Title: TDWP & BTVS: On a Wing and a Prayer
Fandom: TDWP / BTVS
Pairing: (Poly/Multiple) Miranda/Andy/Buffy/Tara/Willow/Cordelia
Rating: NSFW/Mature/NC17
Summary: Andrea Sachs doesn't know her real past, but it catches up with her in a big way when she takes up residence in Sunnydale.
Words: Beta. No word count yet, as this story is not yet complete. It constitutes a beta version until such time as the work is done and may be subject to change. BETA and UNFINISHED!
Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction, which pretty well guarantees that "ownership," of the characters belongs to others (Lauren Weisberger and 20th Century Fox and Warner Bros and J. Whedon) and that this work is entirely based on affection. This work is an interpretation and not for-profit, (though it may be for praise and enjoyment) Reference to persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
Beta Readers: Thank yous go to - Melanacious, LadyDragonstorm, Shesgottaread, Bonnie, Blackgrl71, and many others - my extraordinary friends.
A/N - This is a "get 'em together" story, as most of my stories start out that way. We'll see if it goes other places too.
A/N - This fiction likely draws from several sources for inspiration - it mostly follows TDWP movie canon and BTVS TV canon as a starting point, however.
A/N - I hereby label this story AU. Just in case. Because this definitely involves magic. And while I personally believe that magic exists, there are those among us who need this disclaimer. So for purposes of respect to the cooperative multi-verse in which we live: *stamp* AU *endstamp*
A/N - This story involves appendages and physical transformations and happy bits connecting. If phallai offend, perhaps this story is not for you. *stamp* CRACKFIC *endstamp*
A/N - This story has some hints of "bad things that happened to good people." *stamp* TRIGGER Warning *endstamp* That said, this story is also protected by the she-will-never-go-there-clause. Caroline and Cassidy might get threatened by bad things, but are SAFE. *stamp* Author Safety Zone *endstamp*
A/N - Plural/Poly relationships happen to be one of my favorite playgrounds. This fiction enters that territory and really gets digging in it. *stamp* POLYAMORY *endstamp*
A/N - This story uses a buffy-world setting, which means that some events are darker and more dangerous and possibly unfriendly. *stamp* MAYHEM! *endstamp*
A/N - I have decided, just for my sanity, that family and really good friend names shall remain generally consistent. Thus, Andy's father is Richard and her mother is CeCe, etc. This will go for Miranda's family if they ever reveal themselves.
A/N - This story has big dollops of angst, but it ends well.
Inspiration Placeholder: Angel - Massive Attack: you tube: /watch?v=jK4dv34GMVw
On a Wing and a Prayer pt. 1
- TDWP & BTVS -
If human beings really knew who and what Miranda really is or was, they would all quake in fear and awe.
Oh, they think they do now, because she is the fashion queen and when she walks past they all scatter, but when one discusses real fear in relation to her, it is the old-fashioned kind; the mythic-biblical-old one, she walks in grace and mightiness, and her name is Goddess, kind. When one speaks of fear, they mean awe and terror before magnificence and her Wisdom.
Then again, her mortal minions do find their resolves shaken as she passes and the average person will step away, half bowing in instinct, without ever quite understanding why.
They might be able to imagine her nature, but cannot begin to conceive of her true power.
And talk about the misdirections, of which she is a master, the newspapers rave on about the dragon, the demon, the ice queen.
Again, wrong, wrong, wrong.
So very. It would be more true to put her very much on the higher planes. She can summon beings from dozens of planes, heavenly and otherwise. She wins every war she has fought, but it has been a long, long time since she's had to fight or even have someone else do it for her; except for Runway. Her reputation precedes her.
As a divinity, some like to think she is formless, but she has always had this form; womanly features and shape, full red lips, aquiline nose, azure eyes, white hair. Even when she dyes it or hides it by magic, her hair inevitably turns white again. She has given up trying to hide it and now considers it a feature; one might even call it her trademark.
