Title: Once More and Again
Author: InBetweens
Plot: Andrea Sachs decides to leave her boss, Miranda Priestly, in Paris in order to retain her sense of self-worth. As punishment fate or some unknown power forces her to relive the worst day of her life to make her rethink her choices.
Author's Note: Entry to the Fun and Frolic Mirandy Bingo Challenge. My accepted challenge is Paris and AU: Time Travel. HUGE thank you to Sandy for her help with this story! Mistakes are still all my own.
Part 1 of 2
Andrea stood in front of the Fontaines de la Concorde staring at the rippling water. The coins glittering at the bottom of the fountain atop the marble stone refracted in the unsettled waves.
There were countless wishes made upon the coins within the fountain. The young idealistic junior assistant to Miranda Priestly, editor and chief of Runway magazine, had made her fair share of wishes in this very fountain.
No matter how many wishes Andrea made as she stood in front of this fountain it never came true. To date she had made fifteen different wishes and not a single one had been granted. She didn't ask for millions of dollars or to be rich and famous. She didn't wish for someone to get hurt or to come back from the dead. It was a simple wish, really. The same one, over and over and over again. Worded and phrased countless different ways in an effort to make it come true. And yet, no matter what she did, it was always denied.
She tossed coins over her shoulder, with closed eyes, with the tip of her thumb, the back palm of her hand, everything she could think of. Anything to help her escape this prison that she found herself within.
Andrea had lost count of how often she had relived this fateful day. All she knew was that it was more than fifty but less than two hundred. At this point it might as well have been a hundred. There was no way of knowing. She'd lost count so long ago.
It all just blended together like the most spectacular kaleidoscope of color swirling around and around and around. It all became more and more frustrating the longer she went while stuck in this constant unending loop.
Some nights Andrea forced herself to stay up for as long as she could, just trying to make it to the next day. But no matter the time, once 7am rolled around, she'd blink, and her alarm would be going off on December 3rd all over again. She could be on a plane halfway across the Atlantic Ocean, touring through London England or soaking in the first rays of sun in Greece, but she'd always wake up to the buzzing of her phone in Christian Thompson's hotel room, disheveled and only slightly sober.
By now, Andy was sure it should already be March, maybe even May with how many times she'd relived this same day.
Her sanity was slowly slipping away from her. No matter the day, things seemed to change dependent on how she went about it. Sometimes things she didn't even remotely come close to being responsible for changed. She'd stopped trying to understand the hell she was in a long time ago. She had come to accept where she was, but she came to loathe it too.
Each time Andy relived the day she found a little bit of her soul withering away. She was stuck in this one moment in time, damned to experience again the same 24-hour period over and over again.
God or life or whoever was in charge of the cosmos couldn't give her the decency to relish her freedom from Miranda Priestly for more than a few hours before she was sucked back into the devil's realm, unwillingly.
After months of Andy had finally gotten up the nerve to leave her unrelenting, demanding, perfectionist of a boss just to find herself unable to escape the same 24-hour period where she finally grew a backbone and stuck to her principles.
Except…
The longer she was stuck in this loop the more she realized what a mistake she had made in leaving Runway, her job, and most of all, in leaving Miranda.
It wasn't that she approved of Miranda's actions against Nigel, she didn't, but in the time, she was stuck reliving this dreadful day she'd come to see there was more than just principles in which to be trapped.
Nigel believed that Miranda would pay him back. Miranda seemed to want to explain herself to Andrea, to make her understand what she had done—and Miranda was notorious for not explaining herself to anyone. Yet, that first day in the car Miranda had attempted to explain her actions, make Andrea understand why she had done what she'd done. Even if Andrea hadn't been ready to have the mirror turned back on her that day, she was now.
"Andrea…"
The woman sighed as her shoulders sagged beneath the weight of her name being spoken aloud.
"What now, Miranda?"
"Excuse…me?" Miranda's shock was plain, and Andrea couldn't help but laugh at it. Laugh in sheer and utter misery at being stuck here once again. It wasn't often that Miranda came after her, herself.
Sometimes Miranda sent Nigel, or her driver, sometimes even Jocelyne. But it was truly rare for Miranda herself to come rushing after Andrea on the days she decided to leave the fashion maven to her own devices.
In the hundred plus days that Andrea had been living December 3rd she had lived it in countless ways. Miranda had only come after her three times, this being the third.
Some days Andrea spent her time sight-seeing and ignoring her duties as first assistant all together. Other days she worked harder to warn Miranda about the ploy she already knew the woman knew about. Most days she warned Nigel about what was to come and let it all play out as it would.
On one particularly low day Andrea had stayed in bed with Christian trying to forget about the night before where she'd found herself enveloped in Miranda Priestley's arms on a balcony overlooking the city, lips pressed fervently together as if they needed each other to breathe.
