FIC: Changes Wrought 6/?
Changes Wrought 6/?
By: bargara-b
Fandom: Devil Wears Prada (film)
Pairing: Miranda/Andrea
Rating: PG-13 to R
Disclaimer: Honestly? Not mine.
A/N: I am not a writer nor can I claim any expertise in fashion, journalism, medicine, psychiatry, rescue operations, or teenaged girls (though I do have one of those they remain a mystery).
Thanks to Radak for the prompt.
Continued appreciation and respect to shesgottaread for the beta and the indulgence.
This story begins about one year after Paris.
Previous bits here:
http://community.livejournal.com/dvlwears_prada/816588.html#cutid1
http://bargara-b.livejournal.com/917.html
http://bargara-b.livejournal.com/1395.html#cutid1
http://bargara-b.livejournal.com/1669.html#cutid1
http://bargara-b.livejournal.com/1852.html#cutid1
Current bit here:
Changes Wrought
Chapter Six
Yep, definitely a defense mechanism, Andy would think later, as there was simply no other way the mind could process it.
Andy felt only a twinge of guilt as she negotiated her way, albeit awkwardly, past the nurses’ station and around the corner to room 3114. She had asked Doug to wait downstairs thinking it best to see Caroline alone. Hesitating outside the door Andy briefly wondered whether any family members would be in there and if they would be offended by her brazenly seeking out Caroline or, worse, if they would contact the authorities for her violation of Caroline’s privacy. Andy decided she didn’t care and she could always blame it on the pain pills if it came to that. She looked both ways then pushed (bumped, really) the door open and entered.
The room was empty. Empty but for a young girl sleeping in the hospital bed with all the expected trappings attached to various parts of her body. It was Caroline. Andy immediately choked up and tears flowed silently down her face as she carefully approached the bed.
“Oh, Caroline,” Andy whispered. She quickly ran her eyes over Caroline’s face which was marred only by the oxygen feed through her nose. She was beautiful and breathing and alive. “Oh, sweetie --” unable to continue Andy leaned her crutches against the wall, reached for Caroline’s hand and held it to her own cheek. She all but collapsed into the chair next to the bed, bent her head over Caroline’s hand and wept.
Seeing Caroline again served as a trigger for Andy. She was immediately transported back to the train and the accident. It played out in her mind with the clarity and synchronicity of an expertly executed dive off a very, very high cliff. Every moment and every detail of the accident came rushing, inevitably, toward Andy as she plummeted -- and then she was drowning --
“Who in God’s name are you and what are you doing in my daughter’s room?”
And then her heart stopped.
Would it have been too creepy, Andy would wonder later, to say that a small part, a tiny corner, of her mind had already figured it out? Perhaps. But Andy wasn’t quite there yet. She immediately dropped Caroline’s hand and turned to face the voice. The voice. Oh. Dear. God. Better yet, oh dear holy-mother-of-any-and-all-gods-ever-worshipped. Then, like clockwork the defense mechanism kicked in: slow motion.
Shocked? Stunned? Bewildered? Andy was at a loss to pick a suitable word. After all, how can one word sum up what she felt at this moment -- this moment during which Andy processed hundreds of thoughts and images in a mere second or two; this moment during which her heart dropped into an endless abyss; this moment during which she lost any ability to comprehend reality? One word, indeed, when the only word she could think of matched every thought she was having and was the same word of the only image she could see: Miranda, Miranda, Miranda. She was breathless.
____________________________________________________
Miranda Priestly was never one to be slow on the uptake but clearly there was a first time for everything and this moment definitely appeared to be a first time. What Miranda saw first angered then baffled her. Who was this person hovering over her child? How . . . how dare she? Before Miranda could turn to alert anyone to an intruder, she watched in astonished silence as the face that turned toward her was none other than -- Andrea Sachs? Why was Andrea Sachs at her daughter’s bedside? Why did Andrea Sachs have tears streaming down her face? Why did Andrea Sachs have an eye that was swollen half shut and why was her face bruised? So she verbalized it.
“Why are . . .” was as far as she got when there was a sound from the bed.
“Mommy --” it was Caroline; her voice breathy, “--you found her.”
Miranda, still rooted to the spot just inside the room, looked at her daughter in confusion then looked at Andrea. What did Caroline mean? “Found who, darling?”
“You found Andy,” Caroline said.
It took about three beats for it to register with Miranda and then the penny dropped. She shook her head a few times just to be sure: Andy.
Still baffled Miranda looked at Andrea and said out loud the very first thought to enter her head.
“You’re a rescue worker?”
It was comical, really, all the looking back and forth from Caroline to Andrea from Miranda to Andrea and back to Caroline again. No one spoke for a full five seconds hoping that in that vast lapse of time someone would connect the dots.
