=== Part Two ===

A few hours later, the ER doctor brought Andrea's discharge papers, just as Miranda was getting out of surgery. Andrea wasn't sure whether Miranda would want her there, but would never forgive herself if she walked away now. Plus, she wanted someone to be there when Miranda woke, whether it was her or Leslee or whoever.

The nurse led her to Miranda's room, where the editor was resting. She was connected to multiple monitors, and it looked like her arm and leg were wrapped in a soft cast. She had a bandage on her head, and Andrea could still see some dried blood on her arms and face.

"How is she?" Andrea asked the nurse.

"It was a rough surgery. She had some internal bleeding, lots of cuts and scrapes, broken ribs, compound fracture in her right leg, sprained wrist…but she's stable now. The next 48 hours will be telling, though. The neurosurgeon thinks she's in the clear for a brain injury, but again, we'll know more in the next two days. She'll be under constant monitoring for any signs of infection, swelling, or bleeding. It will be at least an hour until she's awake from anesthesia, and at that point I imagine she will be in some intense pain. The doctor will need to assess her vitals once she's awake, before administering any pain medication," she said.

"What can I do to help?" the young woman asked.

The nurse smiled and pointed to the small two-seater chair opposite the bed. "Get yourself some rest."

Andrea nodded. "Can I clean her up a bit if I'm careful? You know, wash her face, apply some moisturizer?"

"Sure, as long as you avoid her bandages and monitors. If you need something, we're just outside at the desk, or you can press the call button on her bed."

Andrea nodded and immediately went to her suitcase, pulling out her small bag of toiletries. She stepped into the bathroom and removed her own makeup, ran a brush through her hair, brushed her teeth, and changed into a clean pair of jeans and a blouse. She was grateful that her mother did her laundry before she left Ohio.

Next, she took a few makeup removing wipes and carefully approached Miranda's bedside, removing her makeup and cleaning some of the dried blood on her shoulder and neck. It was a bit terrifying to be this close to Miranda, but after what they had been through, she wanted nothing more than to hug the woman and celebrate her being alive.

Once both wipes were sufficiently soiled, she tossed them in the trash bin and washed her hands. She pulled out her phone and stepped into the hallway so as not to disturb the sleeping editor.

"Hey Leslee?"

"What's the word, Andy?"

"She's out of surgery. Resting now. We're in 602-A at Presbyterian. There were a lot of injuries—sounds like a broken leg might be the worst of it, though, in terms of her recovery," the young woman reported.

"Is she awake?"

"Not yet. Anesthesia should be wearing off soon, though, after which they will surely be giving her some painkillers."

"Got it. Okay, I'm going to give James a call. This is already on the news here in New York."

"Oh god," Andrea groaned. "How bad? Am I mentioned? Are there photos?"

"It's a developing story. Photos of the wrecked car, and they've only figured out the vehicle was carrying Miranda 'and companions,'" she said. "You're all very lucky, you know. The car looks about the size of a Prius it's so smashed, and five more feet and you'd all have been in the East River."

"Oh my god," she said. She could feel her stomach getting queasy. "Look, I gotta go. See you later," she added, quickly ending the call and rushing down the hall to the bathroom. She splashed some water on her face and realized that she hadn't had anything to eat or drink in the past eight hours.

By now, it was late morning. She checked on Miranda—still asleep—and headed down to the cafeteria for coffee and a donut. Halfway through, her queasiness returned and she wrapped the rest of the donut up in napkins and tossed it into her bag.

Back in Miranda's room, she once again checked on the editor. Her skin looked severely dry, so the young woman pulled some Neutrogena moisturizer from her bag and applied it to Miranda's face and neck. Surely, it wasn't as expensive as the creams the woman was used to using, but she was hoping to help make her more comfortable as best she could. She applied some lip balm to the woman's lips, and jumped back when Miranda's tongue slipped out to lick her lips.

"Miranda?"

The editor opened her eyes and closed them again.

"Miranda, are you awake?"

Again, she opened her eyes and licked her lips. "I thought—there was… Why are you—? Where am I?"

