Without Summer Prologue (Re-Write)
AN: Okay... So my definition of a couple of weeks is different that others. :)
I think I'm finally good with the flow of the story. more importantly, I'm good with the direction this fic is now going in. I've reposted everything (the re-written chapters are named in the headings).
DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the DWP characters.
WARNINGS: there will be violence, drug use/abuse, and possibly non-con/dub sexual situations among other things. If you have triggers for any of these please be warned. I will try to warn you with a *Chapter Warning* if and when the story touch those harsher points.
We knew the world would not be the same. A few people laughed, a few people cried. Most were silent. I remembered the line from the Hindu scripture, the Bhagavad Gita; Vishnu is trying to persuade the Prince that he should do his duty, and to impress him, takes on his multi-armed form and says, “Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds.” I suppose we all thought that, one way or another.
-Robert Oppenheimer
PROLOGUE
Present day:
Dangerous and too close: The looting began just hours after the news broadcast of the first mushroom cloud. Molotov cocktails shattered through store windows and against building facades. The wailing shriek of car alarms left unattended; their owners concerned by other matters. The sudden staccato bursts of gunfire beat against eardrums, the sound felt more than heard above the rising din of angry and agitated cries.
Thousands of voices, raised up all at the same time, became a constant rumble of sound too convoluted to separate into distinct words. Each articulation distorted and drowned out until human communication had regressed to its basest form. People no longer used a complex system of words and syntax to get their meaning across. Primal sounds torn from their bodies spilled across their tongue expressing anger, pain and fear.
She could see them. She was one of them. A stampede struck animal-dumb, eyes wide with terror and desperation as it ran from the conflict zones. She could hear bones snap and sharp screams cut short. She saw the violations man visited upon one another in the chaos, unthinking almost instinctual acts of cruelty. As buildings filled with the unfortunate went up in flames, the smell of burnt flesh and the copper bite of blood tinted the air in sickly, sweet undertones amid the noxious, industrial fumes of melting plastic and burning insulation.
A number of people were neither quick nor strong enough to keep up and became trampled beneath the feet of the fleeing masses. She stumbled and slipped among the fallen. Hands lifted, desperate to grab hold, to pull them from the tide that was sweeping their lives away. She saw one man, nearly a boy, go down right ahead of her and reach out to help. It was a mistake. Off balanced and not aware, the shove came out of nowhere. Her ankle wretched and her knees scraped hard on the asphalt as she landed half straddling the man. No one stopped to help. Feet and knees trampled and bruised the forward momentum of the wave of panicked people rolled over them, knocked down all her progress to get up again.
Warm breath brushed against her cheek as she curled around him and tried to protect him. When the jetting puffs of air suddenly stopped, she looked at the man she had tried to save. Blinking back tears, she realized that she had put herself in danger and it made no difference. Blue eyes, already glassy with the first touch of death, gazed sightless back at her. Then, he was gone and in his place, Miranda Priestly, stared back at her with piercing blue eyes forever fixed in an icy gaze of disappointment. Her hand, trembling in shock stretched to touch Miranda's face.
"Did you smack your pretty little head when you fell?" The question said in that voice, quiet with authority made her jerk back and look up. Miranda Priestly, Dragon of Runway magazine, stood there as solidly as a boulder while the raging tide of people flowed around her. "Get up, Andrea."
"Miranda, but how..." Andy looked down to see the stranger again before looking to where Miranda stood with her hand on her hip. The older woman rolled her eyes in a look that clearly asked, 'Why do I surround myself with idiots?'
"No, no. That wasn't a question." Andy blinked at Miranda's caustic statement. "The details of your incompetence do not interest me." The apparition glared and Andy could feel every ounce of expectation in the look, "Do not make me repeat myself Andrea. You chose your course before. Choose now." Then Miranda disappeared into the crowd as if she was never there. Andy looked again at the man and again to where Miranda had last stood. If she did not get up now, she knew that she never would.
Her hands pushed against the pressing flow; they clawed at the passing crowd and came away wet with blood. She fought against the crushing embrace. She pulled people down to lever herself up and thought nothing of it. They would have left her to die. She would not die! She chose to live. She was losing the battle. She tried to stay in control, tried not to panic, scream, and waste precious air and energy. Sweat poured off her and bile crawled up her throat...
