Halloween DWP Fic, Part Two
A/N: Written for the all_hallows_fic ficathon, so you know it's going to be very much out in left field. It was supposed to be scary, but I'm pretty sure I only managed creepy, so there you go.
Also, I'm not going to tell you what my prompt was until the end, because I don't want to ruin the plot completely.
Title, obviously, comes from Hamlet. Sorry, Will.
Summary: Miranda's acting strange. Really strange. And Andy gets caught up in the middle of something that's beyond imagining. Seriously AU. And yeah, some femslash stuff.
Warning(s): Here's your warning -- this is a weird-ass story, so there's weird-ass stuff.
Rating: R, I think. Basically, not for the sensitive and/or easily confused. Nothing very sexy, though.
Disclaimer: As if.
More Things in Heaven and Earth, Part Two
by: Hayseed (hayseed42@gmail.com)
The next morning, Nate surprised her by taking the day off. "I thought we could spend some time together while you're not working," he said.
She put down the phone nervously; she'd just had a long conversation with her mother in which she'd attempted to say good-bye without actually saying the words. Just in case, of course. She still didn't really believe what Gareth had told her. "Oh?" she asked politely.
"We've grown apart," he explained. "And all this with your whack-job of a boss has gotten you twisted up."
"She disappeared, Nate," Andy said patiently. "She's probably in trouble."
"Yeah, but you should just let the police take care of it. Don't worry about it, babe." He offered her that disarming grin that always turned her knees to jelly.
No jelly today, though. "I can't sit around and do nothing," she said in a quiet voice. "Everything's gone so strange."
Leaning in, he began pressing kisses to her neck. "Nothing?" he asked between kisses. "I wasn't thinking we'd do nothing."
His hands reached for the bottom of her shirt, but she moved them away. "Nate," she said gently. "I can't."
Abruptly, he pulled away, his eyes dark with anger. "Why not?" he asked in a petulant tone. "Why the fuck not, Andy? Is it her?"
She started. "What?"
"It's like you've become president of the Miranda Fucking Priestly Fan Club," he shouted, backing away and throwing his hands up. "Face it, Andy, you're obsessed with her."
"I..."
"And this, this disappearance," he spat, face twisting. "I don't believe it for a second. She's just been fucking around on her husband and decided she had a better thing going. I mean, you've had a lot of late nights these days -- is that where you go? Tell me, Andy, does she make you hot?"
Her eyes widened. "Nate, I don't--"
"I bet you think about it all day long. Cold woman like that has got to be a tiger underneath. Bet you're all but wetting yourself for it. Is that where you go? Gotten a taste for pussy these days?" He leaned in, his expression ugly, and poked her in the chest with a single, hurtful finger.
"Nate!" she exclaimed, shocked.
This wasn't Nate. He'd never say things like this to her.
"I gotta tell you, Andy, when I think about it, it makes me pretty mad." Stepping back, Nate grabbed the lamp off the nearby table and held it up in the air. "It makes me really fucking pissed off!"
He brought the lamp down on the coffee table suddenly, and Andy jumped as it shattered, throwing ceramic shards all over the den.
"Why can't you care about me like you care about that bitch?" he raged, reaching out a hand.
Andy shrank back into the sofa, her mouth dry with terror. "Nate," she gasped as the hand wrapped around her throat.
"Fucking show you," he hissed, tightening his hand. "Pull you right off your fucking high horse."
Her hands scrabbled at his face, nails cutting into his cheeks. "No," she wheezed, trying to draw in a breath.
"Sometimes, Andy," he said, his lips close enough to her ear that she could feel the wetness of his mouth, "you can be a real cunt. You know that?"
Black spots swam in front of her eyes and someone began knocking frantically at the door.
"Help," she whispered. "Help me."
"Oh, I'll help you, all right," Nate said with his usual disarming grin.
And something inside her broke open. This was her Nate. Her Nate, trying to choke the life out of her.
Andy thrashed as hard as she could. A flailing knee found its way into Nate's crotch.
Immediately, he folded up and fell on the floor.
