AN: Hey there! Gosh, I haven't written FF in forever, but as soon as I saw The Proposal (which I've seen 7 times lol), I knew I HAD to write something. I'm working on other things that will be a bit longer, but I thought I'd present this oneshot just for fun. It's based off the scene in Margaret's office in which she tells him that the "late night Tampax runs" will all be for nothing if he doesn't marry her. It takes place in April, about two months before the actual Proposal. Just a glimpse of their relationship before they realize their true feelings. Anyway, I know it's kind of a strange topic, but I'll tell ya, the mind can go weird places at 4 in the morning. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this little ficlet and I hope it's not too fluffy for you haha. Some people get mad at that.
~jackielynn
As Andrew sat at his desk at eleven at night, poring over a mediocre manuscript, he felt himself beginning to nod off. Caffeine just couldn't replace a good night's sleep and he was beginning to feel the effects of going to bed at three in the morning, getting up at seven and working all day. As he struggled to keep his eyes open, Andrew was jolted awake by a sound coming from his computer. It was an IM. From Margaret?
Go home, it read.
What the hell? Confused, Andrew shuffled around his desk, looking for his calendar. He had a vague idea of why Margaret was telling him to go home. There was one time every month for about four or five days when Margaret was in an unusually good mood. For most women, that time of the month had the opposite effect, but for Margaret, it was different. It was like her hard outer shell was chipped away and she became some kind of sappy, emotional wreck. As creepy as it was that he kept track of this, Andrew did it for his own sake. He had been chained to Margaret's leash for years, so he was bound to notice her change in mood eventually.
After finally finding his calendar, he looked for the date. April 16th, was circled with a dark red Sharpie. Sure enough, Margaret was ovulating. Andrew shuddered violently at the thought and quickly put away his calendar. He glanced at his screen and typed a quick message back to Margaret; Why? You firing me?
Yes. Now go home and get some sleep. I know you've been suffering from a lack of it lately, she replied.
How did you know? Andrew wrote back, puzzled.
Because I have too.
Andrew sat back in his chair and thought. He had never really thought about how tired Margaret must be. After all, she was the editor in chief of Colden Books. And Andrew thought his job was difficult. He couldn't imagine having to be in charge of everyone in the office. Being in charge of (in a sense) one person was difficult enough, especially when that person treated you like crap 24/7 and normally could care less about your sleeping patterns.
He got up and walked a few feet to her office and slowly opened the door. Margaret had her head down on her desk and her eyes closed, but she quickly sat up when Andrew entered.
"Sorry," he said, "I just wanted to make sure you were okay before I left."
"I'm fine, I just have a lot of work to do," she replied.
"You know Margaret, you might want to take your own advice and go home and get some sleep."
"Impossible. I have a presentation tomorrow for Jack and Edwin."
"All the more reason why you should go home," Andrew suggested.
"Look, if I could go home, I would, believe me. I would like nothing more, but this presentation won't put itself together and this is part of my job."
"Suit yourself," Andrew said as he gazed quietly at her. "Well, good night."
"Good night," she replied, without looking up from her computer.
Andrew sighed as he gathered up his things and headed for home. He changed, crawled into bed and fell asleep before his head hit the pillow.
Margaret on the other hand didn't get home until two. After fighting a massive headache for a few hours, she gave up and went home. It wasn't until she crawled into bed when she began to feel the effects of being a woman. First the cramps, then the splitting headache and then the small wave of nausea.
Margaret got up and headed to the bathroom, searching for some sort of relief for her wretched female condition. She found none. No Tampax, no Midol and certainly no hot tea. Margaret crawled back in bed, hoping she would fall asleep and everything would go away. It was no use, this wasn't something she could fight alone. Sadly, Margaret was forced to wound her own pride and call her sleeping assistant. She reached for her cell phone and dialed Andrew's number.
After three rings, she heard a gruff, groggy voice at the other end, "Hello?"
"Andrew, it's me, Margaret. I need help."
"What?" Andrew asked, a little more alert than before. "Are you okay?"
"Um, well this is kind of awkward but…"
"Say no more," Andrew said. "I'll be there in twenty minutes," and he hung up and got up to get dressed.
I should have known this would happen, thought Andrew. Damn late night Tampax runs.
Andrew often wondered why he did these things for Margaret. Was it out of pity? Fear? Maybe a little bit of both. He and Margaret were similar in one respect, they were both alone. In a twisted sort of way, they both relied on each other. Margaret relied on Andrew to carry out his job and he relied on her to provide his job. They both very rarely socialized with anyone outside of work and each other. If you call sitting in an office for twelve hours a day reading crappy manuscript after crappy manuscript "socializing."
