Chapter Text
If there was any possibility at all that her head could explode, Andy was sure that her brains would have already been splattered all over the walls of her tiny, dusty, apartment. The empty vodka bottle teetering on the edge of the side table gleamed from the one o’clock sun leaking through the barely closed curtain.
”Don’t judge me,” she muttered, feeling like she had swallowed sawdust in her sleep, and put a cool hand to her forehead.
The vodka bottle sat unmoving, as if it was clearly judging Andy for finishing every drop of the clear liquid.
Struggling somewhat, she pushed herself up with her elbows and squinted around the almost empty room. Everything she valued was at the townhouse - her toiletries on Miranda’s bathroom counter, her books sitting on Miranda’s plentiful bookshelves, beside Miranda’s own considerable literary collection, her clothes in Miranda’s closet, hanging beside Miranda’s even more considerable wardrobe.
Funny how she had left most of it at the townhouse when she stormed out, taking only her coat and purse with her. After walking aimlessly around the streets for hours, Andy had finally realized that she couldn’t go home and hailed a cab for the other side of town, back to the pathetic little place she had only been too happy to vacate last month. Although she hadn’t been staying here for weeks now, she had kept it around, in case friends or even her parents, visited.
That night, she had crashed on her old bed (although she had shared it with Nate, it felt very small when she had Miranda’s king-sized one to compare it to) with the weight of her miserable world on her shoulders, sobbing until she croaked.
Andy had attempted to call that night, because she was a decent human being, but Miranda’s phone had been switched off which had pissed Andy off even more. Real mature, she had thought. Fine. She’d call again, once Miranda stopped running away like a coward, or better yet, she’d wait for Miranda to call.
But Miranda never called, and Andy threw herself into her latest piece of work, a little investigative piece on inner-city schoolteachers. It had kept her busy enough but she turned the article in yesterday evening and now had nothing else to keep her preoccupied.
Sitting up fully, she ran her fingers through her hair. Last night had been her third night here, and she counted each hour spent away from Miranda and the kids. God, the kids. Their faces flashed through Andy’s pounding head, two pairs of cold blue eyes staring at her as if they hated her. They probably did. She knew what they had been thinking the moment she yanked open the front door, and the chill she felt had nothing to do with the cold outside.
Andy had heard their taunting voices the entire first night she had spent here. The girls had never said it out loud, but their eyes had. You’re leaving us. You promised you would never leave us.
Miranda hadn’t even deigned to go after her. Maybe she expected Andy to just apologize, and crawl back upstairs, knowing that Andy would always relent after an argument. Oh, they argued, but Andy had always felt that they would still come out loving each other, come rain, or come shine.
Well, not this time.
Groaning, Andy rubbed her hands roughly over her face. She hadn’t bothered to put on any make-up since she left, and had practically worn jeans and sweatshirts to work for the past few days. Being fashionable was low on her priority list when her chest had a permanent ache that didn’t seem to want to go away. Eating sat quite low as well; she had practically survived on caffeine the whole of yesterday and her stomach was rumbling with a vengeance now.
Andy picked up her cellphone, and squinted at the display. Two missed calls from Caroline, and one from Cassidy. None from Miranda. She checked her texts and realized that she hadn’t replied to Caroline’s last message the night before, sent in a chat-group Andy had originally created for just the three of them. It had helped the twins bond with her better when she started popping by the townhouse, having tapped into their preference to messaging applications on their phones. While Andy had never explicitly told Miranda about it, she knew the older woman was aware of their exclusive little bubble and she had suspected that the twins talked about Andy to their mother. Of course, they did.
The night had passed by in a haze, and she barely remembered the conversation last night with Cassidy and Caroline under the numbness of alcohol.
Andy threw a dirty look to the vodka bottle. “Thanks a lot.”
God, she was going out of her mind, talking to inanimate objects but talking to something was better than nothing. Quickly scrolling through the message thread from last night, Andy felt sick to her stomach all over again, and it had nothing to do with alcohol this time around.