Gasping and wheezing, she ran a hand over her throat, almost to assure herself that it was still there. "You... you..." she said as loudly as her damaged vocal cords would allow, delivering a vicious kick to his ribs. She picked up the phone and got as far as 9-1 before whoever was knocking on the door kicked it in.
"Andrea Sachs!" Gareth shouted, flinging himself into the room. "You are in great danger!"
She just rolled her eyes at him. "Yeah, it would have been nice if you could have done that about two minutes ago, when he was trying to fucking murder me!"
"Do not speak," he replied. "You will only damage yourself further."
Throwing the phone down, she took a staggering step away from the couch. "He..." she began, eyes filling with tears.
"Andy!" Nate roared, lunging forward and grabbing at her ankle.
As she went down, she caught her left shoulder on the edge of the coffee table. She felt something in her arm crack and let out a loud pain-filled shriek.
Faster than lightning, however, Gareth was looming over Nate's prostrate form. "I think," he said contemptuously, "that is enough from you." His fist flickered and Nate went silent. He turned to Andy. "Are you hurt?"
"Is the Pope Catholic?" she asked sarcastically through clenched teeth. "I think my arm is broken."
His hand was warm as it gently probed the injury. "Likely," he said. "But if you will permit, I believe I can offer some relief."
"Whatever," she managed, trying not to black out.
Stretching an arm over her, Gareth said a handful of strange words and Andy felt her body flooded with an intense yet pleasant heat. The pain in her arm eased dramatically, and even her throat felt better.
"Wow..." she breathed, standing and giving her arm a careful stretch.
"It will be sore," he warned, "but the break has been repaired."
Another moment wondering at what he'd just done for her, and then her attention was brought back into the room, back to the crumpled figure sprawled on the floor. "Nate..." she said. "He just..."
"I only found out a few moments ago," Gareth said. "The day Lyra sent your name down below, Acheron found your Nate. The day after they saw you for the first time."
"He was going to kill me," she said, still in disbelief.
With a shrug, he leaned over and heaved Nate up on the couch, arranging him in a more or less comfortable posture. "He was enspelled," he said. "I will not lie to you, Andy. The spell could not have been cast if it was not in his nature to hurt you, but take comfort in the fact that he was not in his right mind when he attempted to."
"The spell wouldn't have worked if he didn't want to hurt me?" she asked in a small voice, staring in wonder at Nate's peaceful face.
"Emotions are complicated, Andrea Sachs," Gareth said gently. "But I think you already know that."
She reached a hand toward Nate's damaged cheek but stopped just short. "He... I can't... I don't think I can forgive that."
"Somehow, I doubt that love has existed between the two of you for a good while," he said.
Giving Nate one last sorrowful look, she just went over to the apartment exit and picked up her purse. "I guess not."
That afternoon, she and Gareth sat in Miranda's townhouse, eating takeout Thai food and discussing their plans.
"I do not think it prudent to wait any longer," Gareth said, swallowing a mouthful of noodles. "Lyra and Acheron clearly are aware of the situation. That spell on your Nate was activated at a suspicious time."
She shivered. The bruises on her throat had only gotten more livid, and her arm still twinged. "So what do we do now?" she asked tightly.
"We go Down," he replied. "Tonight. We are done waiting."
She could hear the capital letter and tried not to let it scare her. "Hey, Gareth, can I ask you something really invasive?"
He just cocked an eyebrow and waited expectantly.
"Why... why are you helping me with Miranda?" she asked in a rush, before she could think better of it. "I mean, aren't you kind of going against your own people?"
Gareth smiled, unpleasant and unnerving. "My people don't differ much from your own, Andy. Lyra and Acheron belong to another clan. I violate none of my clan's laws by offering you aid. In fact, if I am successful, I will likely be rewarded."
"Just for helping me get Miranda back?" she asked blankly.
"There is more at stake than just the life of your friend. It is war, Andrea Sachs." His expression was neutral, but his eyes danced.
"I thought you said you had a single civilization. Like, with no upheavals or anything," she said, only faintly accusatory.