Andrea froze. As relieved as she was that the woman was awake, she was terrified at the words coming out of her mouth.

"Uhm, there was an accident. You're in a hospital—Presbyterian. You were in surgery, and—"

Miranda moved, trying to get up out of bed, and she froze when pain seared through her body. It was blinding and she immediately brought her hand up to cover her mouth as she struggled to control her retching.

"Nurse!" Andrea called, shouting out into the hallway.

A nurse and an aide came running, just in time for everyone to see Miranda throwing up all over herself. They quickly grabbed a basin and began cleaning her up, but Miranda locked eyes with the young brunette across the room.

"Get. Out. GET OUT!" she shouted.

"Now Miranda—" the nurse began.

"Not you, her!"

The nurse turned towards the doorway just in time to see the brunette running out of the room. "You're probably in excruciating pain, Miranda, and you don't want anyone seeing you like that, am I correct?"

Miranda closed her eyes and nodded.

"And on top of that, you're probably terrifically embarrassed that you just vomited on yourself in front of—what did she say?—your niece."

"What?" Miranda hissed.

"Whoever she is, she probably saved your life in the car. She lied to the paramedics so she could ride with you, and to us so she could get updates on you. She slept on that chair over there, because she didn't want you to be alone when you woke up from surgery. She cares about you very much," the nurse said matter-of-factly.

Miranda shook her head—no, that couldn't be true. She closed her eyes as the aide changed her gown, and for once she understood why they tied in the back and had all of those snaps. Looking around, with all the monitors she was connected to, there would have been no way to pull on a shirt.

"Miranda," a young man called, gently tapping on the door.

She woke and tried to sit up, again feeling the blinding pain throughout her body.

"Don't try to move. I'm Dr. Fitzgerald, but everyone calls me Dr. Fitz. I'm going to assess your vitals, then get you some painkillers, okay?"

Miranda quietly nodded as he made his way over to the machines. She felt his cold hands examining her wrist, her leg, her torso, and at once it occurred to her that she must have been injured badly.

"Okay, almost finished," he said. "Miranda, I need you to open your eyes and follow my finger." He dimmed the light directly above her head and moved his finger left to right, watching for her eyes to follow. "Great. Now, can you touch your left hand to your chin?"

She paused for a moment, then brought the fingertips of her left hand to rest on her chin.

"Excellent. Now, what is your name and date of birth?"

"Miranda Priestly. May 22nd, 1959."

"Good. And what is your occupation?" Dr. Fitz asked.

"Editor in Chief of Runway magazine, Elias Clarke Publications."

"And what year is it?"

"2012. Must we really continue these?"

The doctor made a note in his pad, then looked up at the woman. "We need to check your short- and long-term memory to watch for signs of brain injury. There will be more of these coming up," he said with a chuckle. "And by the way, it's 2013. Happy New Year."

Miranda groaned and closed her eyes. "About those painkillers?"

"Coming right up!" he said as the nurse administered something into her IV. "We'll put you on a pump in a few hours, and that will be even better," he said. "Get some rest, oh, and be a little bit nicer to that friend of yours."

Miranda waved him off and tried to relax as she felt a wave of medicinal relief crashing over her body.

"Hello?"

"Andy, it's Leslee. Look, I'm not going to make it to the hospital this morning. There's a media circus outside the townhouse and at Elias Clarke—I'm busy. You're okay with her for now?"

Andrea sniffled. "She woke up and kicked me out, but, uh, yeah I guess I can stick around."

"Thanks, Andy. Oh, and James wants to talk to Miranda when she wakes up. So if you can make that happen…thanks," she said, ending the call.

Andrea sighed and sank back into the chair in the waiting room. "Let's get this over with," she muttered to herself before heading back down the hall.

She quietly opened the door to Miranda's room, and sighed. The editor looked to be sleeping again. Andrea walked over to the chair and gathered her bags, placing them by the door so she wouldn't forget them. As she was about to return to Miranda's bedside, her phone rang, and she watched the editor's eyes open wide.

