Chapter Text
CHAPTER ONE
.o0o.
Andréa Maree Sachs had just moved into her small apartment in New York from her dorm room in Rhode Island. She had graduated from university with degrees in fashion photography and apparel design, had uncovered that she was gay after a particularly jarring party and broken up with her boyfriend of eighteen months in the space of about twelve hours. She had decided, very spontaneously, to move to the Big Apple and try her luck in the fashion industry. Her best friend Patrick had encouraged her greatly to make the move and inspired her to stay with stories of his own success in the photography business. She had unpacked her apartment, cleaned for the weekend, made plans with Patty and decided to go for a walk around the more bustling parts of the city to promote her creativity.
She had caught the subway to Central Park and had wandered into the Upper East side hoping to stumble across a church or cathedral. She had simply wanted to immerse herself in the near tangible emotion of the city. People rushed and hurried along sidewalks, but some simply waded through space and time like they truly had nowhere to be and nothing to worry about. University had been amazing for Andy, and she truly enjoyed the fast-paced movement of the creative arts and how malleable art was, but it was the first-time Andy had observed people that simply floated. She wondered what they would look like photographed, whether they would command the image or simply let the viewer’s eyes do the work and exists as a by-product of the image. She would have to investigate.
As she walked, her thoughts strayed to her ex-boyfriend. Nathaniel was a charming boy, with curly black hair and laughing blue eyes. He had been doing a course in ceramics which Andy always thought was interesting and complex. It was always such a process to mould the shape you had into the shape you wanted, and she believed truly abstract thinkers found the ways to make their shape. Nate, as it had turned out, had wanted to be a chef but failed his culinary course. When she had asked him a few months into their relationship why he was doing ceramics (he had complained about it every time they saw each other), he had said that he threw a dart at a sheet of paper and it had landed on his current course. Andy had hidden her displeasure at that news well, but made it quite clear that she didn’t like to listen to him complain all the time. His ego had been bruised being told off by his girlfriend, but he soon stopped complaining.
Andy had taken a dual degree in fashion photography and apparel design. While she had preferred to have a camera in her hand, a sewing needle came a close second. Nate had said he didn’t see the point in fashion. The purpose was to keep your modesty and that was it, was his attitude. Andy hadn’t done quite so well hiding her displeasure that time. She had told him how clothes were like lots of individual pieces of art that portrayed an emotion or a mood or a lifestyle. She had gone into the history of silk and how it had been revolutionised in the fifteenth century by being used as a canvas then draped over the naked female form, how designers had dubbed women as goddesses and established classes and caste systems, changed people’s way of life. Nate had laughed at her and held his hands up in surrender. He hadn’t broached the topic with her again and she was glad for it.
It was the night of graduation that Andy had lost all of her rather extensive patience. She was impressed she had lasted a year and a half. Nate had failed his ceramics class the month before and was relying on a sizable allowance his parents were sending him every week. He told Andy he wanted to take her out to celebrate her achievement. She had been flattered and pleased that Nate was making an effort to interact with her, especially after the sook he had from failing a course again, and agreed quickly. She had dressed in a skirt she had designed. It was pleated gold silk (a dig at their prior argument) and sat snugly around her narrow waist and shapely hips then flowed like water to her ankles. It might’ve been a very modest skirt if it weren’t for the slits that went to her thighs, showing off her long legs. She paired the skirt with a black lacy bodysuit that had a deep vee in the neckline and showed an enticing amount of cleavage. Her black, polished Louboutin’s completed the outfit and with a touch of smoky-eye and red lipstick, hair in an elegant twist, Andy looked ready to kill.
And she was ready to kill. Kill Nate. When he took her to a sorority party at another university.
Andy had fumed silently for the first portion of her evening. It was when Nate had introduced her as his woman and not by her name that she snapped. She told him, in no uncertain terms, that he was a pig with little regard for the consequences of his actions and she’d rather be single than spend another minute in his dismal company. She had ripped his hand from where it had been hovering on her arse and stormed into the crowd of the party, her skirt flaring impressively. That was when she had met Laura. A pretty blonde girl with green eyes that offered her a drink. When Andy asked why she would offer her a drink (the party was BYO and alcohol seemed a precious commodity), Laura had smirked and told her she would’ve needed one too if she was dating the jerk she had come with. Andy had laughed, drank, danced with then fucked Laura in the upstairs bathroom of the awful party.