With a twist of the lips, he smirked at her. "Rule passes from clan to clan," he said. "My kin and I are part of the rebellion against the Queen. If we win against her tonight, it will be the beginning of the end."
Pieces began falling into place. Terrifying pieces that made Andy wish she'd never agreed to any of this. "Queen?" she echoed.
"Lyra is cruel and vicious, and many have suffered during her reign." Looking unconcerned, Gareth began digging around in a takeout box.
After all, Miranda was just her boss, right? It didn't matter that she'd all but begged for Andy's help in the office that day. Or that the thought of what could be happening to her at this very moment sent chills down Andy's spine. "You mean..." she said.
"You must go against the Queen, Andrea Sachs," he said with a nod. "If you want to save your friend. I can match her brother, but I am afraid you must face the Queen alone."
She stood up. Oh, hell no!
"I did warn you," he said mildly.
"You tricked me!" Andy cried.
With a little shake of his head, Gareth finished the contents of the box and moved on to another. "We are known for our delight in games, after all," he said through a mouthful of food. "But I have never lied to you."
"A lie of omission is still a lie," she said in an angry voice.
"And I ask again, you would abandon your friend after everything you have been through?" He gave her a grave look.
Huffing, Andy threw herself back into her chair. "You tell me I have a choice, and then you make me feel like I don't have one."
"It is war, after all," he told her, sounding amused.
"Shut up, Gareth, or I'll... I don't know what I could do, but it would be bad." She shot him as dark a glare as she could manage.
He was quiet for a long moment, giving her an inscrutable look. "I tell you this, Andrea Sachs, because you are to face Lyra. It is the destruction of our entire race if you betray my trust."
"What?" she asked, apprehensive.
"The old tales are true," he said quietly. "The only thing deadly to one of my kind is the touch of iron. Even now, I feel the ache in my bones as I sit in this cage of a house. Steel is... unpleasant to us, but iron kills."
"Iron? You mean, like a sword?"
Gareth sighed. "Any iron, child. Contact is enough."
Andy stared at him until something clicked into her head. Wordlessly, she stood up, went into the kitchen and pulled out a butter knife. With Gareth trailing at her heels, she went up to the front door, walked out onto the stoop, and used the knife to unscrew the wrought-iron number seven attached to the side of the house. "This is enough to kill you?" she asked incredulously, holding out the house number.
He shuddered visibly. "Please do not come any closer, Andrea Sachs. I can feel it burning the air. But it is a good weapon to bring with us. If you can conceal it from sight, I can do the rest."
On her way back into the house, she paused in the foyer to snatch an Hermes scarf from Miranda's closet. Wrapping the number up, she shoved it in her jeans pocket. "What else?" she asked him.
"I can cast an enchantment that will disguise your appearance somewhat, but only if you do not speak," he said. "As soon as you make a sound, the spell will be broken. But tonight, it should be enough. Lyra and Acheron waste their nights in drink and debauchery. We may be able to catch them unawares."
She frowned. "How do I get Miranda out once I have her?"
"You will be in a magical place," he said with one of his eerie chuckles. "All you must do is wish it."
She didn't like the spell. As soon as Gareth spoke the words, she felt like she was wrapped up in a stuffy, itchy blanket.
"Not a word," he said as he took in her frustrated expression. "I know it is unpleasant, but it is the best I can do with a human."
Rolling her eyes, Andy just made a rude gesture with her hands.
"I did not mean to insult you," he said in a voice that implied the exact opposite. "Now, come close to me. The way Down is not by any human means." As she allowed him to wrap her up in a tight embrace, she felt his hands in her hair. "It may help to close your eyes."
It didn't.
The whole world rocked, and Andy was sure she was going to throw up.
"We're here," Gareth said as soon as everything stopped spinning.
When she was able to open her eyes again, she found herself standing in the middle of an incredibly dark room. She gave Gareth a questioning look.
"This is one of the antechambers," he whispered. "We are in the palace. Step carefully, child."
