips, her eyes surveying Andy. The almost-smile that flashed on Miranda's face before she spoke was nearly too much to bear.

"Why on earth would you think I'm going to fire you, Andrea?"

"I. Umm. Well. I just assumed-"

"Do not assume things, Andrea. Now get to bed. I'll need you up and about in exactly," Miranda glanced at the old clock, "four hours."

With that, the editor spun on her heals, her hips swaying from side to side as she walked out. When the door swung shut behind Miranda, Andy's brain finally caught up with what had happened. She still had her job. Miranda hadn't so much as chastised her for what she had done. And she was expected back to work at six. Shit. Shaking her head, marveling at the absurdity of the night, Andy headed towards the bedroom of her suite for her not-so-luxurious four hours of sleep.

Two weeks after miraculously keeping her job, Andy was back at Elias Clarke, running errands and answering phones just like before. Except it wasn't like before. The berating for ditching Miranda in Paris had of course transpired the very next day after their late encounter. Miranda had, in so many words, told her she was extremely disappointed by Andy's actions and that she'd better work her ass off (not that Miranda would ever use the word "ass") if she wanted to stay at Runway. And by God, she had done that. Both worked her ass off, and stayed at Runway.

But ever since they returned to New York, Miranda had been different. Not nice by any means, because in no circumstances did Miranda Priestly do nice. Nevertheless, she was bearable, at least to Andy. She didn't complain about mundane things like usually, and not once had she requested anything impossible. One morning Andy could've sworn she heard a soft "thank you" escape Miranda's lips, when she placed the day's second order of Starbucks onto Miranda's table. Her eyes widened, but as Miranda made no sign of looking up from The Book, she assumed it was just her imagination playing tricks.

It was a Monday in late October, and Andy had spent most of the morning arranging Miranda's schedule for the week. For some inexplicable reason everyone – quite literally - wanted La Priestly, and they wanted her now. Around eleven Miranda's voice floated to the outer office, "Andrea."

Andy stumbled out of her chair, trying hard not to think about how beautiful her name sounded coming from those lips. Emily's signature snicker at her clumsiness went unnoticed as Andy pulled herself together and stepped into the editor's office.

"I need fifteen skirts from Calvin Klein. Cancel my meeting with Irv this afternoon, I don't care what he says, tell him I'm busy. Tell Audrey, for the hundredth time, I do not want a single snowflake in the November issue. Is that so impossible to grasp? Dinner with Donatella on Thursday is fine, but I won't stay longer than six-thirty, the girls have a recital. Move the run-through up to half past twelve and have more Starbucks when you get back. And get me Demarchelier before you go. That's all."

Andy was already halfway out of the office, her coat in one hand and the phone between ear and shoulder as she finished scribbling down what she needed to remember. "I have Patrick," she called out, connecting the call as she turned to leave.

"Thank you, Andrea," Miranda called casually before she picked up the phone and hummed, "Hello Patrick, dear."

Andy froze. Emily looked up from her computer, her eyes wide in shock and mouth hanging open. If it wasn't for her own state of confusion, Andy would've laughed at how ridiculous the redhead looked. The two assistants stared at each other as if trying to read from the other's face if they'd actually heard right.

Miranda Priestly did not thank people. Especially not young assistants who were merely doing their job. Especially not twice within a week. Not that Emily was aware of the first time, of course. Andy wasn't stupid enough to share what she'd thought was a mere concoction of her own imagination. Now she wasn't so sure.

"What the hell?" Emily mouthed after recovering from the initial shock.

"Good day?" Andy mouthed back shrugging her shoulders, before getting out of the office as fast as her Jimmy Choo-clad feet allowed.

The elevator ride felt at least ten times longer than usual. What was going on in that brilliant mind of Miranda's? No matter how casual her tone of voice had been, Andy knew without question that it wasn't just a casual "thanks". That, plus the fact that Miranda had been acting almost nicely towards her after Paris, made Andy wonder if this was Miranda's version of calm before the storm. Maybe she'd decided to fire Andy after all. Or maybe she had some other cunning plan going on, which Andy was to be a part of. Heaven only knew the things La Priestly could, and would come up with. All Andy knew was there was something going on, and it was at the same time exhilarating and terrifying.

The elevator doors slid open at the ground floor, and after that Andy had no more time to spare for her musings about Miranda's motives. She was on the phone with Irv, refusing to listen to any of his bullshit by simply stating that Miranda was incredibly busy with the upcoming issue. After that she called Audrey, who said she'd been expecting the call and had already taken care of the little glitz. When she got into the car she ended the call only to dial again to confirm Miranda's dinner with Donatella Versace.

Things went smoothly at Calvin Klein, as Andy knew precisely what Miranda needed, having taken a peek at The Book the previous week. There was going to be a reshoot tomorrow, and she knew exactly which photo shoot it was, and what Miranda would want to be different. She was in and out the door in fifteen minutes flat, heading back to the car to get Miranda's order of Starbucks before returning to the office when her phone rang.

"Hi Nigel! What's up? Oh, the run-through. Yup. She wants it twelve-thirty sharp. Mmhm, I'm already back from Calvin Klein, I just need to pick up the Starbucks. I'll be there in no time," Andy giggled into her cellphone. Nigel went on ranting about the run-through and how Miranda was insane, and everything else that was in no way new to Andy. She sighed and tried to sound comforting as she hummed out the required "aha"s and "mmhm"s as Nigel spewed out words almost faster than Miranda on a good day.

She started to cross the street; her mind still on Miranda, only looking left after she'd stepped onto the pavement. It was too late when she spotted the black Mercedes rolling toward her.

"I mean seriously, six. I know she wants things to be efficient, but my God sometimes I wonder if she's really gone bonkers. That woman," Nigel sighed, "But I guess perfection has its price. Wouldn't you say? – Six? What was that? - Andy?"

The car hit her left side and she felt a tugging pain in her chest as she spun through the air and hit the pavement with a thud. The last things she heard before passing out were Nigel's worried voice calling her name and a familiar voice telling someone to call 911.

When she woke up, she realized who that familiar voice belonged to. Roy steadied her, keeping her firmly on the ground as she tried to get up, "Easy Andy, the paramedics will be here in a second. I don't think you should move."

"But I'm fine, I need to get Starbucks – The run-through. Nigel. Where's my phone?"

"Andy breathe. You've just been hit by a car, I'm sure everything else can wait," Roy told her calmly as she fought against his gentle grip on her arms.

Her mind whirred and she felt faint. There was a sharp pain both in her chest and left wrist, but she was sure it wasn't anything serious. She had so much to get done, it was such a busy week. Miranda would kill her if she had to spend time in hospital. Shit. With that, her eyes drifted shut and Roy caught her as she lost consciousness again.

Yes? No? More? Let me know :)