Summary:

Nigel comes to see Miranda.

Notes:

Thank you so much for the positive feedback! I hope that you guys are enjoying this so far! I am having a lot of fun writing this! A huge shout out to my BETA reader! She is a literal godsend and is a huge help when it comes to making this the best piece that it can be. Follow her dobbypussssyindulgence on TUMBLR

It was a while before Miranda and her mother spoke again.

All Miranda could do was watch as her body was being put back together. It was strange to see them cut through her clothes. Stick needles in her body and for an entire minute watched as they tried to get her heart to beat again. Miranda could feel the shock of the defibrillator go through her entire chest as her body convulsed on the operating table. Miranda's mother took a step forward and then her heart began to beat again. There was an irony in the act.

Four hours passed before she was rolled out of the operation room and taken to a small private room with a large floor to ceiling window. Miranda could hear rain hit the glass violently. Her eyes had not once left her body and the more she stared at herself the harder it was to believe that it was really her. The wrappings around her neck had been white for a while until a flower of blood began to bloom. The color was unnaturally bright red. All the wires and tubes looked like vines that had her caged to the hospital bed. Miranda winced at the sight of her smeared mascara underneath her eyes. Her creased eyeshadow doing nothing to hide the bruising that was forming all over her face.

Her mother was standing by the window. Her eyes were captivated by the storm raging outside. Beneath her, the woman could see a man running through the rain across the parking lot until he was running into the hospital. There was a sharp familiarity in her chest and she turned back to Miranda.

"You get to choose, Miranda." She said softly.

Miranda's eyes snapped back to her mother's face. Her eyes were brilliant, cold, and fearful. "Choose what?" Miranda snapped. Her lips pulled back into a thin line and her eyes narrowed like a cat ready to pounce at any given moment. "What is there to chose?" She screamed.

Miranda's mother turn to fully face the woman and she took pity on the editor. "You get to choose to live."

There was a heavy silence that fell over the room. The beeps of the machines around them began to quicken. "Why would I want to live?" Miranda breathed. Her heart lurched against her chest. An all too familiar voice began to whisper in her ear. The voice was black and piousness with slime like tendrils that wrapped around her heart. Who would really care if you died? It snarled in her ear. Miranda knew that if she died now that no one would care. Everyone that she had anything to do with would rejoice in her passing.

The Devil is dead! We're free from her reign! They would all cry out in joy. Miranda wouldn't blame them. She was nothing but cruel to all the people around her. She demanded the impossible, tore friends apart and made relationships burn. She forced a person to sign their life away to work for her; to be a part of some twisted fantasy. At this point what was there to live for? She had two failed marriages, two grown daughters who had more connection to their nanny than her, and employees that all hated her. She lacked friends because the people who claimed to be, were only there out of ulterior motives. They didn't care about her; they cared about the fact that they could get something from using her name.

Now she was in the middle of God knows where lying comatose in a hospital. No one had come to visit her. Why would they? It wouldn't be like they cared.

"There's no reason to keep going? If I'm supposed to die here now then so be it." Miranda went on. The little voice in her head preened at the dangerous thought. It stroked away any hope her heart had left leaving her empty. "People would be better off if I was dead." She added with finality.

Something flashed in her mother's eyes. Something dark and all knowing. The weather outside turned a little more violent and Miranda could have sworn that she could feel a dark and menacing presence. Her mother's familiar face began to morph and a strange shadow fell over her face. It was like she was wearing some invisible cloak. Her pale skin turned ashy. Her sharp nose receded, and her lips began to pull back to bare sharp teeth. The glint of blue in her eyes turned jet black. She was turning into death right before Miranda's eyes. Whatever it was had taken her mother's appearance, using it to forge some sort of connection with her. Now it was revealing its true form.

Miranda took a terrified step back. Her back hit the wall and she pressed herself against it praying that it would swallow her whole. Then the entire room shook with the intensity of a deep dark voice. "Does this mean you accept death, Miranda? Will you come with me?" Where Miranda should have felt fear, she felt something close to a calm wash over her. Her heart began to slow and it made her feel heavy and tired. A weight made her slump against the wall and white light began to creep up along the corners of her vision. Somewhere far away the beeping of the machines hooked up to her began to slow down.

This was it…

The door was open and a nurse walked in. "This is where she is going to be staying until she has woken up, " she said quietly.

As she walked into the room a man followed close behind.

"Thank you for letting me see her." Nigel murmured as the woman turned away and walked out of the room. She tossed one last sympathetic glance at the man before she left. "We will be back to check her vitals in ten minutes," she said as the door began to close.