---
Andy Sachs woke up sweat soaked and breathless. The old nightmare leaving her exhausted and emotionally spent as always. The sudden tingling wave of nausea that followed had her quickly untangling her limbs from the thin, threadbare sheets and rolling out of the single person cot, shivering with the first touch of cool pre-dawn air against her sweat dampened skin. Andy hurried across the barrack floor, barely holding in the contents of her stomach. As she moved steadily through the rows of sleepers, making her way to the communal bathroom, she dodged equipment and piles of clothing discarded the night before.
The overhead light sputtered briefly before settling on a steady, bright glare that bleached out all the shadows. The plain white and blue square tiles were freezing against her bare feet but it was a distant, secondary concern as she moved swiftly to one the toilet stalls. She had just lifted the seat when the contents of her stomach splattered against the bowl. Tears ran down her face as she vomited helplessly and uncontrollably until her stomach produced nothing but dry heaves.
Andy spit out the last taste of bile and flushed the toilet, flinching at the impact the closing lid made in the cavernous room. A knock near her head made her jump and whirl around in surprise to see Charlotte looking worriedly from the opened stall door. The blonde hesitated, a question forming on her lips, so Andy took the opportunity to get away.
"Hey," came Andy's brief greeting as she brushed past the taller woman. Andy staggered slowly over to a row of in-wall sinks. She rinsed her mouth, wetting her face several times with water that was shockingly cold. Feeling Charlotte come up behind her, Andy looked at her reflection in the large panel mirror that bolted to the wall and took a deep calming breath.
"I'm okay," she croaked at her, sounding unconvinced. Her voice was rough from disuse and scratchy from the vomiting. She pushed short, damp locks of disheveled brown hair back from weary doe-like eyes and cleared her throat, "Really. It was unpleasant." There... that was much more convincing she tried to tell herself, "But it's over now." Charlotte nodded in reluctant acceptance and moved away, leaving Andy to herself. Unfortunately for Andy, the tired, sleep deprived face that stared back from the mirror was not so easily convinced.
Seeming to be alone in the room once more, Andy decided that it was not too early to start her day before anybody else woke. The showers were deeper into the room, past the toilet stalls and the locker area. She would not have long to wait for hot water, even this early in the morning. One thing she noticed, along with protection and food, setting up hot water for bathing was usually a priority for the para-military unit that she joined after the bombs dropped. The last thing anyone needed was an outbreak of disease and infection.
She grabbed her toiletries from her locker while she waited and one of the clean towels from the shelves off a bench outside of the communal shower area. Soon steam began to fill the room and chase away the chilly morning air. She discarded the damp, purple and white Northwestern University t-shirt and boxer shorts that she wore to bed and left to the side as she stepped into the hot spray.
The water pounded down on her head and shoulders bringing relief to the knotted muscles there. The spray echoed in the cavernous shower so she did not hear Charlotte step up behind her. Andy gasped in surprise at the unexpected touch to her bare skin and whirled, striking out at the threat. She cursed her stupidity at leaving her gun with her supplies. It was not unusual for some of the more brutish mercenaries in the unit to get aggressive in their attentions. Andy had been around long enough to know that the threat was real.
"Whoa! It's me!" Charlotte barely ducked the wild swing thrown her way. She put her hands up in a gesture of peace which seemed at odds with the compact pistols she held in each hand. "It's just me," Charlotte repeated and stood back until she could see recognition dawn in Andy's eyes.
Andy's heart pounded in her throat and her back stung from where it had slapped painfully hard against the shockingly cold tile wall. She sagged in relief, taking deep breaths to calm her racing pulse. Cautiously, Charlotte reached out to bring her into an awkward hug.
Charlotte asked, voice taut with worry when Andy looked up at her, "Are you sure you're going to be okay, Andrea?" Charlotte's voice was light and clear as she said, 'Andrea'. The tone aptly matching the dark blonde curls that hung messy above sleepy chocolate eyes.
Ann-drE-ah. The way Charlotte persisted on using her full name reminding her of how Miranda used to say it: Ahn-Dray-ah. No one said it quite like Miranda did and soon Andy had stopped listening for it. , insisting instead to the point of being rude on being called Andy. Her Miranda. Andy flinched away from the thought. Miranda had never been hers.
"Don't call me that." Andy chastised her tone sharper than she meant it to be. She moved out of Charlotte's arms taking the gun offered and placed it on the ledge for the soap, "You know I prefer Andy." She picked up the bar of soap and turned back to the water. She did not want to talk about the reason she got out of bed to have a shower at two-something in the morning. Purposely misunderstanding the question, hoping that Charlotte would just drop the line of questioning, Andy stated, "I said I was fine. You just startled me."