Andrea was ashamed to admit that she spent a lot of her days trying to get back to that one particular re-do so she could feel the touch of Miranda's lips once more. Sometimes she surprised the editor with kisses in the car. Sometimes Miranda responded well to the surprise, other times she did not. Sometimes Andrea kissed Miranda and sometimes Miranda kissed her.
There were nights that Andrea spent her time in the hotel in her own room, or in Nigel's commiserating. On rare nights Andrea would spend the evening with Miranda in her suite. They would go over work for the next day and preparations to be heading home, they could talk about the girls, the divorce, and sometimes they wouldn't talk much at all.
In the beginning—when Andrea had finally realized that she was stuck reliving this day from hell—she would spend her evenings enjoying the nightlife that Paris had to offer. She would come back to the hotel completely trashed most nights.
Sometimes she would be greeted by the disapproving glare of her boss, sometimes Nigel would help her up into her room, but most of the time she made it back to her rented bed without even being caught.
Still, no matter the state she would go to bed in, sober, drunk, tipsy, it didn't matter. She would wake with a hangover even if she hadn't touched a drop of alcohol the night before. She'd wake feeling sweaty and with a pounding headache, naked, and in Christian's bed over and over and over again.
The more she woke up with Christian's voice coming from the bathroom as the shower turned on, the more she longed for it to be Miranda in the hotel room with her and the sultry sound of the editor's voice echoing into the bedroom. But it never was.
Instead she had to make her walk of shame from Christian's room and decide what she was going to do with her day.
Somewhere along the way the routine of the day had started to calm her. Andrea often let the day play out as it had that first time. Only changing minute things here and there. Nothing of major consequence. And still, sometimes things changed seemingly by themselves.
One day it would be gloomy and rainy, and then the next it would be sunny and warm. There were countless different weather patterns to the day and countless more differentiations that she had lived. Some were far worse than others.
-.-.-.-.-.-
The worst of them had been when she'd stood before the steps of the Valentino show and gotten out of the car and stared at Miranda as she made her way slowly up the stairs without a care to even look back for Andrea. It was always in that moment, where Miranda stalked onward without a backward glance and Andrea stood just outside the town car that Andrea had to make her biggest decision. Would she follow Miranda, or would she walk away?
On this particular day—what she had taken to calling Truth Day—Andrea had watched in horror as someone stepped into Miranda's path up the stairs, but Andy didn't get a good look at them because Miranda at that very moment turned to look for her.
Andrea had felt a cold sweat encompass her body as something tried to warn her about what was to come. That nagging feeling that something about this situation just wasn't right, but for just a moment Andrea was locked in a staring contest with Miranda. Andrea was sure their eyes met, even though Miranda was wearing her signature sunglasses.
It wasn't in Miranda's eyes that Andy saw it happen, it was in the way the lines around her eyes creased and her mouth parted in pain and she surged forward as if pushed, that Andy realized what was nagging at her.
There was danger.
Miranda was in danger and she was too late.
Andrea was running forward before she knew what was actually wrong, all she knew was that she needed to catch Miranda. As the first person slammed into her shoulder as she tried to run forward while they ran away Andrea realized that she wasn't going to be fast enough. She wasn't going to make it.
Miranda tumbled down the stairs, no one to catch her, people started screaming, the crowd started running away, and there was Andrea. She was pushing forward, shoving and throwing her weight around to push through the panicked crowd.
Andrea made it to Miranda before anyone and kneeled at the white-haired woman's side.
With gentle but strong hands Andrea turned Miranda over and saw the blood seeping out of a wound in her back where Miranda had been stabbed. The person with the knife long since tackled by the body guards that hadn't been paying enough attention to their jobs to stop the crazy fucker before he struck.
"Miranda…Miranda. It's okay…it's okay. I've got you." Andrea promised as she ripped at her own dress, tearing off the material around her neck to ball it up and put it underneath Miranda's side, her hands pressing up from the back and down from the front of the exit and entry of the wound. The blood was warm and thick, and Andy felt sick to her stomach as she frantically did all she could to stop the bleeding.
Miranda groaned in pain at the pressure Andrea exerted to stop the blood flow, and Andrea grimaced in sympathy.
"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry." Andrea whispered, she should have been there. She should have been closer. She could have stopped this. With all of these re-dos she should have known something like this could happen. She should have been able to prevent it.
My god…was this going to be the last re-do? Was she going to fail, after all this time, on the one day—the one redo that really mattered? Was she going to lose Miranda before…before what?
No, she couldn't. She couldn't lose her.
"Andrea…" Miranda whispered, her Prada sunglasses askew and half on her face and half off. Miranda lifted her shaking hand to remove them, her breathing labored and face cringed with fear and pain.
"Please…" Andrea begged, dropping her chin to her own chest. "Please…you're going to be okay."