He stood there in silence as he let his eyes roam over Miranda's body. His eyes shone and his cheek grew wet. There was a silent sob ripped from his lips and he stumbled to her bedside. He gently took hold of her hand and he felt his knees give out beneath him. Nigel pressed his lips against the cold skin of Miranda's hand and in a fleeting moment he sent a prayer out that she would wake up.

Unknown to him Miranda was behind him collapsed against the wall. Her entire body was trembling. When Nigel had walked in everything had snapped back into focus. The entire world around her came back to unbearably painful clarity. The force made her body lurch forward and she was barely quick enough to catch herself before she hit the floor. There wasn't enough air in the room. Her lungs were on fire and her eyes were burning. She could hear a pounding in her ear. Far away was a voice, she clenched her eyes to try and keep the spinning at bay and focus on that voice. That voice made her breathing easier, her body let go of all the tension, and her soul sing. She had known that voice for over three decades. That was the same voice that pushed her, that protected her, and challenged her.

She could hear Nigel crying and her heart shattered.

"Miranda, I need you to wake up. There is so much that you still need to do. There are so many people that need you. Miranda, Runway would burn without you. All of us would be lost." He cried into her hand. His glasses lay forgotten on the floor by his knees. He hadn't let go of her hand since he had gotten into the room. "Please, don't leave me. You're one of the most important people I know. You're one of the reasons why I push myself. You're one of my biggest inspirations."

Miranda could only stare at the floor helplessly as she heard Nigel weep. She was still on all fours; the energy to get up eluded her. "No. Don't say that Nigel, that's not true. You would be better off without me. Please, don't cry." Miranda begged. The gravity of the entire situation finally dawned on her. She was dying, she could feel it now. The hollow feeling in her chest, the numbness of heart and this dark looming shadow that fell over her entire body like a wool blanket. "I've caused you enough pain," she whispered.

Nigel's ears began to ring, through the sound he could have sworn that he had heard a soft voice. Something in his heart told him to keep talking. "I know why you did what you did in Paris. I'm not going to lie and say that I wasn't hurt, betrayed, and confused when it happened. At this point, I had just wished that you had told me. You've built so many walls throughout the years," Nigel sighed. "I forgive you, and I understand."

He said nothing more as he kissed the back of Miranda's hand. With the little strength that he had left, he pushed himself up. Only letting go of Miranda's hand for a moment, he pulled up a chair and made himself comfortable. His tan skin was a stark contrast to her pale complexion when he held her hand.

"You will be okay, Mira," was the last thing he could say before the nurse from earlier came to take her vitals, ushering him out.

Miranda hadn't been called that in years.

Thirty Years Ago

"You seem as tired of this entire thing as I am." Came a deep chuckle.

Miranda rolled her eyes and scoffed. The music blaring in the club was making her head ache and the smell of sex, sweat, and alcohol was making her want to gag. The next time she was dragged to one of these after parties she will set a timer for thirty minutes. When that timer dinged then she would be out of there.

Maybe it was the annoying company that she had been surrounded with for the entire night, or perhaps it was the chance to share her pain with someone else; but she turned around and met a knowing smirk and smiling brown eyes that were behind thick-rimmed glasses.

"The amount of drugs and alcohol is unnerving." She remarked loud enough to be heard.

The man beside her nodded and presented her with a bottle of water. It was wet from condensation and unopened. "That's not including all the terrible fashion that we were forced to endure," he chuckled.

Something in his gaze out to the dance floor had Miranda laughing out loud for the first time that night. "White fur and shining silver for winter, groundbreaking," she mocked. The man beside her tossed his head back and chuckled.

Miranda took his offered water. His eyes landed on her and there was a fire there. There was passion, determination, and an intelligence that many seemed to lack in the fashion industry. Miranda was impressed and intrigued. The man before her had the potential of becoming her worst enemy or her best friend. A little voice in her head urged her to reach out to him. The man knew fashion; he understood the world around them. Miranda needed someone like that. She needed someone that she could turn to and confide in. "My name is Miranda Priestly," she introduced herself.

Her eyes flashed brilliantly in the club light. Her fiery red hair looked like flames around her sharp face. She looked like the Devil herself.

"Nigel Kipling." The man introduced himself. His smile was sharp and his gaze turned appreciating. He had finally met someone that was at his level. Maybe even beyond. Without a shadow of a doubt, Nigel knew that the woman before her was meant for great things.

Miranda thought the same thing of him.

Within five years, their names meant something. The rest, as many like to say is history.

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