AN: Hi everyone. I haven't written anything in a while. If you like it, let me know. If you don't, break it to me kindly.
Summary: Miranda is retiring, and finds Andrea back in her life under the most convenient circumstance. Inspired slightly by "Style" by Taylor Swift.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
Miranda hadn't had a dream in eight years. At first it didn't bother her because she thought there was nothing to be bothered by. She fell asleep and woke up well-rested. The visions of her former assistant no longer haunted her in her slumber. At first, she was irritated, agitated, that the girl seemed to have the nerve to mock her in such a vulnerable state of unconsciousness. She couldn't stand the sight of that sickeningly angelic face that seemed to be glued to the back of her eyelids so she went through a period of avoiding sleep at all costs. Then one night, after reviewing The Book, there wasn't enough caffeine in the world to keep Miranda awake. As she drifted off she prayed that face would be kind. Those wide doe-like eyes, those full red classic lips, were suddenly something Miranda became very fond of. But gradually she came to realise that as these dreams slowly dissipated, she could only dream of Andrea during the day. And as the dreams dissipated, the days grew more hectic.
Today was bordering on catastrophic. Not because there was a deadline to meet. Not because Nigel had come in-and-out of Miranda's office at least 10 times in the last half hour. No. It was because Miranda was retiring. Her minions walked on eggshells. Irv was uncharacteristically nice. The new Emily had actually unplugged the phone from the wall socket due to the absurd amount of journalists and TV 'personalities' requesting a tell-all interview.
Miranda had managed to escape to the conference room for some peace and quiet. She locked the door behind her and searched frantically for the remote control to the widescreen television mounted in the top left corner of the room. A few minutes of trashy daytime soap might help calm her nerves. Might get rid of the ringing in her ears. Might relieve the tight pinching in her left temple. Remote allocated, she switched on the plasma screen and flicked through various channels before something caught her eye. Wide, expressive brown eyes, long chestnut hair, full red classic lips. Miranda rubbed her eyes with the palms of her hands. She must be hallucinating. Her dream-lack slumber has denied her the image of this beauty for so long that she was seeing things. But then the girl's name was printed on the screen. Andy Sachs. Andrea. The girl's bright face was shown between pictures and videos of various celebrities performing the most mundane tasks. She made jibes about Taylor Swift's 'lesbian' kiss. She spoke of Bill Cosby with surprise and disgust. She spoke of Miranda's retirement with great sadness. Andrea was an entertainment reporter for some lowly noon gossip show.
So, should I continue?