They made their way through hallway after hallway, Andy clinging to Gareth's hand, her terror only rising.
"We are here," he said as they stepped into a seething room.
The first thing that hit her was the smell. Blood and wine and... unspeakable things. She pinched her nose shut, but Gareth quickly slapped her hand away.
"You must appear unaffected," he hissed. "Do not draw attention to yourself. And follow my instructions, no matter what."
Pushing their way into the crowd, Gareth grabbed a champagne-type flute filled with... something and thrust it into her hands.
"Do not drink," he whispered. "But make sure the level decreases in a timely fashion."
She jerked her head in a quick nod and focused all of her attention on keeping the fear out of her expression.
And then someone was in her face, loud and stinking. It was too dark to make out any features. "Gareth," it rumbled. "You have a lot of nerve showing your face here."
Gareth's smile was neutral. "I am invited, am I not?"
"Well... technically. But Acheron is going to kill you if he lays eyes on you." Sharp teeth caught Andy's eye as they gleamed in the dim light. "And who is this fetching little creature you've brought along?"
"A plaything," he said, putting a possessive hand on Andy's right breast. "Just for tonight."
She flinched but willed herself still.
"She is lovely," it replied. "May I?" A claw traced her cheek and she about came out of her skin in horror.
Gareth drew her back. "You may not, Anaximander. You will only spoil her, and I've gone to great lengths to keep her quiet. I don't want her to go to waste."
The thing sniffed at her neck. "It is a fine spell," it said. "Lyra will want to know what it is, as her pet's gotten a bit unruly." It laughed and Andy twitched.
"I've heard about Lyra's pet," Gareth said blandly, still keeping his hand on Andy's chest. "Perhaps she's gotten into more than she can handle with that one."
"Nothing that can't be managed with the right kind of discipline," it replied, those long teeth glinting again. "And we all know how Lyra enjoys that sort of thing."
"Quite," he said. "Well... if you don't mind."
It sniggered. "Have fun, old friend."
As soon as it was gone, Gareth released Andy. "You did well," he said quietly. "That was the first test."
With a shrug, she made an inquiring gesture.
"I'm not sure," he replied to the unasked question. "We'll have to see what comes next."
What came next was a loud shout and a rattling chain. Before she could give it much thought, she tore away from Gareth and elbowed her way through the crowd and toward the noise. Her glass she dropped somewhere along the way, uncaring of who saw.
Acheron stood at the middle of the affair, holding a long, thin silver chain. "It tried to escape again, Lyra dear."
Eyes wide, all Andy could do was gape at the mess that was Miranda Priestly, sprawled on the floor naked, save for a silver collar attached to the chain in Acheron's hands. Bruises and cuts marked her whole body, except for her face, which was pale and full of terror.
"Have we learned nothing?" a female voice drawled from the shadows, causing Miranda to curl up into a ball and let out a little moan. "I cannot believe we have to go through this again," Lyra announced as she stepped toward Acheron and took the leash. "Do we really?" She gave the chain a jerk and Andy saw blood well over Miranda's collar.
Miranda lifted her head -- a tear ran down her cheek. "No," she said in a rusty, damaged voice.
"You would do better not to fight, my love," Lyra told her, stooping down to caress her cheek.
Miranda leaned into the touch and smiled, her eyes empty.
"No."
Lyra blinked.
Andy abruptly realized that the voice she'd heard was her own.
She'd spoken. She'd broken the spell.
"Shit," she heard Gareth whisper into the sudden silence.
Slowly, impossibly, Miranda's blank eyes focused on Andy's face and her expression filled with horror. "Andrea!" she shrieked.
"Get her," Lyra said in the same instant.
Hands were on her then. Rough and uncaring, pulling her away.
"What the fuck were you thinking?" Gareth hissed in her ear.
"I--"
"No matter. It's done now," he said, obviously frustrated.
He'd managed to tuck her away in the chaos. They stood less than ten feet from Miranda, less than ten feet from Lyra, and Andy was so scared she couldn't feel her toes.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
"What did I just say?" he asked irritably. "Just go and be done with it, girl. Save your friend, and I will see to the lackey."