Andrea looked around them and saw that the guards had things under control now. Nigel was standing off to the side with a hand over his mouth as Jocelyne frantically screamed into her cellphone, hopefully calling for help. The sudden touch of Miranda's fingers grazing over her cheek pulled her attention back to the wounded woman.
"The…the girls." Miranda whispered, her breathing growing slower and the rasp and wet wheeze of her voice pulled at the strings of Andrea's very soul.
"Oh no. No. Don't do that. You're going to see them again. You're going to be fine."
The look in Miranda's eyes accused Andrea of being a terrible liar. There was blood stemming from the side of Miranda's mouth now and Andrea sobbed as two single tears slid from Miranda's expressive blue eyes.
"Oh god, please, Miranda. Not like this." Andrea begged, pressing her face into the soft touch of her boss' gentle fingers cupping her cheek.
"So…so…beautiful." Miranda whispered, eyelids closing slowly, but not fully, as her hand dropped away from Andrea's face to rest outstretched along her side and her head lulled to the side.
Andrea felt it like a punch to the gut.
"No…no…Miranda!" Andrea screamed the woman's name as she pressed more firmly against the bleeding wound, wanting to shake the woman, bring her back. "Please come back. Come back, Miranda come back." Andrea begged till she was blue in the face.
But Miranda didn't come back. Andrea couldn't bring her back. No one could. Not Andrea and not the paramedics that showed up at the scene. Not the doctors at the hospital who merely pronounced Miranda's time of death. Not the morticians that covered Miranda's body with a white sheet, and not the prayers offered in hushed sobbed tones.
No one could bring Miranda back.
And it broke Andrea.
Nigel helped Andrea move from the ambulance, through the hospital, to the morgue, to the hotel, to the shower to clean off the blood, and finally to bed. Nigel wrapped her in blankets to keep her warm, but there was no warmth to be found anywhere, she shivered throughout the night with an emptiness she could not rightly describe or understand.
For several agonizing hours Andrea wasn't sure if she would be given a second chance. She wasn't sure if she would be given another redo, and for the first time since she'd been forced into this circular hell, she pleaded to remain. To wake up in Christian Thompson's hotel room with a disgusting hangover and awash with a feeling of shame; all so she could see Miranda Priestley's eyes look into her own with life and a calculating gaze only she could master. Andrea remained awake all night wrapped up in blankets with Nigel pressed against her back holding her as she cried and whispered pleas and prayers into the empty hotel room around her until her eyes were blood shot and there were no tears left to shed and her voice was long gone.
Anything to make it so the last memory she had of Miranda wouldn't be of the woman dying in her arms or lying on a cold steel slab in a Parisian morgue so still and lifeless.
The woman who was so full of life, vivacious and buoyant with a charismatic air to her, so dull and pale and still haunted Andrea, haunted her to this very day.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-
When Andrea woke up in Christian's hotel room the morning after Truth Day, hung over like a skunk and feeling like a skank, Andrea fell to her knees at the end of Christian's bed and cried.
Cried ugly fat tears and sobbed into her hands in relief. Relief that she had another chance, that she could save Miranda. That they still had a chance to figure out what was between them. Because the desolation that Andrea felt at losing Miranda on Truth Day was so soul searing it woke her up.
Woke her up to the fact that she had been blind for months. Months of putting Miranda first and doing everything in her power to make the other woman happy—going above and beyond her job for the woman—and she had been so blind. Blind to just how much Miranda meant to her.
Miranda was the most important person in her life, period. Andrea had just been oblivious to what happened during the late nights spent at the office, or in Miranda's study, in Miranda's presence. Nate wasn't. He knew, deep down. It wasn't about Christian with Nate, it was about Miranda. It was always about Miranda for Andrea. She just hadn't realized just what always really meant.
But now, now that Andrea knew what life could be like without Miranda in it, even for those short few unbearable hours, she was determined to never go through that again.
It had been several 'weeks' since Truth Day, and Andrea still found herself walking away from Miranda on certain days, but with the knowledge that she wasn't walking away from Miranda, but from Runway.
Like today.
Today, she had walked away from Miranda and stared at the fountain before her, wondering how all this had begun. For all the things this repetitious day had taught her she still had not learned how to escape it.
And maybe that was her curse. For surely, she was cursed.
Cursed to find herself stuck in this one moment in time where she finally realized what she wanted—who she wanted—but was unable to have them beyond this one day.
There could be no growth between her and Miranda here. They were stuck, stagnant in this singular part of their relationship. A relationship where Andrea was still Miranda's dutiful assistant and Miranda the demanding boss.
As hard as Andrea tried to break those barriers with the many days she had at her disposal, it wasn't easy. Most times Andrea failed. The few times where she succeeded were some of the best moments of her life. Except, come the next morning, those memories were only available to her as they hadn't happened for anyone else.