"You really need to talk to someone about them." Charlotte said ignoring the annoyance, she could hear in Andy's voice and the way Andy's back went rigid. Sighing in surrender, Charlotte reached around Andy to take the soap and washcloth from her. She leaned forward after a moment and kissed the nape of Andy's neck softly in apology for pressing the subject. Leaning back again, she ran her soapy hands and cloth over the back and shoulders in front of her.
Slowly sensing and end to the conversation, Andy relaxed under the firm pressure of the cleansing hands. That Charlotte knew just where to touch and how much pressure to use so that the touches were not ticklish was prurient knowledge gained from the few times that they had slept together. Andy closed her eyes and allowed her to lean into the familiar hands stroking her skin.
The hands slowed and lightened, changing the massaging wash subtly into a caress. Charlotte's hands moved around to the front of Andy's body. Charlotte smiled as she brushed her nipples against the smooth back in front of her and drew a sharp gasp from her friend. "You don't have to talk now." She said breaking the silence that had enveloped them. She looked down at the curvaceous body in front of her with appreciative eyes. "We could do other things."
Andy turned in Charlotte's arms and studied her. The taller woman was attractive. Andy had thought so the first time they fell into bed with each other. She had brown eyes and hair as golden as the rest of her with heavy breasts tipped with dark rosy nipples. However, Andy had finally admitted to herself, the woman she really wanted was unattainable: twice her age with children and three divorces under her fashionable belt. Moreover, she was an impossible want. Andy did not know where Miranda had gone after the bombs dropped and the world changed. She did not even know if the indomitable woman had survived the initial blasts that centered over the major metropolitan areas of the country.
Charlotte kissed the side of her neck, the pleasant feeling pulling Andy from her somber thoughts. Andy allowed the distraction letting the kisses trail around to her mouth before she started kissing back. No, Andy thought Charlotte was not the one she wanted, but as the old saying went: 'love the one you're with.'
Charlotte arched forward to fill her hands as Andy cupped and ran soapy fingers across the firm, soft flesh before attempting to pinch the slippery tips. Andy closed her eyes imagining pale, creamy skin as she bent to take one beast in her mouth while gripping Charlotte's wiggling body firmly to her. Charlotte's throaty moans caressed over Andy's ears in time with the rocking of her hips as Andy pretended that they were the cool, composed cries of her ex-boss slowly unraveling and losing control.
TBC... Chapter One
I think I'm finally good with the flow of the story. more importantly, I'm good with the direction this fic is now going in. I've reposted everything (the re-written chapters are named in the headings).
DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the DWP characters.
WARNINGS: there will be violence, drug use/abuse, and possibly non-con/dub sexual situations among other things. If you have triggers for any of these please be warned. I will try to warn you with a *Chapter Warning* if and when the story touch those harsher points.
We knew the world would not be the same. A few people laughed, a few people cried. Most were silent. I remembered the line from the Hindu scripture, the Bhagavad Gita; Vishnu is trying to persuade the Prince that he should do his duty, and to impress him, takes on his multi-armed form and says, “Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds.” I suppose we all thought that, one way or another.
-Robert Oppenheimer
PROLOGUE
Present day:
Dangerous and too close: The looting began just hours after the news broadcast of the first mushroom cloud. Molotov cocktails shattered through store windows and against building facades. The wailing shriek of car alarms left unattended; their owners concerned by other matters. The sudden staccato bursts of gunfire beat against eardrums, the sound felt more than heard above the rising din of angry and agitated cries.
Thousands of voices, raised up all at the same time, became a constant rumble of sound too convoluted to separate into distinct words. Each articulation distorted and drowned out until human communication had regressed to its basest form. People no longer used a complex system of words and syntax to get their meaning across. Primal sounds torn from their bodies spilled across their tongue expressing anger, pain and fear.
She could see them. She was one of them. A stampede struck animal-dumb, eyes wide with terror and desperation as it ran from the conflict zones. She could hear bones snap and sharp screams cut short. She saw the violations man visited upon one another in the chaos, unthinking almost instinctual acts of cruelty. As buildings filled with the unfortunate went up in flames, the smell of burnt flesh and the copper bite of blood tinted the air in sickly, sweet undertones amid the noxious, industrial fumes of melting plastic and burning insulation.
A number of people were neither quick nor strong enough to keep up and became trampled beneath the feet of the fleeing masses. She stumbled and slipped among the fallen. Hands lifted, desperate to grab hold, to pull them from the tide that was sweeping their lives away. She saw one man, nearly a boy, go down right ahead of her and reach out to help. It was a mistake. Off balanced and not aware, the shove came out of nowhere. Her ankle wretched and her knees scraped hard on the asphalt as she landed half straddling the man. No one stopped to help. Feet and knees trampled and bruised the forward momentum of the wave of panicked people rolled over them, knocked down all her progress to get up again.