“A rescue . . . I -- no, no I’m not a rescue worker,” Andrea said.
Miranda’s concern for Caroline trumped her confusion and she moved quickly to the other side of Caroline’s bed. It wasn’t Miranda’s “side” because Andrea Sachs was still sitting in Miranda’s chair on Miranda’s side. She leaned over Caroline. “Darling, you’re awake.” Miranda fussed with Caroline’s hair. “How are you feeling?” She caressed her cheek. “Shall I call the nurse?” Miranda spoke softly as she pressed the call button.
“She was with me, Mommy, on the train the whole time.” Caroline reached toward Andrea’s hand, “She helped me.” At this Miranda looked expectantly at Andrea confusion still in her eyes.
“I was a passenger, Miranda,” Andrea said.
The second penny dropped for Miranda. Of course, the bruising and swelling and -- were those crutches?
“You were hurt.” Miranda said with genuine concern as she gestured vaguely to Andrea’s face then to the crutches.
“Yeah, um, I was but I’m okay.” Andrea offered a tentative smile to Miranda and then a full-on teary smile to Caroline. “I was released today.”
Miranda watched Andrea and Caroline look at each other. The first smile since regaining consciousness yesterday graced her daughter’s face as Andrea brought Caroline’s hand to her lips then leaned over and pressed her lips to Caroline’s forehead.
“I’m so glad I found you,” she whispered to Caroline. Caroline sighed, contentedly. No one said anything. Andrea just looked at Caroline and Caroline looked right back as her eyes started to flutter closed.
Miranda sat quietly allowing them their time. Within a few minutes, Caroline had drifted off again. Still neither she nor Andrea spoke. They just sat while the afternoon sun filtered through the blinds and watched over Caroline.
“I never made the connection,” Andrea said in to the silence. She took a wobbly breath and wiped an errant tear. Miranda waited. “It . . . it was dark and she’s changed and I didn’t recognize her.” Andrea gave a little laugh which ended in a half sob. “But I still felt a connection to her, Miranda, you know?” She looked earnestly at Miranda. “Even before it happened . . . there were all these girls and she was happy and talking and . . . oh, god, Torrey.” Andy suddenly remembered. “Miranda, her friend Torrey, is she--”
“She’s all right. She’s home.” Miranda said.
“Oh, thank god.” Andrea turned her gaze to the window and was quiet.
Miranda regarded Andrea for a moment then cleared her throat and took her turn. “When Caroline was first coming out of her . . . sleep, she kept asking for ‘Andy’.” Miranda looked sheepishly at Andrea and a small smile crossed her lips. Andrea smiled back and Miranda continued. “She said she needed . . . ‘Andy’,” Miranda inclined her head toward Andrea, “to know that she was nine years old. She was very insistent on this point. Of course, we, the doctor and I, thought it to be related to her head . . . .” Miranda tapered off as she watched Andrea’s face transform to an expression she could only define as satisfied joy. “What is it, Andrea?”
“Her first kiss, Miranda,” Andrea explained, practically giggled and then sobered somewhat as she continued. “She had started to close her eyes, on the train, and I tried to keep her awake by talking.” Miranda actually smirked at this and Andrea rolled her eyes in amused response. “I told her the story of my first kiss and said that as soon as she felt better she could tell me about hers. I guess she was nine.” Andrea finished but Miranda expected something more. Andrea just blinked then understood. “Oh, um, I was seven, seven and a half really--” Andrea warmed to her subject “--and, well, my bird had died and Mikey Edwards . . . you really, don’t want to hear this, do you,” Andrea said. Miranda’s lips twitched into a half smile. “I didn’t think so.”
“Caroline’s wrong, you know,” Andrea said. Miranda raised her eyebrows in question. “She’s the one who helped me. While we were . . . waiting, she helped me.” Andrea’s voice broke and she took refuge in rubbing the back of Caroline’s hand with her thumb. She said nothing else as she wiped more tears from her face. Miranda, too, said nothing but just watched her former assistant weep softly for her child and for all that had occurred.
Miranda knew she would never fully understand what happened between these two on that train and she also knew that it didn’t matter. Miranda Priestly trusted Andrea Sachs.She had come to trust Andrea to do her job while in her employ and now Miranda knew, almost inexplicably, that she could trust her with the well-being of her child. She quietly reflected. Was it any real surprise, Miranda mused, that it turned out the most efficient assistant she’d ever had, the assistant who was best at anticipating Miranda’s every whim, was the one who happened to be there to care for what mattered to Miranda most? Efficient, indeed.
In the past twenty minutes, Miranda’s emotions had run from anger to confusion to bewilderment and now to an odd sense of giddiness. She had no reference for it.
