Title: Second Chance
Pairing: Miranda/Stephen, Miranda/James, Miranda/Andrea (implied)
Rating: M
A/N: This is a different perspective on Miranda's relationships with her husbands, and it includes some het sex.

Chapter One

Andrea's mind was reeling. The last thing she wanted to do right now was get into a car with the woman who just crushed Nigel's hopes at a dream job—all without blinking an eye. She was almost relieved when her phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Hi, um, I'm sorry, is this Miranda's assistant?"

"Yes," Andrea said curiously. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"My name is Kim Tomlinson, I'm her sister-in-law. I've been trying to reach her—do you know where she is?"

Andrea took a seat in the town car and glanced over at Miranda. "Yes, of course. I will tell her you called," she said, knowing that any member of the Tomlinson family was likely the last person Miranda wanted to speak with at the moment, especially after last night.

"Wait—" Kim said. "Please—I know she's ignoring me, and I know she won't call me back. Stephen is in the Intensive Care unit at New York Presbyterian right now. He was…attacked. My mother and I are at the airport in Dallas now, we're on our way to see him. Can you please tell her?"

"Yes, of course. I'm so sorry. I'll give her the message," Andrea said.

"Thank you, um…what was your name?"

"Andy."

"Thank you, Andy. You're the kindest person I've spoken with in the past hour. I should let you go."

"I'll let Miranda know you called. Have a safe flight."

"Thanks."

"Bye," Andrea said, hanging up the phone. She expected Miranda to grill her about the mysterious call, but it appears her thoughts were elsewhere as she gazed out the window.

"You thought I didn't know," Miranda said quietly.

Andrea held up her hand, interrupting the woman and causing her to turn away from the window. "Stephen is in the ICU—he has been attacked. His sister and mother are on their way to New York. That was Kim—she's been trying to reach you," she said. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, awaiting a severe tongue-lashing.

When she opened her eyes, she noticed the silver-haired editor had paled, and was frantically digging through her bag. She huffed, then tossed the bag into the space next to her.

Without saying a word, Andrea reached inside the bag and pulled out Miranda's cell phone and handed it to her. While Miranda waited for it to power up, Andrea texted the hotel concierge and asked when the next flight from CDG to LGA would be departing.

As Miranda dialed, Andrea realized she was holding her breath.

"Hello, Kimberly—it's Miranda. What happened?" she asked.

Andrea could see her hand trembling.

"Oh dear god," she said. "No, I didn't….You'll stay at the townhouse, of course….No, my staff will make all the arrangements. There will be a driver to pick you up from the airport when you land," she said, flicking her wrist at Andrea.

Andrea was already sending messages to Roy and Cara.

"No, I'm actually in Paris right now. The twins are with their father until Sunday, and that's probably best….Yes, of course. I will be there as soon as I can….Okay, call me if there are any updates?…Yes, goodbye."

Miranda ended the call and dropped her phone into her lap.

"Fucking bastard," she muttered, balling her fist and pressing it to her lips as tears fell from her eyes.

Andrea wasn't sure what to say to Miranda, especially since the last time she offered to do something, she was given a cold 'Your job.' So, she decided she would do just that. She leaned forward and asked the driver to return to the hotel. The concierge informed her that the next flight was departing at 15:40, approximately ninety minutes from the present. Andrea wrote back, asking him to secure two tickets on that flights and email her the boarding pass and confirmation. She again texted Roy to have a car for Miranda at La Guardia in New York at 5:30 PM.

She purposely averted her eyes from the crying woman next to her, knowing she wouldn't be able to think straight if she was witness to the editor's anguish. Next, she emailed Leslee to look into the attack and take care of any press relations. She sent Nigel a quick text explaining that an emergency came up and Miranda needed to rush back to New York. No, the girls were fine. Yes, she specifically asked for Nigel to take her place for the remainder of the week. Andrea knew Miranda wouldn't even consider Nigel's feelings at this moment.

As they arrived at the hotel, Andrea turned to the editor, who was staring out the window. "Miranda, your flight to New York departs in just over an hour. I will run up to your room and pack a small bag for you. Do you have your passport with you?"

Miranda thought for a moment. "No, it's with the documents laying on the desk," she said. "And Andrea, you will join me. Be sure to retrieve your own passport."

Andrea nodded and jumped out of the car. As she ran inside, she asked the concierge to try and secure another ticket on the flight. Upstairs, as she was packing Miranda's bag, she phoned the assistant from Runway France and informed her that Miranda needed both rooms packed up and the items shipped back to New York with the rest of the American Runway team. Once she was in her own room, she quickly changed into a more sensible blouse and black matchstick pants, then headed back down to the lobby with both bags.