Warm breath brushed against her cheek as she curled around him and tried to protect him. When the jetting puffs of air suddenly stopped, she looked at the man she had tried to save. Blinking back tears, she realized that she had put herself in danger and it made no difference. Blue eyes, already glassy with the first touch of death, gazed sightless back at her. Then, he was gone and in his place, Miranda Priestly, stared back at her with piercing blue eyes forever fixed in an icy gaze of disappointment. Her hand, trembling in shock stretched to touch Miranda's face.
"Did you smack your pretty little head when you fell?" The question said in that voice, quiet with authority made her jerk back and look up. Miranda Priestly, Dragon of Runway magazine, stood there as solidly as a boulder while the raging tide of people flowed around her. "Get up, Andrea."
"Miranda, but how..." Andy looked down to see the stranger again before looking to where Miranda stood with her hand on her hip. The older woman rolled her eyes in a look that clearly asked, 'Why do I surround myself with idiots?'
"No, no. That wasn't a question." Andy blinked at Miranda's caustic statement. "The details of your incompetence do not interest me." The apparition glared and Andy could feel every ounce of expectation in the look, "Do not make me repeat myself Andrea. You chose your course before. Choose now." Then Miranda disappeared into the crowd as if she was never there. Andy looked again at the man and again to where Miranda had last stood. If she did not get up now, she knew that she never would.
Her hands pushed against the pressing flow; they clawed at the passing crowd and came away wet with blood. She fought against the crushing embrace. She pulled people down to lever herself up and thought nothing of it. They would have left her to die. She would not die! She chose to live. She was losing the battle. She tried to stay in control, tried not to panic, scream, and waste precious air and energy. Sweat poured off her and bile crawled up her throat...
---
Andy Sachs woke up sweat soaked and breathless. The old nightmare leaving her exhausted and emotionally spent as always. The sudden tingling wave of nausea that followed had her quickly untangling her limbs from the thin, threadbare sheets and rolling out of the single person cot, shivering with the first touch of cool pre-dawn air against her sweat dampened skin. Andy hurried across the barrack floor, barely holding in the contents of her stomach. As she moved steadily through the rows of sleepers, making her way to the communal bathroom, she dodged equipment and piles of clothing discarded the night before.
The overhead light sputtered briefly before settling on a steady, bright glare that bleached out all the shadows. The plain white and blue square tiles were freezing against her bare feet but it was a distant, secondary concern as she moved swiftly to one the toilet stalls. She had just lifted the seat when the contents of her stomach splattered against the bowl. Tears ran down her face as she vomited helplessly and uncontrollably until her stomach produced nothing but dry heaves.
Andy spit out the last taste of bile and flushed the toilet, flinching at the impact the closing lid made in the cavernous room. A knock near her head made her jump and whirl around in surprise to see Charlotte looking worriedly from the opened stall door. The blonde hesitated, a question forming on her lips, so Andy took the opportunity to get away.
"Hey," came Andy's brief greeting as she brushed past the taller woman. Andy staggered slowly over to a row of in-wall sinks. She rinsed her mouth, wetting her face several times with water that was shockingly cold. Feeling Charlotte come up behind her, Andy looked at her reflection in the large panel mirror that bolted to the wall and took a deep calming breath.
"I'm okay," she croaked at her, sounding unconvinced. Her voice was rough from disuse and scratchy from the vomiting. She pushed short, damp locks of disheveled brown hair back from weary doe-like eyes and cleared her throat, "Really. It was unpleasant." There... that was much more convincing she tried to tell herself, "But it's over now." Charlotte nodded in reluctant acceptance and moved away, leaving Andy to herself. Unfortunately for Andy, the tired, sleep deprived face that stared back from the mirror was not so easily convinced.
Seeming to be alone in the room once more, Andy decided that it was not too early to start her day before anybody else woke. The showers were deeper into the room, past the toilet stalls and the locker area. She would not have long to wait for hot water, even this early in the morning. One thing she noticed, along with protection and food, setting up hot water for bathing was usually a priority for the para-military unit that she joined after the bombs dropped. The last thing anyone needed was an outbreak of disease and infection.