"Shit," she said, fumbling to silence her phone. "Miranda, I'm sorry," she added, her eyes fixed on the floor.

"Come here," she said quietly.

Andrea was sure she heard that tone of voice before—that chillingly quiet voice that always signaled Miranda's greatest anger. She carefully walked up to the bedside, her eyes still fixed at the ground. "Yes, Miranda?"

"Shouldn't that be Auntie Miranda to you?" she said.

Andrea's eyes shot up in surprise. Miranda wasn't angry at all. In fact, she was smiling. Ah, painkillers, she thought.

"Yes, Auntie," she said with a giggle. "I apologize for that—I was just worried they would only let family… I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that."

Miranda shrugged, and as she continued to look at the young woman, she noticed the bandages above her eye and on her hands. "Are you hurt?" she asked.

Andrea froze. "Pardon?"

"You have bandages on your forehead and your hands. Were you injured?"

She reached up and felt the stere-strips above her eye. "Just a few cuts, but otherwise I am fine. Thank you for asking," she said, stepping a bit closer. "And how are you feeling?"

"Wonderful, now," she said. "Exhausted," she added. "What day is it?"

"Tuesday, January 1st, 2013," she said. "New Year's Day. Is there something you need?"

Miranda shook her head. "It's just the medication."

"Oh, I talked to Leslee—I hope you don't mind. She said James asked that you call him as soon as you're able," Andrea added.

Miranda sighed and brought her hand up to pinch the bridge of her nose. That singular familiar gesture sent a surge of relief through the younger woman.

"I can get him on the phone now, if you would like," she offered.

"No. I'm not—I don't want to…talk to him. Not yet," she said, her eyes closed.

Andrea nodded and they sat in silence for a few moments. She could see that the woman was again falling asleep. "Well, I'll let you get your rest," she said, quietly gathering her things and walking out.

Passing by the nurse's station, she left her number and asked them to call if there were any emergencies. Why, she wasn't entirely sure. She pulled a baseball cap out of her bag and put it on before leaving the hospital to hail a cab, completely unseen to the hordes of photographers camped outside in the darkness.

At home, she finally took her hot shower, and she made herself a cup of tea before curling up on her bed. She wanted to call her mother, but it was the middle of the night. She tried to close her eyes, but all she could think about were the events of the past twenty-four hours. Running into Miranda. Catching up with Roy. The accident. Miranda coughing up blood. Holding Miranda's hand in the ambulance.

It was too much, and she curled up into a ball as she let her sobs overcome her. Her fears, anxiety, and relief—all of it.

Some time later, she woke with a start. Her cell phone was ringing, somewhere on the other side of the room, and she fumbled up to answer before the caller hung up.

"Hello?"

"Hi - is this Andy Sachs?"

"Yes, speaking," she said nervously.

"This is Claire from Presbyterian."

"Oh god, Miranda," she gasped.

"Yes, regarding Ms. Priestly. You had asked to be called if anything came up, and, well, she's been taken back into surgery. After you left, she began running a fever, and she began presenting with signs of a brain contusion. The surgeon made the decision this morning to take her back into the OR to relieve the pressure."

"But she's okay?"

"She's out of surgery, and she's stable, but you must know that Dr. Fitzgerald had to administer a high dosage of propofol to induce a coma to relieve the strain on her cerebrum," Claire explained.

Andrea took a deep breath. Time to put her Runway hat on. "Okay. I presume she is in the ICU. Please ensure that she has a private room and that access to her room is secured—and I do mean secured. I want a guard posted at the door, and a log of who enters and exits, both staff and visitors. If the hospital can't provide a guard, we are happy to provide one from Ms. Priestly's private security firm. Not a word of her stay in the hospital or her condition or treatment is to be discussed outwardly. I will provide a list of individuals who are allowed access to Ms. Priestly, and if you have any issues at all with any of these requests, I can assure you we will call Dr. Henderson, your Chief of Staff. Ms. Priestly is very good friends with several members of the Board of Directors at your hospital group, as well, and if needed, I have no doubt they will have her full support."

Her speech was met with silence on the line.

"Claire, are Ms. Priestly's requirements understood?"