Andrew rushed through Rite Aid grabbing various things for Margaret, not caring about the cost. He only wanted to get back home and back to his bed. After receiving a funny look from the lady behind the counter, he hopped back in the cab and headed to Margaret's.
Upon reaching her apartment, he took the spare key from the top of the door frame and let himself in.
"Margaret?" he called out.
"In my room," he heard a weak voice reply.
Margaret's apartment was gorgeous. She lived on the fourth floor of large apartment building. The suite was decorated in a modern, clean-cut style, much like the owner. What always amazed Andrew was the amount of color it contained. While it maintained a sophisticated air, there was something comfortable about Margaret's apartment. Andrew just couldn't put his finger on it. He headed towards her room and opened the door. He found her curled up in bed with her eyes closed. He turned on the lamp on her bedside table and opened his bag.
He could tell she was embarrassed. She wouldn't open her eyes and she wouldn't look at him. It was times like these when Andrew realized that Margaret really was a vulnerable human being, not the heartless witch everyone saw her as. Even though it was something as simple as PMS, Andrew was glad to know that beneath that glass exterior, there was a semblance of human emotion. She was hurting and he hated to see her like that. So, he pulled out a bottle of water and some Midol and handed it to her.
She finally opened her eyes and took the Midol. He handed her the bag and she silently got up and headed toward the bathroom. "I'll be out in a minute," she said.
He nodded and made his way to the kitchen to put on the tea kettle for her. After waiting for a few minutes, she came out in a bathrobe and bare feet. Her eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep and her hair was a mess. But for a second, Andrew couldn't help but notice what a beautiful woman she was. Of course, this was nothing new to him. Physically, Margaret was a highly attractive woman. Her gorgeous face, long, dark hair and trim figure were enough to make any man insanely attracted to her. However, it was her frowns, her steely gaze and poignant remarks that drove the men away. He also couldn't help but notice that all these negative aspects had disappeared. She had let her wall down. She had a calm expression and sad eyes and said nothing to him.
After a few seconds of silence, she cleared her throat and looked up at Andrew. "Thank you," she whispered. "I feel a little better."
"Good," he replied softly. "I made you some tea. Why don't you sit down," he said, pointing to the couch.
Margaret obeyed and Andrew made two mugs of tea and sat down beside her. They were silent for quite a while before Margaret broke the silence.
"Thanks again for helping me. I know I can be a pain in the ass 95 percent of the time, but it's just because I'm –"
"Stressed?" Andrew offered, "Worked to death, lacking sleep and proper nutrition?"
"All of the above," Margaret sighed.
"Maybe you need a vacation," Andrew said.
Margaret couldn't help but laugh at this statement. She and Andrew barely knew the meaning of the word vacation. Ever since she had been promoted to editor in chief and he had started working for her, they could barely catch a break from work. Even then, Margaret had no where to go and no one to see. Work was the only thing Margaret could rely on. But most of the time, it drove her to the point of insanity…like right now.
After a few more minutes of silently sipping their tea, Margaret's eyelids suddenly became very heavy. She sat her mug down on the coffee table and leaned her head against the side of the couch.
Andrew looked over and smiled to himself as he saw her gently nodding off. She looked so peaceful when she slept, so different from the brooding terrorist he was forced to face every day. Andrew felt privileged to be able to see this side of Margaret. He was sure he was the only one to see it in the last few years. There was no way anyone in the office would ever believe that Margaret Tate needed her lowly assistant to bring her Tampax.
But she did, and he knew it. That was all that mattered.
Andrew got up quietly and put the mugs in the sink. He came back into the living room and stood over Margaret. After a few seconds of watching her, he lifted her feet up onto the couch and covered her up with a nearby quilt. While witnessing her state of innocence, Andrew felt connected with Margaret. He understood her frustration with life, work and relationships. Without thinking, he knelt down beside her and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. She was warm to the touch as his lips quickly brushed her skin.
"Good night Margaret," he whispered quietly. He headed toward the door and took one last look at his sleeping boss. He smiled and opened the door, returned the spare key to its original spot and headed toward the elevator to go home.
After she was sure she heard the door click shut, Margaret's eyes fluttered open and she reached up to place a hand on her forehead. She smiled, closed her eyes and rolled on her side. Her stomach felt like it was in knots. Whether it was the cramps or the butterflies, she wasn't sure. Tomorrow, they would be gone, whatever "they" were. But for now, Margaret let herself imagine that the butterflies were what kept her mind at ease for the rest of the night.