And he leapt into the fray, leaving Andy standing all alone.
She didn't know what to do.
Miranda was right there, and Andy didn't know what to do.
She took a step forward and almost immediately froze.
The whole room fell silent as Lyra's horrible chuckle echoed through the chamber. "You stupid child," she said in a soft voice. "Did you think you could interfere with my affairs so easily?"
I just want Miranda back, Andy tried to say, but her tongue wouldn't work for some weird reason.
"How dare you presume to take away what is mine!" Lyra snapped. "I should leave you frozen beyond Time for all eternity for such arrogance."
Still, Andy couldn't bring herself to speak.
"But that would be cruel of me," she said faux-sweetly. "I should keep you. Or give you to Acheron."
Before Andy realized she couldn't blink, Lyra was standing beside her, running a soft hand down her cheek, coming to rest just above her left breast, right over her heart. "You are quite lovely, child," she said, voice reaching Andy's ears only. "I would cherish you."
She tried to twist her expression into a glare, but it just wouldn't move.
"And I know my pet would love the company," she whispered in Andy's ear, tugging at the earlobe with her teeth. "Would you like to know, Andrea Sachs, what form I assumed to trap my pet all those weeks ago?" Her smile was millions of times worse than Gareth's. "Would you?"
Lyra's hair darkened and lengthened, and the skin of her face tightened and shifted subtly so that Andy was looking at a gross parody of her own features.
"Do you like it, Andrea Sachs?" she asked, grinning Andy's very own grin. "Does it please you? It certainly pleased her."
Her mouth was dry and her heart hammered within her chest.
"I'm afraid, Andrea Sachs," Lyra said, giving Andy's ear another tender nibble, "that I cannot keep you for her, though. Because I know a secret. Do you know my secret?"
Somewhere in the distance, she heard the clanging of metal on metal and faint screams, but the world had faded to nothing but the queen.
"I think you're planning to do something terrible to me, Andrea Sachs," Lyra said in that falsely cheerful voice. "I can feel it."
She reached out and gave Andy's pocket a quick pat, and Andy's gut twisted.
I am going to die.
"I am sorry," she told Andy apologetically. "I'd so hoped we could be friends."
And she reached into the air with her hand and ripped something, and Andy found she could breathe again. It didn't make much difference, though, as Lyra immediately waved her other hand and some invisible force flung her onto the dais.
Hitting the stone tore the little bit of air out of her lungs and all she could do was gasp. As she coughed, she tasted blood in her mouth.
"Andrea," someone whispered in her ear, and it was the sweetest sound she'd ever heard.
"Miranda," she sighed, rolling onto her back and offering her a dumb grin.
"You are the stupidest person I've ever met," Miranda said contemptuously, her fingers exploring Andy's face as if of their own accord. "Are you hurt?"
Still grinning, she pushed herself up to a sitting position and spat a mouthful of blood onto the ground. "I think some of my ribs are broken."
Miranda rolled her eyes, and Andy laughed in delight. Here they were, facing certain torture and death, and Miranda was just being Miranda.
"I missed you," she said in a rush.
"I hoped you wouldn't," Miranda said flatly. "I didn't want you to get--"
She shrugged and her sides screamed at the movement. "I wouldn't leave you," she explained. "Besides, Emily would never forgive me."
Her mouth opened to reply, but Andy never knew exactly what it was Miranda was going to say.
Lyra had arrived.
Locking eyes with Miranda, Andy pointed her chin slightly toward her left pocket, hoping against hope that she'd heard enough of the conversation for this to work.
Expression full of a question she thankfully kept from asking, Miranda just hunched over Andy's body, using herself as a shield against Lyra's eyes as her fingers crept slowly into Andy's pocket, wrapping themselves around the scarf.
"You two are so beautiful," Lyra said with a sigh. "And the picture you make together..." She cocked her head and smiled that terrifying smile again. "Lovely. It's a shame that you won't obey. We could have had so much fun."