She grabbed her toiletries from her locker while she waited and one of the clean towels from the shelves off a bench outside of the communal shower area. Soon steam began to fill the room and chase away the chilly morning air. She discarded the damp, purple and white Northwestern University t-shirt and boxer shorts that she wore to bed and left to the side as she stepped into the hot spray.
The water pounded down on her head and shoulders bringing relief to the knotted muscles there. The spray echoed in the cavernous shower so she did not hear Charlotte step up behind her. Andy gasped in surprise at the unexpected touch to her bare skin and whirled, striking out at the threat. She cursed her stupidity at leaving her gun with her supplies. It was not unusual for some of the more brutish mercenaries in the unit to get aggressive in their attentions. Andy had been around long enough to know that the threat was real.
"Whoa! It's me!" Charlotte barely ducked the wild swing thrown her way. She put her hands up in a gesture of peace which seemed at odds with the compact pistols she held in each hand. "It's just me," Charlotte repeated and stood back until she could see recognition dawn in Andy's eyes.
Andy's heart pounded in her throat and her back stung from where it had slapped painfully hard against the shockingly cold tile wall. She sagged in relief, taking deep breaths to calm her racing pulse. Cautiously, Charlotte reached out to bring her into an awkward hug.
Charlotte asked, voice taut with worry when Andy looked up at her, "Are you sure you're going to be okay, Andrea?" Charlotte's voice was light and clear as she said, 'Andrea'. The tone aptly matching the dark blonde curls that hung messy above sleepy chocolate eyes.
Ann-drE-ah. The way Charlotte persisted on using her full name reminding her of how Miranda used to say it: Ahn-Dray-ah. No one said it quite like Miranda did and soon Andy had stopped listening for it. , insisting instead to the point of being rude on being called Andy. Her Miranda. Andy flinched away from the thought. Miranda had never been hers.
"Don't call me that." Andy chastised her tone sharper than she meant it to be. She moved out of Charlotte's arms taking the gun offered and placed it on the ledge for the soap, "You know I prefer Andy." She picked up the bar of soap and turned back to the water. She did not want to talk about the reason she got out of bed to have a shower at two-something in the morning. Purposely misunderstanding the question, hoping that Charlotte would just drop the line of questioning, Andy stated, "I said I was fine. You just startled me."
"You really need to talk to someone about them." Charlotte said ignoring the annoyance, she could hear in Andy's voice and the way Andy's back went rigid. Sighing in surrender, Charlotte reached around Andy to take the soap and washcloth from her. She leaned forward after a moment and kissed the nape of Andy's neck softly in apology for pressing the subject. Leaning back again, she ran her soapy hands and cloth over the back and shoulders in front of her.
Slowly sensing and end to the conversation, Andy relaxed under the firm pressure of the cleansing hands. That Charlotte knew just where to touch and how much pressure to use so that the touches were not ticklish was prurient knowledge gained from the few times that they had slept together. Andy closed her eyes and allowed her to lean into the familiar hands stroking her skin.
The hands slowed and lightened, changing the massaging wash subtly into a caress. Charlotte's hands moved around to the front of Andy's body. Charlotte smiled as she brushed her nipples against the smooth back in front of her and drew a sharp gasp from her friend. "You don't have to talk now." She said breaking the silence that had enveloped them. She looked down at the curvaceous body in front of her with appreciative eyes. "We could do other things."
Andy turned in Charlotte's arms and studied her. The taller woman was attractive. Andy had thought so the first time they fell into bed with each other. She had brown eyes and hair as golden as the rest of her with heavy breasts tipped with dark rosy nipples. However, Andy had finally admitted to herself, the woman she really wanted was unattainable: twice her age with children and three divorces under her fashionable belt. Moreover, she was an impossible want. Andy did not know where Miranda had gone after the bombs dropped and the world changed. She did not even know if the indomitable woman had survived the initial blasts that centered over the major metropolitan areas of the country.
Charlotte kissed the side of her neck, the pleasant feeling pulling Andy from her somber thoughts. Andy allowed the distraction letting the kisses trail around to her mouth before she started kissing back. No, Andy thought Charlotte was not the one she wanted, but as the old saying went: 'love the one you're with.'
Charlotte arched forward to fill her hands as Andy cupped and ran soapy fingers across the firm, soft flesh before attempting to pinch the slippery tips. Andy closed her eyes imagining pale, creamy skin as she bent to take one beast in her mouth while gripping Charlotte's wiggling body firmly to her. Charlotte's throaty moans caressed over Andy's ears in time with the rocking of her hips as Andy pretended that they were the cool, composed cries of her ex-boss slowly unraveling and losing control.
TBC... Chapter One