"Yes, Andy. Private room, guard, entry log, confidentiality, visitor log. It will take us a few hours to get everything setup, and I will confirm when everything is in place."

"Thank you, Claire. I know Ms. Priestly is grateful for your willingness to help. I will be in personally in a few hours myself, but if Leslee Dart or Nigel Kipling arrive, they should be allowed to visit," Andrea said.

"Got it. Well, I've got some work to do. I'll call you if anything changes," Claire said.

"That's all," Andrea said, smiling as she ended the call. She took a deep breath, and the tears started all over again.

She showered and dressed, then called her mom as she made her way to the bus stop. She told her mom everything—about running into Miranda, about the accident, and most importantly, about her fierce feelings of protectiveness over the woman.

Her mother reassured her that it was natural to be so emotional after such a traumatic experience, but Andy knew it went deeper. She told her mom how hard she prayed that Miranda would survive, how the thought of Miranda dying before she had the opportunity to tell her how much she cared about her—how much she loved her.

"That's just it, Mom. I do. I love her," Andrea said.

"Oh honey, of course you do. You're a very generous and loving young woman, just like we raised you to be," her mother replied.

Andrea sighed. Her mother had a point about the emotions and traumatic experience, but she knew her feelings towards Miranda were more than generosity. She quickly ended the call as she got off the bus and entered the hospital.

When she found her way to the Intensive Care Unit, she asked for Claire and was showed to Miranda's room. There was a guard outside, and a visitor log just like she asked. Claire also pointed out the closed-circuit security camera on the door. They intentionally put it an an angle so that the doorway and the visitor's face would be visible, but nothing inside the room could be seen.

Andrea was impressed. Looking at the log, she saw that Leslee had been by earlier. She thanked Claire once again, and entered the room. She certainly wasn't prepared to see the woman looking so fragile.

She walked up to Miranda's bedside and softly took her hand. She didn't fear the editor waking up, so she even leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the woman's forehead before pulling up a chair and taking a seat.

"Hi Miranda," she whispered. "I don't know if you can hear me, or if you'll remember anything I say, but I, um, think you'd be proud of the way I arranged this room for you."

She picked up Miranda's hand again and gave it a little squeeze.

"I calmly gave them a list of demands and casually threatened to go to the Chief of Staff and Board of Directors, and just like that, they magically made arrangements. I learned that from you." She fought back the tears threatening to fall from her eyes. "No one can do it like you, though, and I can't wait to hear you—to talk to you again when you wake." She bent down and kissed the woman's hand. "Rest up. I'm going to give James a call for you."

She spent the next half hour talking to Miranda's first ex-husband, James. She gave him the number for the nurse's station so he could check-in as he needed. He said that Caroline and Cassidy were supposed to fly back at the end of next week, but he would talk to them and play it by ear. He didn't want them around Miranda if she was on heavy painkillers, or worse, in a coma.

"Um, one last thing," Andrea said.

"Sure."

"Do you know if there's anyone else I should notify? Did Miranda have any family or close friends or current significant others? I really only talked to her for five minutes before the accident," she explained.

"No. No family or friends. I suppose Nigel, although I don't know that they keep in touch much since he left. Me and Leslee are about it," he said.

"Okay, thanks."

"Andy? The girls and I appreciate you being there with her. She's their world, and I know that they think very highly of you."

"It's my pleasure," Andrea said. "Miranda is a remarkable woman, and I'm happy to do what I can for her and her family."

After ending that call, Andrea sent an email to her boss at The Mirror, explaining that she was in an auto accident over the weekend and wasn't sure how she would handle being back to work right away. She asked if he was willing to be flexible, allowing her to work remotely. He responded quickly, telling her to do what she needed to do. Andrea was relieved—this meant she could spend more time with Miranda.

The doctor came by to check on her, and he was pleased with the reduced swelling. He anticipated that they could begin waking her up as soon as Friday.

Andrea was shocked and relieved, and also a little nervous. When Miranda woke up, there was no telling whether she would tolerate the young woman's company.