The scarf and its contents inched out of Andy's pocket, and she exchanged a secret smile with Miranda. She just knew Miranda understood what was happening -- her smile was the sort of smile she'd always hoped Miranda would give her: happy and free and not an ounce of deliberate sensuality. "That is a shame," Andy said. "But I want to go home. And she's coming with me."
And Lyra dropped her illusion.
Miranda almost lost it then. She fell to her knees with a loud cry and covered her head with both her arms, cowering in a position that made Andy wonder exactly what had happened during her disappearance.
The same blue and green mottled skin as Gareth, but the face was so much worse. And the eyes...
With a soft clinking noise, Andy's bit of iron fell out of Miranda's nerveless hand. "No," Miranda said in a desperate voice. "Whatever you wish, I swear it. Just let her go!"
A claw flashed and blood ran down Miranda's cheek. "I will not tolerate your impertinence, beauty or no."
It was now or never.
Dashing forward, Andy snatched up the iron street number and tore it from its wrappings. She launched herself at the monster that was Lyra and pressed the iron against her flesh.
The response was immediate.
Andy started screaming as the iron turned white-hot in her hand, but she managed to retain enough presence of mind through the pain to keep the iron in place against a shrieking Lyra's chest.
The monster flickered through forms, begging in several languages to be released, but Andy did not move. Sweat poured down her body and she was pretty sure that some of the burned flesh she smelled in the air was her own.
Soon enough, Lyra dropped to the ground, a heap of bones and ash. The number seven slipped from Andy's fingers and clattered against the stones.
It occurred to her that the room had once again fallen silent, but she was more concerned with the fact that her knees didn't appear to work any more. As she toppled forward, she felt a pair of arms encircle her and cushion the impact.
A hand brushed hair away from her sticky face. "Now you are definitely the stupidest person I've ever met," Miranda whispered. "Do you have a death wish?"
Experimentally, Andy tried to flex her hand and she felt something break open. "Not especially," she said through gritted teeth. "I, uh, think I need to see a doctor." She squinted up at the blood drying on Miranda's cheek. "We both do."
"Given that I'm still on a leash and you are incapable of independent movement, I'd say we'll have a long wait," Miranda replied dryly.
"See, that's one of the things I really like about you, Miranda. Your eternal optimism." She coughed and was reminded of her broken ribs. "Ow."
"Don't move," she said with a degree of concern that under different circumstances Andy might have found uncharacteristic.
Slowly and with a great deal of pain, Andy eased herself up onto her elbows so she could look around the room. Gareth appeared to be holding Acheron at knifepoint, and the ones that weren't still caught up in the fighting were staring up at the dais where Lyra's ruined corpse lay. It would only be a matter of time before they came out of their collective daze and realized that their queen had just been murdered.
"We need to get out of here," Andy said, holding back another cough.
"Oh, well, just let me call my car, then, Andrea."
She sighed. "Gareth told me what to do, but you've got to do it, too."
Miranda's expression was suspicious. "What?"
"We have to wish to get out," she said seriously.
After a long pause, Miranda quirked an eyebrow at her. "Then why are we still here, Andrea? Because I assure you, there's nothing more in this world that I want than to be out of this hellhole."
"Just hold on to that thought," she replied, reaching her good hand out to wrap around Miranda's waist. As she made contact with bare skin, she remembered that Miranda was completely naked and blushed.
I wish, she thought fiercely. I wish...
And the world faded away.
"Andrea," someone said sharply in her ear. "Andrea, you must wake up."
But she hurt, and she didn't want to get up. Getting up would mean having to go to work and deal with Miranda, and--
The pieces fell back into place and her eyes snapped open.
Miranda.
Who was staring down at her, fear in her eyes, a silver chain dangling from the collar around her neck, the end of which was barely touching Andy's arm. The metal was cold on Andy's skin, but the carpet was warm against her back.
The carpet.
They were home.
She focused on the ceiling and realized that they were in the townhouse. In the den.
"Miranda..." she whispered.
"You wouldn't wake up," Miranda said urgently. "I thought you were dead."