She has had many names, some which still turn up now and then. They could not erase her from the Books, though the patriarchy tried, but there was a time that to gaze upon her face was to burn and many a man has burned in her presence. Even Solomon could not bear her for long. Wisdom has a very long reach and when scorned, she cuts. When they ignore her, she leaves. She is not one to be taken for granted. She is a Power and, despite what people say, she has feelings.
They can be very strong. She can and does get offended. She also loves, very deeply.
When she is in a particular kind of mood, sometimes her caustic words are reminiscent of times past, but even then, she curbs her tongue. She has learned and has always had a form of compassion, if not always mercy; she has also learned that they are not always the same thing. She could end a person with one phrase, or even end the world. Years ago, when she first started working at Runway, a very important person went mysteriously missing and she'd had to explain a pile of ash to maintenance. Very few, mortal or immortal, can even begin to evoke that kind of feeling in her anymore.
It's probably a very good thing; especially since Irv often comes close.
Two exist that lay absolute claim to her heart. They were surprises and are the only children of her body. She has enjoyed pleasures of the flesh with abundance over centuries and centuries, but had never before had children. Then, one day, twins.
She knows the man she calls their father is not their progenitor. She has no idea how conception was even possible, but she recalls the day and the moment it happened quite clearly.
She and her spouse of the time, Jeremy, an immortal, though not a divinity, decided to take a vacation. They headed for planes south, though dimensionally that really isn't a true direction, looking for entertainment and relaxation. They had a longtime friend who ran a Gladiatorial Arena. The Mistress of the Arena, Nan, had invited them on multiple occasions to visit her home, and they decided to take her up on her offer. They toured the arena and browsed the stable of fighters. They ate, made merry, watched the bouts.
Later, Miranda retired early, as she always did, expecting Jeremy to arrive soon.
Someone entered the room, bearing his likeness, his visage. It was one of the gladiators, ensorcelled to appear as her spouse, she knew it had to be. She realized it was a favor of the Mistress. Jeremy had never been the most faithful of spouses, and it seemed like tonight would be one of those nights.
But Miranda was not to be alone. Sometimes it is good to have friends who understood.
She noted that Nan had spared nothing. The body presented to her was Jeremy at his prime, possibly even better and definitely bigger. Only two flaws in the magic truly gave away the game. First, the gladiator was unable to speak. Second, Jeremy's eyes were green. The eyes that looked at her that night were a deep amber-brown, the kind one falls into, and they filled with an unfathomable longing when they fell upon her. Jeremy, as much as she knew he loved her, had never looked at her in such a way, even in the beginning.
No words were necessary. The hands, mouth and body were delightfully, even memorably, skillful, but this Jeremy did not search for known places. They explored each other, taking their time about it. The kisses had been succulent, unnerving in their richness. She thought she'd smelled cinnamon and it flavored the moment, sweetly redolent. When she was finally taken, she was very ready, very excited and needful. The ecstatic arrival had been shattering, she thought for both of them, but unlike her spouse, this one gathered her into their arms and held her protectively into sleep.
She awakened to an empty bed and felt the loss much more deeply than she could have expected. But she did not regret the moment, could not.
She had never discovered who and, at the time, it had not seemed necessary. She understood she had been given a gift. Her girls are her treasure.
Stephen has been an acceptable father figure, but he is growing tired of "her shit." They all do. She fights for the relationship like she always does, hopes for the best, but in this case is expecting the worst. She will try to buffer her girls when it is time, but she will stall it as long as she can. Then she will hope for something without acrimony, but part of the reason she married Stephen was his passion, which does not always lead to friendliness later.
When it is time, she will do what she must. She always does.
-TDWP & BTVS-
If people knew what and who Andy Sachs really was, well, they'd probably struggle to even picture it. Then again, she struggles with who and what she was and is too. It's a fair enough reaction. She looks both everything like she used to and nothing like had been.
She's been away from this kind of world a long time, actually away from many familiar dimensions. No wonder they think she has no style, no sense of it. It's true. She can't find it anywhere, though she thinks she used to have some. At one point in time. Maybe.