Caroline: Are you coming back?
Andy: Not now, baby. I’ve been busy. Is your mom ok?
Caroline: No. You’re a liar.
“Ah, fuck my life,” she grunted, swinging her legs out from under the sheets and throwing her phone unceremoniously on the empty bed. “Fuck the world,” she said, as she pulled her t-shirt over her head. “Fuck Miranda,” she whispered, as tears pooled traitorously at the corner of her eyes but she brushed them aside angrily and balled the t-shirt up, before flinging it across the room.
She needed a shower badly, and her neck ached. Thank God, it was Saturday. There was no way she could have dealt with another day of work after holding it in together for three whole days. Her colleagues had suspected something was amiss – the sweatshirt was a glaring hint from the most fashionable journalist the Mirror had on their payroll – but they had kept quiet.
The heat felt good against her back, water pounding her skin into a tingly pink and when she stepped out, the cool air jolted her awake.
Somewhere between making herself coffee and crunching on some saltines she found at the back of a kitchen cabinet, somebody pounded on her door and she jumped. Nobody had been by and Andy was sure nobody even knew she was staying here. She hadn’t spoken to anyone about it, feeling like a failure, and she was irrationally afraid anyone she talked to would take Miranda’s side. It wasn’t as if she had many people to talk to about this either. Her parents were still giving her the freeze-out since she had told them about moving in with Miranda, and Lily had been distant since Nate moved to Boston. It had been a while but seeing pictures on Facebook of Lily, hanging out with Doug without her still stung.
She briefly wondered if she left it long enough, whoever it was would just go away, but put down her coffee mug with a sigh when she realized the pounding on the door wasn’t about to stop any time soon.
“Yes?” she bit out, with the meanest expression she could pull, only to look down the haughty faces of twin redheads. Andy almost gasped in shock and took an unconscious step back. They looked like feral animals, ready to pounce and Andy’s heart sped up at the possibility of dying at the hands of two prepubescent girls.
The less haughty face narrowed her eyes at Andy and spoke, darkly: “Are you just going to stand there?”
“Sorry, Caroline,” Andy said, recovering quickly and moving aside. “Does your mom know you’re here?”
“Mom’s at work,” Cassidy supplied, helpfully, but her voice was sharp and accusing. She followed Caroline inside, and looked around the space suspiciously. The girls had been here before, but it looked much different then, when her things were still around.
Andy frowned, closing the door behind her and crossing her arms. “Work?”
Miranda had stopped going into work on weekends for months, since Andy had become a fixture in the Priestly household. The twins had blossomed, as if they were receiving sunlight and water which had been deprived from them for far too long once Miranda started making a conscious effort to spend weekends not working. The other woman had confided that she hadn’t even realized that the girls were wilting, until Andy had come into their lives and the girls thrived under the attention of another adult. Dear God, Miranda was at work and her kids were here and… Andy didn’t even want to think of the doom awaiting all of them once Miranda realized that the twins weren’t at home.
Andy had a million questions she wanted to ask about Miranda. She hadn’t heard from Miranda since she left, and it gnawed at her constantly, despite her anger. Had she eaten? Did she get enough sleep the night before? How did the meeting with the board go? Was Irv being particularly difficult?
Instead, Andy asked: "How did you guys know I was here?"
Two sets of eyes narrowed at her. Do you think we're idiots, went unsaid, but Andy heard it all the same.
“How did you guys get here?”
“We took a cab.”
The utter shock must have shown on her face, because they narrowed their eyes at her, challenging her to say something about it. They were spoiling for a fight but Andy’s healthy dose of anxiety about having anything happen to the twins (and Miranda’s reaction) overrode everything else.
“How did you get the money? Your Mom is going to kill you!” And kill me too, her brain said.
Cassidy’s eyes narrowed even further into two slits. “Mom gives us allowance,” she said, twitching her nose, as if Andy should have known. “Anyway, we had to come for the greater good. And she won’t know. She said she’d be home late tonight.”