"Louis, were you able to get another seat on the flight?" she asked as he handed her the boarding pass confirmation.

"No, mademoiselle, I apologize, but you booked the last two seats on that flight. The next flight leaves at 16:50 and I reserved space there if you should need—"

"No. We need the 15:40 flight. Thank you," she said. She handed him the keys to her suite and Miranda's. "Chloe from Runway will be here to pack up our rooms. Please see that she receives these keys."

They traveled to the airport in silence. At the security gate, Miranda grabbed Andrea's arm to balance as she stepped out of her heels. Andrea was grateful she had the opportunity to change into sensible clothing for the flight.

As they took a seat in the VIP Lounge at the gate, Andrea excused herself to go speak to the flight attendants. First, she wanted to confirm that Miranda had a window seat in first class, which she did. Next, she wanted to inquire whether all passengers had checked in. She was hoping that there would be an extra seat somewhere on the plane so Miranda could be afforded the privacy of an empty seat next to her. Unfortunately, all passengers had checked in, as well as several stand-by passengers.

She returned to the lounge, which was quickly filling up. Miranda was sending a message on her phone.

"Miranda, the flight is booked solid, so you won't have an empty seat next to you," Andrea said. "I'm sorry. There's nothing I can do."

Miranda shrugged and tucked her phone into her bag.

As they boarded the plane, Miranda said something to one of the flight attendants, sending him running off. Andrea couldn't even begin to think of what the request was. Miranda slid into her seat by the window while Andrea stowed their luggage overhead. She took a seat next to Miranda, and before she could even buckle the seatbelt, the flight attendant returned with what appeared to be a double scotch, neat. Andrea shot him an apologetic smile and mouthed a 'thank you.'

Once they were in the air, Miranda, still looking out the window, began to speak. "He was in the West Village—Christopher Street. The police responded to an anonymous 9-1-1 call and found him unconscious on the sidewalk. He—" her voice crackled. She took another sip of her drink, draining the glass. "He was hit in the head with a brick. And, kicked—over and over. He—" she brought her hand up to cover her face as she gasped. The flight attendant returned with another drink, and Andrea silently replaced the glass in her hand. "He was sodomized," she finally choked out.

Andrea fought back the tears in her eyes. Sure, from what little she saw, Stephen didn't deserve a woman like Miranda, but no one deserves such horrific brutality. "Have you heard how he is doing?" Andrea asked quietly.

Miranda shrugged and shook her head. "Still unconscious, I guess. I spoke with James and—well, apparently this story has received a bit of attention from the press. That's how I found out the details."

"I phoned Leslee right away, so I'm sure she will have that contained by the time we return," Andrea said.

Miranda just shrugged and turned back to the window, sipping on her drink.

Several hours later, Miranda got up to use the bathroom. When she returned, she sank into the seat and simply stared at the seat back in front of her.

Andrea was trying to avert her eyes, but she couldn't help looking up from her book.

"Stop staring at me," Miranda hissed. "I should never have asked you to accompany me."

Andrea fought the urge to point out the fact that Miranda did not ask, she commanded. "I'm sorry," Andrea said after a brief pause. "I'm really sorry about what happened."

Miranda closed her eyes and nodded ever so slightly. Her right hand twitched on the armrest between them.

Andrea glanced down at the hand, then back up at Miranda's eyes. The woman was clearly fighting her tears. Andrea softly laid her hand on top of Miranda's and squeezed, gently brushing her thumb across her knuckles. "If you need to cry, it's okay," she whispered.

Miranda quickly squeezed back, then brought her knees to her chest in the seat and began sobbing—all while her right hand maintained contact with Andrea. When she finally regained her breathing, she pulled her hand away and self-consciously wiped her eyes, shaking her head at the evidence of mascara and eyeliner now on her hands.

Andrea reached for her purse and pulled out a pack of moisturizing, makeup removing wipes from Yes to Carrots. She handed a wipe to Miranda, who turned to face the window. Miranda removed her eye makeup, then slipped on her oversized sunglasses and slouched back into the seat.

"When the flight attendant comes back, get me glass of water," she said.

Andrea did. After Miranda took a few sips, she set the glass down in the cup holder.

"I love him, you know. Our marriage—us—it hasn't been perfect. W—we—it was better when we were just friends. Neither of us could seem to put the relationship first," Miranda said.

Andrea just nodded. She wasn't quite sure what Miranda was talking about, since her only experience with him involved Miranda being seriously pissed off. Regardless, she wasn't about to ask questions. It looked like Miranda had fallen asleep, so she took the opportunity to close her eyes, too.