Long, long ago, the truth of the time she doesn't remember, she had been called to be a war angel for the purposes of the Host, even though she hardly knew how to hold an axe or sword or even a staff. She was thrust into battle with only a word of prayer. She was not the only one. She had been a harp player before that. By the time she was in the middle of battle, ignorant and flailing, she wished her general had never been created and that she had never been summoned from the Fields of Gold. Later, after they lost and the god of her originating Host was defeated, she watched as her first and last general was roasted, torn, and eaten by a Host of Balrog.
One might call her fortunate. She is much further down on the menu, a minor player in a major game; a tiny inconspicuous figure of the Heavenly Host, hardly worth noticing, except that the enemy truly hated what she is. They broke her wings, then, to add insult to injury, cut them off her back. She remembers that part, the lead-up "party," where she learned that even those such as she were not inviolable, at all, and she screamed and screamed. They marked her body, covering her true marks, hiding her swords from sight and mind so she would forget her power. She does. That is the way of it.
Even a slave learns things. She lives through her first master who, beyond the occasional lashing when bored, had no use for his slaves other than as war prizes. Its keepers were much worse than the master. Her second master is not kind, but busy and not interested in her except to make her skilled for his purposes. She is trained to make things, to build and break things. She is passed from master to master in this field. She becomes an expert, sought after. She can make weapons and armor and sundry goods out of anything with substance. She makes and makes and makes. Who knows how many she has armed and defended with her works. She forgets what a harp looks like. Then one day someone notices another quality in her.
Her fifth master, a female, loves battle and magical lore. She talks endlessly and expertly on both subjects and leaves the slave alone in libraries when she's not on the training field or the stadium arena. She teaches her things, how to hold a weapon correctly, what to strike for and to. She is trained as a gladiator. To make use of her surroundings and to use any random object as an effective weapon. To make every blow count. To incapacitate or kill quickly to win. This is what she should have been taught, she thinks, when she contemplates back to the great battle, this is what they never told her.
Her mistress is a well-known, popular figure, visited by immortals of every stripe, but really a friend or even friendly to only a few. One day, one of the few arrives, a white-haired goddess and her spouse. Andy is lined up with the others, expects nothing other than the usual; the quick glance of disdain for the slave or appreciation for the body of the slave. This one stops and looks at each of them, peering deeply into their eyes, weighing and measuring something inexplicable. She stops in front of Andy and the broken angel is lost in a blue gaze, drawn into the deep. She doesn't remember when the goddess steps away, but only becomes aware when they are marched away.
When the mistress comes looking for a volunteer to spend time with the goddess, Andy stands.
It is notable, because Andy never volunteers for duties of pleasure. She only ever fights. The mistress, wondering, accepts and then does her work upon one of the finest, if not the finest, gladiatrix she's ever owned.
The magic takes away Andy's memory of the night, of even the asking and the volunteering, but she never recovers from the eyes. She remembers them in her sleep, when she does sleep, and dreams that she knows what the woman smells like and feels like under her touch. Then one day the dreams stop and somehow, she knows, the goddess is out of reach; likely forever.
Time passes and Andy achieves glory as a gladiatrix. She grows ever closer to winning her way free. She has deep respect for her mistress, who is honorable and clever. The not-a-war-angel almost loves her at the end, until a bet lost to a cheat tears her away and leaves her the chattel to another monster.
This master needs fodder. Again she is put into battle and this time the training is just as real, but completely different. She learns something very important, something life altering.
Angels believe they will win and assume it. They preach it to themselves and boast. It is their arrogance which causes them to lose, because Demons and Humans and most other creatures want and will fight to win. They battle all the time, they practice and fight for territory and substance and survival. They put their all into it.
She is given a sword and shield of her own, made of bone and obsidian. Instinct causes her to bless the weapon and the armor despite their origins. They blaze in her hands. She learns to carve paths through the enemy, which is whomever they point her at. She pours everything she has learned into the fight and frightens and awes even her master. He vows to keep her for the beauty of it, but then he himself is lost in the next great onslaught. The victor of this battle has no use or interest for slaves, even as war prizes, and after the battle is won, razes his fallen foe's territories and slaughters those who had been loyal, but leaves the slaves to fend for themselves.