Huh. This was a recent development. “I didn’t know she started working on Saturdays again.”
“Don’t you?” Caroline said, deceptively calm.
“Um, I haven’t really…” Andy bit her lip. “I mean, I don’t-“
Cassidy rolled her eyes before Andy could finish. “Don’t pretend like you don’t know, because it’s your fault. You lied to us and broke your promise,” she accused, jabbing a small finger into Andy’s stomach. Her eyes were burning and Andy felt something twist in her gut. Goddammit.
“Girls -”
“No! You shut up!” Caroline snapped, and Cassidy looked at her twin in surprise.
Andy’s eyes widened at the same time. Caroline was always level-headed, calm and spoke quietly. Of course, if a Priestly child were to take after her mother, she just had to take after Miranda in the most terrifying way. But right now she was hurting, and furious, and lashing out.
“Caroline,” Andy said, as sternly as she could muster. Somewhere in her head, she tried to remember Miranda disciplining her children (on the rare occasions that she did), and attempted to channel the same authority in her voice. She was the adult here, after all, despite the disconcerting fact that Miranda’s kids were practically mini-Mirandas with red hair.
But Caroline barreled on. “I hate you. You destroyed everything. You’re worse than Stephen because Mom didn’t even love him that much and he never really bothered about us.”
Cassidy had moved to stand beside her sister, holding her hand. Andy’s heart clenched even more. Goddammit, goddammit! It was one thing to argue with Miranda but something else entirely to face down two irate children. A hurt child could carry scars that last into adulthood. Just look at Miranda, possibly the most damaged, messed-up person Andy could have ever met, not to mention, fallen in love with.
“But you,” Caroline jabbed her with a shaky finger, in the same way Cassidy did. “You pretended to care about all of us. You made Mom love you and you’re leaving her. You hurt Mom when you promised us you wouldn’t. You promised us! You’re a bitch!”
“Stop right there, Caroline Priestly,” Andy tried again, choking back tears at Caroline’s words. They pierced her chest like a bullet. Telling herself that they were just really upset kids didn’t make the words hurt any less. “You know that’s not true. I do care about all of you.” Oh God, she really did.
“But you left us,” Cassidy said, so softly Andy had to strain to hear. “And you didn’t come back. It was like when Dad left us. He never came back.”
All the anger Andy had been feeling seeped out of her and she dropped to her knees, partially out of exhaustion, but mostly to be on eye-level to her tiny accusers. “We’re just angry at each other for a little while. We just need some time to get a little less angry. But it doesn’t mean I don’t love you guys, or that I don’t love your mom. I’m not leaving for good. It’s only until we feel better.”
“What’s taking so long if you’re not leaving for good? Why haven’t you come back?” Caroline interrogated, crossing her arms.
Andy opened her mouth to answer, only to realize that she didn’t have an explanation for her actions. Why didn’t she go back? True, she had been furious with Miranda but she had stayed away for the better part of the week. Although, to be fair, Miranda wasn’t exactly welcoming her home with open arms either, Andy thought annoyed. The woman hadn’t even called. What kind of shit was that? Conscious that she was with said object of frustration’s children, she tried her best to keep the irritation out of her voice.
“We’re still kinda angry with each other. You know how when you girls fight, and you don’t feel like talking to each other until you’re not angry anymore?”
Cassidy gave a cautious nod but Caroline still eyed her suspiciously.
“Yeah, it’s like that. But then, you don’t feel angry anymore, and you start talking again. It doesn’t mean that you love each other less, right?” Andy said, relieved that she was finally making a breakthrough. While she wasn’t exactly confident that things would right themselves so easily between Miranda and herself, the kids didn’t need to know that.
“But it’s been almost a week, Andy,” Cassidy said. “I’ve never not spoken to Caroline in so many days, no matter how angry she makes me.”
“You’re hurting Mom,” Caroline persisted, stubbornly. Andy cursed the genes the girl had apparently inherited.