____________________________________________
“Must you go so soon?”
The nurse had left after checking Caroline’s vitals and administering the next dose of pain relief. The surgery on Caroline’s leg had been fairly extensive and, although the doctors predicted an excellent outcome, there would be a lot of pain and a long road ahead. Caroline had been at her most coherent so far but that only lasted for a few minutes before the excitement of seeing Andy had taken its toll. She was sleeping again. Miranda and Andy then spoke briefly of Caroline’s progress and in only the most general terms. It was all terribly civilized, really, as if that could ward off any awkwardness. Andy was glad Miranda hadn’t asked her for any details of the accident. The best thing was that Miranda hadn’t reverted to her Runway persona. Andy found this to be a relief and, to be honest, unexpected.
“Yeah, I really need to get home.” Andy reached for her crutches and winced when she tried to stand.
Miranda quickly moved around the bed.
“Let me help you . . . or I can call someone --”
“No, it’s okay.”
“Andrea, don’t be ridiculous,” Miranda reprimanded as she reached Andy and took a firm hold of her elbow while holding a crutch at the ready. “In fact, I’ll call my driver, he can take you home.” As Andy adjusted her crutches, Miranda was already calling her car.
Yes, this was definitely awkward, Andy thought. Talk about a total and complete shift in dynamics. How does one flip that switch?
“Miranda, really it’s okay. My friend Doug is waiting for me downstairs--”
“I’m sure he’ll fit in the car - Roy, come to the hospital now, you’ll be driving Andrea Sachs and her friend home. That’s all.”
Well, maybe just a partial flip of that switch.
Miranda insisted on walking Andy at least to the elevator. She had wanted to see Andy all the way to the car but Andy easily convinced her to stay close for Caroline and anyway this cordial and accommodating Miranda was, well, different and Andy needed to get away to process it all. Miranda pressed the button for the lift. She kept looking at Andy as if she had something else to say but couldn’t seem to figure out how. Andy decided to just jump in with what she wanted.
“Miranda, I have some physical therapy ahead of me and I don’t know how soon I can manage it but I’d really like to come and visit again as soon as I can. Is that all right?”
While Andy had been speaking, Miranda had been watching, with seemingly increased fascination, the ascending floor numbers light up above the elevator when she turned to Andy. “I think that would be . . . lovely.” Andy almost swallowed her tongue. Did Miranda really just say ‘lovely’? “And if I know my daughter, I’m sure she will insist on it.”
The elevator pinged its arrival and Andy felt a hand on her arm. She turned to Miranda.
“You have my sincerest gratitude, Andrea, I want you to know that. Thank you.” Miranda spoke to Andy in a tone she’d never heard from this woman. Gone was the icy, demanding and often demeaning voice. Now, it was sincere and deeply felt and did Miranda’s voice just crack and were those tears in her eyes? It all took Andy just a little bit more off guard and, although she had fully connected the dots, her mind was still reeling from the unlikely fact that the girl reflected in the train window had turned out to be Miranda Priestly’s daughter.
Andy rode the elevator to the lobby her thoughts a jumbled mess of joy, expectations out the window, prescription painkillers, relief and a strong dose of WTF. Distracted, she exited and headed straight for the doors.
“Hey, Andy!”
Doug. Oh god, she had forgotten about Doug.
“Wait up.” He drew up next to Andy. “Well, how did it go? Was it her?”
“Yep, it was,” she said.
Doug stood aside while Andy went through the automatic door-way first.
“And?”
“She’s just wonderful, Doug, and she’s going to be fine.” Andy’s smile was wide. She came to a stop on the sidewalk as a sleek Mercedes sedan pulled to the curb. The driver got out of the car and came toward Andy.
“Hi there, Roy.”
“Good to see you Andy.” Roy moved to open the car door.
“You too.” Andy pivoted on one crutch and held the other out to Doug. “You gonna help me or are you just gonna catch some flies.” Andy grinned at Doug who was clearly not processing the whole limo thing.
“Oh, and Caroline’s last name --” Andy threw over her shoulder as Doug helped to lower her into the car and slide her across the seat “--is Priestly.”
The door closed firmly on Andy’s smirk as Doug’s eyes grew to the size of silver dollars. A horn honked and Doug quickly opened the front passenger door and hopped inside. He immediately turned to face Andy over the seat. “As in Priestly Priestly?”
Andy met Roy’s amused eyes in the rear view mirror. She gave a short laugh.
“Yep.”
“Oh, wow,” Doug breathed.
For the first time since the accident, Andy felt buoyant and, oddly enough, somewhat giddy. It must be the drugs, Andy decided.
As the car pulled into traffic Andy got out her calendar and started to count the days to when she could visit Caroline again.
TBC