Ages and ages later, the first mark they made on her disappears, just fades away.
Years are funny things; measurements that pass, meaningful by their content, but longevity can make them seem like sand. It took a long time for her name to come up on the list, a long series of masters and mistresses to go through, and finally escape. By the time her name rolls on the wheel, she is long, long gone, the chefs don't care, and she is much different. The eras spent in dimensions terrible caused her to become something else. Now she can wear six different sets of wings depending on the need; sometimes all at once. No name exists for what she has become. She no longer has a god or Host to claim nor does she want or need one, but she is not Fallen. She was not conquered, but with her freedom, her allegiance becomes her own. She continues to fight, because it has become all that she remembers being. The things she did to survive and the fact she might have been corrupted by every scale, did not break her, but it did twist and bend her brutally and severely out of her original type and shape. She is something new, pure in what she is, but no longer necessarily Innocent.
One day the foreign marks which had been scored onto her body are completely gone. She is deep into battle, leading by being forward. She's lost weapons on the way and picked up what has fallen from others. She faces a giant, red and fierce, with many teeth and club that is much bigger than she is. It breaks the shield and then her sword. She is tempted by an incantation, but she has been told that magic tends to bounce off this creature.
She lays a trap instead, inscribing something in the dirt and blood very quickly and then stepping away.
It follows her and steps where she made the mark; falls into a pit newly formed.
Now it is at a height where she can just stand; no need to take flight or bare wings just yet.
So she stands tall, staring it in one of its giant beady eyes and wishing she had something, anything in her hand at that moment. She feels an intuition, and an opening up, and it's a terrible, frightening sensation. She is filled with light and she is broken and remade again. But in her hands are swords, long and sleek. A dark pupil collapses in on itself as it is assaulted by the brightness in her hands, in her.
Andy roars, lifts both hands as if she's carrying posts, and lunges forward without any hesitation at all.
Creatures of all sorts learn to fear her or love her. She needs no book to speak arcane tongues to unleash forces and mayhem, though she can read them if she needs. The books she knows are part of her, inscribed on her and in her. She knows the roads and the planes and the mystic, magical ways. She knows Houses above and below. Some great beings owe her favors. She has no intention of using any of them. She doesn't like them enough to do it.
She has had many names, many she could no longer remember, some she willingly chose to forget. Some end in "the terrible," and still others ends in "the bloody." All of them had been well earned.
One day her life changes yet again. An accident led her to a strange, plain world; a shoving through a maelström portal of chance that bounced her off the planes to someplace she's never been - an earth. She sees the beasts and the beneficent, yet they all wear different skins. She tries to remember not to invoke complete destruction simply because she sees a creature. She doesn't know the rules to the world well enough yet.
She chooses to learn it differently this time. She mutters an incantation and her body changes. She becomes a child, adopted and a part of a family that loved. Her parents, though their eyes are veiled to what she really is, love her unconditionally and it is soul deep. She plays the part of their second daughter and loses herself in it, finding a beautiful peace. She hopes it will stay this way always and the magic involved in her change lets forget it all. Her time with them heals a great many things.
-TDWP & BTVS-
Andy Sachs never expected to move to New York, but her boyfriend Nate insisted. Her intention had been to work up the ranks at one of the Cincinnati papers and maybe seek a second degree. She doesn't sleep much; never has. He wanted to be a sous chef. He seems to sleep all the time.
But she likes him enough to follow him and they go. Her parents worried, but Andy felt mostly alright about the trip. They found a place quickly. It is snug and clean and perfect for a couple just starting out together.
Andy realizes, after the first month, that wanting to be a sous chef and becoming one, does not necessarily mean a large paycheck. "I'm going to have to get a job," she says to Nate, though he wanted to be their sole support. New York, however, is expensive. He gives in and she picks her best college articles and buffs her resume. She once won an award and she hopes that the quality of her work will help.