Somedays Andrea could muscle up enough courage and strength to be cheerful and optimistic.
Somedays she could hardly muster up enough will to get out of Christian's bed.
"Andrea, whatever prelude to insanity that you have suddenly caught, we haven't the time. There is still much to do." Miranda insisted, twisting as if she expected Andrea to follow her back towards the show they were already late for. Andrea didn't move and so Miranda turned back to her fully.
Andrea laughed, rough and harshly as if the pain of her soul could escape through the humorless sound.
"Let me save you the time: you like the fourth dress, can take or leave the sixth and ninth. The rest were too bland for the spread you have in mind. But the new clutches catch your eye. You decide to do a spread on them for the November issue before the article on New York City's fashion history in relation to the dwindling coal industry. Interesting premise by the way." Andrea commented, her eyes never leaving the water trickling down as it welled up to lap at the edges of its confines.
"Andrea?" Miranda whispered, reaching her hand out to touch the brunette's shoulder.
The simple touch seemed to break through the fog that had fallen in front of Andrea. She turned into the touch, nuzzling into the warmth of Miranda's hand, catching the older woman off guard.
When their eyes met, Miranda appeared to be truly worried, especially when she took in the lackluster gleam of the doe brown eyes. There was such muted pain within them that it was a wonder it hadn't poured out and devoured all in its path.
Andrea blinked, the sympathy offered in Miranda's eyes alone setting her off as the pain she felt clutching at her chest tightened to the extreme and tears poured forth without her consent.
"I'm so scared, Miranda."
"Of what? Of what, Andrea?" Miranda asked, looking around them as if she could perceive the threat Andrea feared with just a glance.
Andrea whimpered at the gentleness of Miranda's gaze, of the care she saw shinning in the eyes before her. So blue and sad and alive and breathtaking.
"I'm so scared that this is all there will be for me. I want so much more for myself. I want to live a life worth living. I want to travel and see the world and all its wonders."
"You have plenty of time to sightsee." Miranda caught several of Andrea's tears with her thumb. "We will, there is time tonight. We can see whatever you wish."
Andrea shook her head, "I want to be a journalist and inspire people with my words." Andrea hiccupped through her unending tears. "I want to find love, feel it to the core of me, and have it grow till it consumes everything outside of just this one day."
"Andrea, you're making no sense."
Andrea sobbed, "I want to grow old with the person I love and watch our children become their own people." Andy stepped away from Miranda, wrapping her arms around herself as she cried even as she missed the warmth of the hand upon her cheek.
"Most of all, I want the chance to know you. And for you to know me like I do you. I've learned so much about you these last few days."
Miranda cocked an uncertain eyebrow, questioning Andrea's sanity and her statement all in one.
"I know that your favorite color as a child was orange but it's now blue, cerulean blue. I know that you drink coffee but prefer tea after 7pm. I know your first pet was a guinea pig that your brother found. You love dogs but would have preferred to have cats as they're more your temperament but you're highly allergic."
Miranda's eyes winded at each fact Andrea rattled off. All of them correct and all of them something Miranda had not told anyone in years. "How?" Miranda questioned, but Andrea didn't hear her.
"I know I could spend a thousand more days learning about you and still not know enough. But it's not the same. It's just so hard to be here…" Andy gestured around them with her chin. Stuck in this time. "…I want to be in tomorrow, and the day after and the day after that! I want to live a future with you in it. In whatever way I can have you." Andrea cringed and pulled in on herself more tightly. "An acquaintance, friend, lover. I'll take anything at this point, because I love you. I love you so much it's hard to breathe and I just. God, Miranda. I'll take anything you're willing to give. Just so long as you're in my life—outside of today."
Andrea noted Miranda's shock and sighed. Her declaration would mean nothing to Miranda. Not here, not in this particular day. To Miranda, Andrea had just lost her mind. That was all. There was nothing else for Andrea to do or say, so she said nothing for several moments.
City ambient noises filled the air between them as Miranda seemed lost for words.
"I'm sorry, Miranda. Let's just, go to the showing. Okay? Forget that I said any of that." Andrea waved her hand around the air as if it still held the secrets that she'd spilled a moment before.
Idealistic, naive, and stubborn were just a few words to describe Andrea. There was also desperate, hurting, and disappointed.
Andrea didn't let Miranda answer. She started to stalk back across the plaza towards the show, wiping and sniffling away the last remnants of her breakdown.
Miranda turned to follow Andrea when she saw a shine of silver heading straight for her wayward assistant.
"Andrea!" Miranda yelled, stumbling forward several moments too late to stop the impending disaster.
Andrea turned in time to see Miranda's outstretched arm reaching for her before there was a screeching of tires, a crunch of bone and glass, and then blackness.
End Part One