She smiled. "Sorry to disappoint."
And Andy watched in absolute astonishment as Miranda began to cry, with great, hiccupping sobs.
After a moment, she forced herself to sit up and give Miranda a careful embrace, trying hard to ignore her protesting ribcage as Miranda returned it.
They sat on the carpet like that for a long time.
In the end, Andy wound up having to talk the doctor out of keeping her in the hospital overnight.
"But, ma'am," the wide-eyed nurse had attempted to explain, "you have three broken ribs, and a possible concussion! And your poor hand..."
She waved the bandaged appendage in the air. "You gave me a prescription," she said. "I can apply it myself. And besides..." She caught a glimpse of Miranda hovering anxiously in the doorway of her room. "I won't be alone. Sign me out AWOL or whatever, but I'm leaving."
Miranda, thankfully, had been given a clean bill of health two hours before. A doctor had gingerly tried to bring up the possibility of pressing charges against whoever her abuser was, but she'd given him such a stern look that he'd scampered away and not come back.
The cuts and bruises were on the surface only, they said. No permanent damage once everything healed up. They'd put four stitches into the cut on her cheek, but that was it.
But when they were alone, the façade dropped and Miranda's hands started to tremble. Once they were in the car, she pressed herself against Andy's aching side and refused to budge.
There was no question of Andy going anywhere but the townhouse. She and Miranda slept side-by-side in the master bedroom, hands grazing against each other in the night.
Once Andy was off the pain pills, she realized that Miranda wasn't actually sleeping.
Neither of them had been back to Runway for more than two weeks, and when she was finally able to bring herself to go back to her apartment to pick up some clothes, she saw that Nate had moved out.
Good riddance.
But that night was the first night she'd attempted to sleep without medication, and she learned that Miranda was apparently suffering from screaming nightmares.
She did the best she could, but it was clear that the dreams were only getting worse.
And Miranda wouldn't talk about them. Andy's gentle attempts were met with cold silence and harsh insults. The single time she'd asked Miranda about seeing a professional about it, Miranda had literally hurled a vase at her head.
In her wildest dreams, she wouldn't have envisioned that Miranda Priestly could be so... broken, but there it was. She stared at her damaged hand as she changed the bandages and thought to herself that she was pretty lucky. Her wounds were healing.
Miranda just thrashed around in her sleep and sat around her house with a wooden expression and dead eyes. Her bruises were fading, but there was something in her that would probably never get better.
And Andy let Miranda cling to her, touch her face as if to reassure herself that it really was Andy and not some fake monster, all the while knowing that whatever it was she was building with Miranda, it wasn't healthy. It wasn't based on understanding or even affection.
It was based on need.
The worst part was Andy was pretty sure she needed to see and touch Miranda almost as much as Miranda needed to see and touch her.
It had to stop.
Andy had tentatively suggested that Miranda attempt to go to work, and Miranda responded by locking herself in the bathroom for two hours.
Head in her hands, Andy just sat in the den, wondering what to do.
"I think I might be of assistance," a voice whispered in her ear.
She jumped. "Gareth?"
And he was in front of her, then, sweeping a deep bow. She noticed a golden circlet on his head. "Well met, Andrea Sachs."
"No," she said. "Not well at all. No one around here is."
"Your wounds are bravely earned," he said with a nod toward her bandaged hand.
"I thought you were mad at me," she said skeptically. "I ruined your plan, remember?"
He smiled, making her blood run cold, as usual. "My plan was to kill Lyra, and you accomplished that well enough. I said that if we were successful, I would be rewarded, and so I was."
Eyeing the circlet, she resisted the sudden urge to curtsey. "What, did they make you, like, king or something?"
"Or something," he said. "But I am a favor in your debt, Andrea Sachs."
"You helped me save Miranda's life," she said softly. "Debt paid, Gareth."
Studying her with a cocked head, he just frowned. "You are so unhappy, child. Is there nothing I can do?"
"They destroyed her," Andy whispered. "There's nothing left. I thought maybe she would... she can pretend when she needs to, but she's not really there any more."