After practicing her smiles and telling herself she can do it, she circles some likely candidates in the newspaper. For the purposes of survival, she is willing to do almost anything, except be any type of cook. She leaves the food up to Nate. For some reason, cooking meat makes her nauseous. She can't even watch her father barbecue. She'll eat what is served, but she won't watch meat cooking as it happens.
The closest thing she has to a suit is a tan corduroy jacket, a blouse, black khakis and a lavendar sweater and some solid shoes. She feels like she looks okay enough for an entry-level job. If she were shooting for something higher, she might have made a phone call to her mom. Her mom knows how to dress her, or at least advise her, for the more important occasions, but has insisted that Andy take care of the rest.
Andy counts the job interview as "the rest."
Elias-Clarke, to her, is just another big building in a very big city. She appreciates the architecture, its streamlined form, the glass that lets in the light, and glossy gold embossed beams that support it. It reminds her of something, but she can't put her finger on what it is. She knows, however, as soon as she enters, that it might as well be another world.
Though tempted to turn around, she forces herself to continue forward. She needs the job.
Human Resources sends her upstairs and where things are in chaos. The astonishingly snooty girl at the desk will not take her seriously, does not look at her resume and judges her on looks and her briefcase, of all things.
Andy has skills. She knows she does. She knows she is smart and capable and has an extraordinary memory and eye for detail. She thinks the leather epaulet riding on Emily's left shoulder would do absolutely nothing to block a sword stroke.
She does not know why she thinks that, but she has those kinds of moments, where she feels slightly outside of herself; especially when she's nervous.
If she thought things were chaos on entry, things are turned upside down when the girl and a bald man in glasses start calling an alarm. Andy takes cover by sitting at a desk. It seems like a logical thing to do. She tries her best not to draw any attention to herself at all and by the way everyone is running around, she thinks she might be successful.
It's like a vibrational force, something felt before encountering. She knows a person of presence will step out of the elevator.
She has also done that before. Her mother calls her intuitive. Her aunt Raylene uses the word psychic.
Either way, she is riveted when a woman with snow-white hair and a body built to stir the hardest soul, strides on by, snapping out orders with incredible vigor. As she passes Andy, the young woman inhales, even as she is trying to make herself even less conspicuous. The scent of the woman strikes her hard. Her pupils dilate, her mind blanks.
She barely hears herself being called forward and then she struggles, grabbing her briefcase, which is then snatched and flung away by the redhead. By the time she arrives in the powerful woman's office, she is feeling strange and off kilter, but she tries to pull herself together.
-TDWP & BTVS-
Miranda has been warned by HR that if she ignores another one of their candidates they won't send any more. When Emily arbitrarily decides to not even ask basic interview questions, she decides to intervene. She demands that the person be sent in.
She takes in everything in a glance, and understands why Emily resisted. No style. Barely even cognizant. That hair. Those clothes.
The eyes give her pause, and she could kick herself for looking, again, as if it were even possible. For half a second, maybe less, she thinks . . . perhaps . . . then she calls herself to heel. Impossible is impossible. Nan had told her the nameless slave was gone and that was that. She refuses to let her mind wander. She has an interview to conduct. She stares at the paperwork, flipping rapidly through it, words absorbed in an instant.
She loathes the shortening of a perfectly good name, refuses to say it. Won't.
And then the woman has the gall to challenge her, in her own office.
She determines that she will call her Emily until she learns better.
The brown eyes haunt her that night, but she forces herself to close her eyes and sleep.
-TDWP & BTVS-
The first few months of working at Runway are a gauntlet, a forger's fire. Andy feels as if she is constantly cracking at the edges. She sees things, flashes of dark in an alley, of extra lights at night. Nate becomes more and more difficult, equating her work as abandonment.
She had been afraid he might, even to the point of discussing it with her mom. Her mother says, "Do you want to quit?"
Andy, who has wanted to quit every day, simply can't make herself say yes. She can't leave and she does not know why. It's not like there is a chain at the desk.
"I don't know what to do."
"Ask for help from someone who knows how," her mother says sagely. "Get an expert on your side."