“Well, I’m hurt too, Caroline. We both said some things, that night. And –“
Caroline groaned, smacking her face into her hand. “No, you don’t get it. I can hear Mom crying every night even when she thinks she’s being quiet. You’re okay but Mom is really not.”
At that, Andy felt like scum. Miranda never cried. Not even watching The Lion King. She had only seen Miranda cry once, and that was in Paris and Andy could see why. She supposed being served divorce papers was a really legitimate reason to cry. But after that, even when they fought, Miranda was a statue, in comparison to Andy’s babbling, crying mess.
Now, apparently, Andy possessed the power to make Miranda cry. She hated it.
Caroline continued, ignoring Andy’s contemplation: “When Cass and I go to her bedroom, she pretends she’s okay but we know she’s not and she wears more eye make-up in the morning. We made breakfast for her this morning because we wanted to surprise her, but she wasn’t even home! She went to work. To work!” Caroline ranted, and Andy could feel fear in each syllable, despite the anger masking it. The fear that her mother was reverting to the Miranda who didn’t smile, who didn’t make waffles on weekend mornings. The Miranda who went to work on a Saturday.
They might be fighting, but Andy couldn’t help the worry that had been building up since the twins showed up at her door. Andy was willing to bet that Miranda hadn’t even been eating and she was two seconds from turning up at Elias-Clarke with a steak and shoveling it down the pale slim throat of the woman who drove her to insanity.
Because it really sounded like Miranda was giving up and just how dare Miranda give up?!
“Mom thinks you don’t love her anymore,” Cassidy said, so flatly that Andy shuddered.
When her brain registered the words, her mouth opened in shock.
“What?”
Cassidy shrugged. “I pretended to have a nightmare last night, so I could sleep with Mom. So I could make sure that she wasn’t crying again.”
“You slept with Mom?” Caroline asked, eyes wide with surprise.
“Only for a little bit. I woke up in my own bedroom this morning,” Cassidy admitted, looking a little bit guilty that she hadn’t told Caroline before.
The notion that Miranda had carried Cassidy to tuck her into her own bed, was warm and precious and made Andy realize that she really, really missed being at the townhouse. Missed being with Miranda. The girls. Whatever it was she was so pissed off at, wasn’t even worth it anymore. But Cassidy’s words settled over her head like an ominous dark cloud.
“Hold on, girls. Why would your Mom think I don’t love her anymore? I love all of you,” Andy said, slightly fiercer than she had intended. She tried to think back to the night they argued, but the details were starting to lose the sharpness, and she couldn’t be sure of what either of them had said anymore. Shit. Had she said something that had implied it but was too angry to realize? It would explain the silence if Miranda thought Andy had left for good. SHIT, DAMN.
“I tried to tell Mom that everything will be okay. So she wouldn’t cry once I fell asleep. I said you’d come back soon. But I think that kinda made her sadder. I asked Mom to ask you to come home because you’d listen to Mom if you won’t listen to us.”
Andy almost laughed out loud at the idea of Miranda listening to anyone. “And what did she say?”
Cassidy shrugged. “She said she did ask you to stay but you didn't and just got quiet after that. I guess she didn’t want to talk anymore, so we slept. Well, I did anyway. Please just come home, Andy. We don’t know how to make Mom happy again.”
Andy pinched the bridge of her nose and tried to recall details from that night again. She would have remembered. She wouldn’t have walked out, if Miranda had really asked her to stay. She wasn’t that big of an idiot.
“Don’t you dare walk out on me,” Miranda said, sharply.
Andy flinched. She was done, done with being talked to as if she was an idiot. Miranda couldn’t tell her what to do, and Andy absolutely hated being told what to do. It made her feel like “the new assistant” all over again, quaking in her shoes at Miranda’s every whispery command.
“I think you forget that I don’t work for you anymore, Miranda,” Andy said. “You don’t get to tell me what to do, or what not to do but you do it anyway, and I fucking let you! Jesus.” She turned away, from Miranda’s glare and anger, and started to leave the room.