Still, Andrea took advantage of the next few days. Luckily, they were slow days at work, so she spent some time in her apartment in the morning, then went to visit Miranda at the hospital and worked from her room for the rest of the day. She read some of the newspaper aloud to Miranda, and even talked through some of her work.

On Thursday evening before she left, she took her time saying goodbye to the editor. She lowered the handrail on the bed and carefully sat at the edge. She held Miranda's left hand tightly, and with her other hand, she softly caressed the woman's cheek.

"Miranda, I started saying this to you in the car, right after the accident. I didn't know if you were going to survive, and in that moment, I knew I needed to tell you what's been on my mind—more often than you could know," she said. She leaned over and kissed Miranda's forehead as the snow white tresses tickled her nose.

She pressed another kiss to the woman's temple, her cheek, and then the corner of her lips, careful not to dislodge the breathing tube. "I love you, Miranda. I've loved you for years, since before Paris. I don't expect anything from you, but I only ask that you let me be a part of your life. Please don't push me away completely. You've changed my life, and I feel surprisingly confident around you. I like myself around you, and I would love to get to know you better—the real Miranda."

Andrea sat back and gently laid Miranda's hand back on the bed. She returned the handrail to its former position and gathered her things. "If all goes well," she said, "this time tomorrow, you'll be awake. Rest well, my queen," she said before turning and walking out the door.

On her way home, she again called her mother. "No, Mom. It's more than that. I think of her all the time. I want to be near her. I want to hug her and hold her and wake up to the flutter of her eyelids."

Her mom sighed. "Andy, honey, remember who she is. Be careful, I don't want to see you hurt."

"I know," Andy said. "But right now, I feel more hurt, more ache than ever. I need to explore this and see where it might lead. Didn't you always tell me love was about taking risks? That whole 'no pain, no gain' theory? Well. This is it. I would rather put it out there and be hurt than spend the rest of my life wondering."

"Oh, sweetheart, sometimes I forget that you are a grown woman and not my little Andy anymore. Listen, I love you, and I'm here for you. If anyone can win over the Ice Queen, I think it would be you."

Andrea chuckled. "Thanks, Mom. Love you."

"Love you, too. Let me know how it goes."

"Thanks. Bye."

The next morning, Andrea quickly took care of a few work emails and arrived at the hospital just before 10:00 AM. Dr. Fitz and Claire were both in the room when she arrived.

"Hey, how is she doing today?" Andrea asked, tossing her bag in what became "her" chair.

"She's doing wonderfully. We were able to turn down the ventilator this morning, and she's doing well. I think she'll be just fine on her own, which means that her lungs have had a chance to heal, too. We'll remove the tube as soon as she wakes, which could be anywhere from 2-6 hours, depending on how quickly her body flushes the propofol and morphine from her system," he said.

"So basically," Claire added, "it's great news, and she'll be awake in a few hours."

Andrea smiled. "Thanks. That is great news. Can I stay here in the room—or do you need me to leave?"

"Nope, you can stay. We'll be in and out frequently," she added, moving the call button so that it was within Andrea's reach. "When she wakes up, she'll probably start gagging on the tube. Call us right away, and just calmly try to get her to relax."

Andrea thanked them and moved to Miranda's bedside. "Good morning, beautiful," she said, pulling out her bag and taking out a cleansing wipe. She softly moved the cloth over the woman's face, then followed with moisturizer and lip balm. She sprayed some dry shampoo on the woman's hair and ran a brush through it, careful to keep her signature curl resting on her forehead.

"I wish there was more I could do for you," she said quietly as she picked up the woman's hand. "Oh, someone needs a manicure," she said. She noticed that the signature red polish on Miranda's nails was significantly grown out, and missing altogether on some of the nails. "I'll touch this up for you," she said, pulling out a bottle of Dior "Rouge" nail lacquer from her bag. She quickly painted the four nails that had been removed, and touched up the others.

She went to the bathroom and washed her hands before returning to her chair at Miranda's bedside. As was becoming ritual, she read a few stories aloud from the Times, then pulled out her laptop and turned on her favorite playlist, one she also imagined Miranda would enjoy: Bach's Brandenburg Concertos featuring Itzhak Perleman.