The only one at Runway who has shown any empathy has been Nigel. She practices her smiles in the mirror again. Sometimes they seem a little foreign to her, as if, in some imaginary real life, she rarely smiled. But she has been a smiler all her life. Her mother says she was a happy child. She remembers being happy.
Just not smiling much about it.
-TDWP & BTVS-
The ecstasy of hearing her name, transformed as it is, is unspeakably thrilling.
Right until she is directed upstairs by mischievous children. They have their mother's bearing. She should have realized there was a trap, but they had helped her one way and she'd instinctively trusted them. Looking back, she had no idea why. She knew how kids could be.
It was something about their eyes, azure and sure.
-TDWP & BTVS-
Miranda flings words out like knives, expressing the rage she feels. She watches as the cuts hit home, as the lips tremble and the young woman's expression teeters on the brink. Brown eyes glaze and the young woman tilts her head down, so despair cannot be seen. The light hits them, just so, and there is a depth, an unfathomable ache, for the briefest flashing moment, and then it's gone as if it never existed.
The Goddess barely sees it, so caught up is she in her own pain and the embarrassment of having her vulnerable side exposed. The time is coming and another husband sends their marriage to the wolves. She tries to hate Stephen for it, but can not. So she hates the girl.
Like other Divinity before her, she makes an impossible quest, one designed to break the soul it is thrust at and makes the demand they all make. If the girl does not succeed, then "... don't bother coming back." The words roll off her tongue like a diamond edged sword. Then she marches out, and anger puts a swing in her hips.
Andy, even at the worst, even as she knows this is it and all, cannot help but think how beautiful Miranda is in that moment.
That is why, later, just after she says she will quit, she changes her mind. She can't leave. And she still does not know why.
-TDWP & BTVS-
Paris turns out to be traumatic. The celebration of fashion is ashes in Miranda's mouth, but she chews any way and she gnaws the bones of her enemies. Symbolically speaking, of course.
Andrea smells like cinnamon and Christian Thompson when she arrives at the door, half dressed and near indecent in her effort to warn the editor of impending crisis. Miranda is slightly thrown by the immediate sense of jealousy that permeates her responses, but she does not have time to process anything except the inconvenience and the egregiousness of being interrupted while she is trying to navigate the more tricky aspects of her machinations without immolating Irv.
It is such a temptation, but she manages it, and feels great triumph when the moment of revelation comes. Later, when the dinner is done, she can appreciate the effort of her assistant more fully. She speaks of their commonalities, thinking that the young woman understands the triumph that has just occurred.
Andrea doesn't. She looks scored and scared. Her eyes are too wide, too bright. "I could never do that," she says.
"You already have."
Miranda only says what is true, but as she says the words, she knows they are a mistake, she sees the shock; as if she has delivered a deadly wound. She sees the crack in the foundation and does not know what it means.
But as she turns to look for Andrea later, and sees that she is missing, the editor cannot find it in herself to be surprised, merely utterly disappointed.
-TDWP & BTVS-
The phone is nearly tossed in the fountain, then she remembers she bought it and paid for it and it had her ticket information on it. That is the only thing that keeps it in Andy's hand.
After the third imperious ring of summons, Andy turns off the phone and tucks it into her clutch. She needs time to process, to think. She needs relief from this terrible grief that she feels unraveling in her.
She walks and walks, and realizes, if she goes back, if she spends so much as an hour at Runway, she won't leave. Because, until this moment, she hadn't the ability.
The chain is broken, but she intuits that it is only if she stays away from Miranda, whose scent and shape haunt her at nights.
She opens the phone again, and several more calls have been made, but no messages. She wonders, briefly, if there had been, if she might have been tempted. Instead, she hits delete on all the calls and then she searches for the next flight out. As soon as the ticket is acquired, she returns to her hotel room, gathers her belongings and exits. While at the airport, using their wireless, she forwards all the information Miranda will need to Miranda's email. She also sends an "as of this moment," resignation. Nothing is really gained, and quite a bit is lost, but she technically has her dignity.
-TDWP & BTVS-