Gareth was quiet for a long time, but then, "I can take her pain away," he said slowly. "But the cost is high."
"What is it?" She tried not to sound too eager but was pretty sure she failed.
"You would forget," he said. "I would have to reorder Time. It can be done, but to save her mind, you would have to lose your knowledge as well."
"You can do that?" she asked hopefully.
His expression was neutral. "As I have said, I am a debt in your honor. If you ask it of me, I will restore your friend to her former nature. Some things would be very different, though."
Andy thought about it and realized there was nothing to think about. If this was her chance to save Miranda, then that was it. Besides, if he was right, it wasn't like she would remember what had happened to them. She gave him a brief nod.
As if on cue, Miranda shuffled into the den. "Who are you?" she asked Gareth dully.
"A friend," he replied easily enough. "For now, anyway."
"Oh."
"Miranda?" Andy asked, her mind already spinning.
She gave her a blank look.
Before she could question herself, Andy grabbed Miranda and pulled her into a close embrace. "Please, Miranda, remember that I'll always save you. Always," she whispered, allowing herself to kiss Miranda for the first time.
The kiss was brief, but Andy felt a sizzle down her spine, and as she opened her eyes, she saw something alive in Miranda's face for the first time in many days.
"Andrea..." Miranda said quietly.
As the room twirled into darkness, Andy heard Gareth's wry voice in her ear. "Our deal is done, child. But remember, if you should see me in the future, I would steer clear if I were you. Just because I am fond of you doesn't mean I wouldn't destroy you just for the fun of it someday."
A sudden pain lanced through Andy's skull and she wondered if maybe she wasn't getting a migraine.
It would make sense, after all. Since Emily wound up in the hospital, Miranda had been driving her up the fucking wall with all of the Paris preparations.
And Nate deciding that she was a sell-out and moving out didn't help matters any.
She put a hand up to her temple and sighed.
"What?" Miranda asked sharply from the other side of the backseat. "What is it?"
Blinking, Andy looked up. "Oh. Um... nothing, Miranda. I'm sorry for disturbing you."
"Did you confirm the flight, Emily?"
"Yes, Miranda." Three times. Andy pulled her hand away from her face and paused as she noticed a scar on her palm that she'd never seen before. Weirdly enough, it appeared to be in the shape of the number seven. "Huh..."
"What are you babbling about now?" Miranda exclaimed, obviously frustrated.
Unthinkingly, Andy held out her hand. "I have a scar..." she said. "I don't remember where I got it."
In a move that shocked her beyond belief, Miranda reached out and touched her palm. "Seven?" she asked softly.
Miranda's touch was sending thrills down her spine. "Um..."
What the hell was wrong with her?
As abruptly as Miranda had touched her, she pulled away. "I hope you made sure the seats are sufficiently comfortable, Andrea," she said hastily. "The last time I flew, the accommodations were simply dreadful, and I do not appreciate landing in Paris for the most important week of the year with a stiff neck."
"No, Miranda," Andy replied obediently. "Of course not."
She looked at Miranda with new eyes. Why was she so relieved to hear her say the sort of things she said every day?
And why the fuck did she have the urge to kiss her and keep her safe? Safe from what, exactly? Starving models?
Quietly, Andy followed Miranda out of the car and onto the plane. Once she was buckled into her seat, a glorious three rows back from her boss, Andy let out a loud sigh of relief.
This week in Paris would be just the thing she needed to get her head back on straight. Miranda would finally recognize that she wasn't quite the drooling moron she was made out to be, she would meet a lot of important people, and if she was really lucky, she'd find a pair of six-inch heels that didn't give her horrible blisters.
It would be a good week. She could feel it.
FINIS
Further A/N: If you stuck with this fic, thanks. I know it's weird. My prompts were "elves" and "war," and I decided to combine them here. I could have copped out and written a Potterfic or a Labyfic or something, but I wanted to see if I could carry out the "Miranda as a damsel in distress" thing. Hope to have added a little creepy factor to your day. Happy Halloween, folks!