Sighing, she opened her email and began to work.

"Listen to this," Andrea said. "I can't believe we pay these people to write when they can't even put together a coherent sentence in an email!"

The morning went on, Andrea talking aloud as she worked, Claire and Dr. Fitz coming in periodically to check on her. Just after noon, she noticed Miranda's fingers fluttering and she knew that would mean the woman would be waking up soon. Andrea put her computer away and moved closer to the bed.

"Miranda, the doctors say you're doing much better. I will be relieved when I know you're awake. James and the girls can't wait to talk to you, either. They're staying in Park City a little bit longer while you heal," she said.

"You know, I really hope you don't hate me. Otherwise, the past few days were probably like hell for you," she added with a chuckle. "I mean, I will understand if you don't want me around, like if I'm too weird or annoying, but I do have my good qualities. Hey, I knew there was a taxi line at the airport, that's something, right?"

Andrea nervously paced back and forth in the room. "Umm, I don't really know what else to say. I'm a little nervous—anxious, really. In college I really struggled with anxiety. Not surprised I didn't more while I worked for you, but I guess I just didn't have time for it," she laughed.

She turned back towards the bed and saw Miranda's eyelids fluttering open and her jaw beginning to move. Andrea quickly stuck her head out the door and flagged down Claire before returning to her bedside.

"Welcome back, Miranda," Claire said loudly as she carefully removed the tape holding the breathing tube to her lips.

The editor's eyes were open now, and she began coughing and gasping on the plastic tubing.

"Hold still, just relax and count to five," Claire said as she slid the tube out and handed it to the other nurse who had come into the room to assist. "Take a few deep breaths. Relax. I'm going to raise you up at a bit of an angle, and then I'll be back with some water."

Miranda closed her eyes and nodded as breathed and felt the bed rise. When she opened her eyes again, she was sitting up, and her eyes were locked with a certain young brunette who was sitting anxiously on the edge of her chair.

The corner of her lips curled up and she tried to speak, but her throat was dry. She lifted her hand and gestured for Andrea to come closer. When she was a few inches away, Miranda reached for her hand.

"It is you," she whispered. "I thought… that I was dreaming… but you're here."

Andrea smiled and softly pressed a kiss to Miranda's hand. "Yes, it's really me."

Claire returned with Dr. Fitz and a pitcher of ice chips. "Miranda, good afternoon," he said with a smile. Claire helped give her a spoonful of the ice chips while the doctor reviewed her vitals. "How's the headache?" he asked.

"Gone."

"Excellent. And the other pain? Can you take a deep breath for me, wiggle your fingers and toes, turn your head side to side?"

Miranda did as Dr. Fitz asked and winced. "Still hurts."

"Okay, we're going to see if you can tolerate some oral medication." Turning to Claire he said, "Get her 500mg of norco every 8 hours and see how she does. And Miranda, I'll be back in a few hours to check in on you. If everything looks good, we can start putting a care plan together to help you get home."

"Thank you, doctor," she said.

Claire returned with the medication and a small glass of water, as well as a warm blanket which she draped over Miranda's petite frame. "Here," she said, handing another warm blanket to the young woman with a smile. "If you need anything, Miranda, please press the call button, or Andy can come find us."

Miranda nodded and laid back against her pillow. They were alone in the room, and Andrea found the courage to speak up first.

"I should probably go back to work," she said.

Miranda looked at her wide-eyed.

"Or, I could stay here."

Miranda nodded and closed her eyes. "I don't know how to explain it, but I felt you here with me these past few days."

Andrea's eyes widened as she suddenly feared that Miranda heard and remembered everything she said.

"It's vague and spotty, but I just remember you talking to me. What about, I have no idea, but I could hear your voice," she said.

Andrea smiled and nodded. "I worked from your room here while you were sleeping. And you know me, total chatterbox," she said, blushing.

"Andrea," Miranda said, pausing to meet the young woman's eyes. "Thank you."

.

.

TBC