“Do not walk away from this,” Miranda’s voice came somewhere behind her, but Andy was already walking as fast as she could away from the whole mess. She couldn’t deal with Miranda looking at her that way. The disappointment. Andy Sachs, Mirror journalist extraordinaire could deal with a lot of shit, but not Miranda Priestly’s disappointment. She never could. That was why she had picked up her phone and made that fateful call to Miranda right after her Mirror interview. Just because Miranda had called her a disappointment.
“I can do whatever the hell I want,” Andy snapped through her tears, irritated at Miranda’s gall to tell her what she couldn’t do, as if she didn’t hear a thing Andy had said. Typical. It was just like her to only hear what she wanted to.
“Andrea.”
“Don’t talk to me.”
“If you leave –“
Andy spun around so fast, her head actually throbbed. “What? Are you going to threaten me? Blacklist me?”
Miranda paled. “No,” she said, quietly but the syllable sounded strangely heavy in the atmosphere. A range of emotions flitted across Miranda’s face, before indifference finally appeared and stayed. When she next spoke, it was neutral. “If you’ve made up your mind, don’t let me stop you then.”
Andy watched the older woman shutting down right in front of her, expression blank, eyes devoid from the emotions which had burned in them only a moment ago. If that was how Miranda wanted to fight it out, like she was in a budget meeting with Irv-fucking-Ravitz, Andy wasn’t sure she could survive it. Furious Miranda was a million times better than this. At least with furious, Andy could see her footing. Now, she was grappling in the dark, unable to read the other woman.
She couldn’t deal with stumbling around, unwilling to risk falling into something she couldn’t climb out of.
Before Andy knew it, the front door loomed ahead. She hadn’t even realized that she had continued walking. When she looked up the stairs, the twins were looking down at her. Miranda hadn’t followed.
Fuck.
“You said the F-word!”
Andy blinked, not realizing that she had spoken her thoughts aloud. “Sorry,” she mumbled, fighting the urge to smack her head against the wall. It all make perfect, shitty sense, now that Andy wasn’t halfway between drunk and pitifully crying herself to sleep. The silence. The lack of emotions. Of course, Miranda thought that Andy had been talking about leaving her. Of course, Miranda had to be on a completely different tangent that the one Andy was on that night. It was just so her to be contradictory in any way possible.
She looked at Caroline, noticing that the girl had discarded her tough act and was now on the verge of crying. She looked at Cassidy, who was assaulting Andy with tearful, blue puppy-dog eyes. Sighing, Andy opened her arms and both girls flew into her embrace. No matter how much of Miranda’s mannerisms the girls mimicked with chilling accuracy, they were just kids.
Kids who would take a cab and frolic with millions of germ colonies to see Andy, and that was really saying something in Priestly-terms.
That made her feel warm inside and she clung onto the small bodies a little tighter.
“Are you coming home now?” somebody mumbled into her neck after a moment. Probably Cassidy.
“No,” Andy said, and two heads shot up so fast they almost smacked her in the nose.
She saw Caroline open her mouth again, no doubt to say something nasty, but Andy silenced her with a finger on her lips. “We are going to go and get a big fat juicy steak, and then we are going to Elias-Clarke because I bet your Mom intends to skip lunch and we can’t let her do that, can we?”
“All right, Andy!” Cassidy yelped, racing to the door in a flash.
Caroline was right behind her, albeit less vocal about her excitement.
The warmth spread from Andy’s chest to the tips of her toes and she was pretty sure this was joy. Joy at loving these two rascals, and their beautiful, frustrating mother. Joy that her crumbling world wasn’t crumbling anymore.
“Well, then, are you just going to kneel there all day?” Cassidy said, pointedly, already holding the door open.
Andy rolled her eyes and laughed.
Hope was flaring in her chest, and with every passing second, Andy’s confidence grew.