Andy had decided that women were softer and less prone to rutting for a few mortifying minutes then slumping on her, exhausted and spent. Laura had given her a delicious cocktail mix, some perspective and a handful of wonderful orgasms. Nate had tried to talk to Andy the next morning, but apart from ignoring his whining while she grabbed her packed boxes from their shared dorm room that Nate was being evicted from, she didn’t have anything to do with him after the party. He had gotten red in the face and called her some unfavourable names to which she told him to grow up and then left. It was the last she had heard from Nate, though she had heard talk from the grapevine that he was in a creative writing course and failing.
After she had spent a week with her family in Ohio, Andy had called her long-time friend Patrick. They had met when Andy was eight and Patrick was thirteen. They seemed an unlikely pair, an eight-year-old girl and a young teen boy, but they were both obsessed with their parent’s cameras and took to wandering around their neighbourhood in small town Ohio, taking photos of the landscapes and the people and the few buildings. They had been inseparable until Patrick went off to a fancy university in France fulfilling his parents’ wish for him to study in their home country. Andy had been heartbroken for weeks after he had left for France and moped shamelessly, to her family’s amusement. She received a letter, though, one day after school which held a phone number and a few photographs of the architecture of an old university. Andy had dialled the number immediately, waking an exhausted Patrick from his sleep in the process.
They had kept in touch all through his course days and his subsequent move to France, even managed to catch up a few times on his visits to Ohio where they would exchange some photographs they had taken in their time apart. Halfway through Andy’s four-year dual degree, her parents had gifted her a plane ticket to visit Patty. She had spent two wonderful weeks with her best friend in such an artistically rich city, taking photos, making memories and eating delicious food (Andy refused to eat escargot, however). It had been blissful for her.
She and Patty had taken to walking around the streets of France at all hours of the day while she was there and taking absurd amounts of photographs. They had even modelled for each other once or twice as they were both studying or had studied fashion photography. Andy grew used to walking around, discovering new places and people on her little adventures, each time experiencing something new. Though she would miss Patrick’s apartment in France and walking the streets with him, she was pleased when he made the move to New York for a job he had been head-hunted for, glad to have him in the country again. It was her love of exploration that Andy decided to take a walk around New York, her new home. She wanted to observe the lives of some New Yorkers, and so she went on her merry way.
It was on this walk around the Upper East side, however, that her life would begin to change.
She had been in the more affluent end of town after catching the subway and was admiring the parks and houses that gave the area an air of prestige. Her expertise didn’t lie with capturing architecture, preferring instead to capture people, but she found herself drawn to the aged buildings of that area and the modern hustle of the people walking by. She was beside a main road at around lunchtime so all sorts of people were wandering past her observant, hungry eyes. Some were in a hurry, some wore grey or black, others bright, vibrant colours. Some were dark, some were very pale and most were in between. There were blonde, black, grey, white, red, brown, purple, blue heads of hair, long and short alike. It was a sort of ordered chaos that Andy had never really seen before.
She didn’t realise it at the time, but when she noticed two little girls trying to run away from an older woman with their hands linked, her day would take an unexpected left turn. She watched in a slow motion of sorts as the girls tripped on an uneven piece of concrete that Andy herself had stumbled over a few minutes before. She hadn’t been running, though, and her hand-eye coordination was a great deal better as far as she could tell by what happened next. From where she had been sitting on a green bench on the sidewalk, she saw the girls teeter on the edge of the pavement and stumble onto the road. Her instincts had kicked in by then and she was halfway to grabbing them from the oncoming traffic when the blaring horn of a car had sounded. She wrapped her arms around the tiny girls, shielding them just in time for herself to be swiped by the side of the car, sending her careening onto the gutter and landing on her back, her body curled protectively around her precious cargo, with a decidedly dull thud, winding herself for a few moments. Her arms were around little shoulders, her hands covering red hair and two precious heads that her hidden in her chest, her breasts having cushioned any impact to their skulls.
She felt the little girls crying and the rushed sound of frantic footsteps, a woman’s voice calling two names. Her eyes were bleary, the buildings she had been admiring were wriggling, and she felt the numbness of shock settle over her body like a cool blanket. Someone called 9-1-1 and an ambulance had arrived. The little girls were still crying and her heart was hurting for them.
“Hush, it’s alright,” she slurred. She was certain she had a concussion and her arms stung slightly, her side felt tender. The EMTs tried to pry the girls out of her arms, but the little angels had protested the idea, which relieved Andy, because she didn’t really want to let them go anyway. They couldn’t be more than five years old.
The ambulance ride was a little fuzzy for the photographer. She knew she had spent it hushing and cooing into little ears and remembered the whimpering dying down. She told them a silly little story and heard the wonderful sound of wet chuckles. She gazed into not quite identical faces. One was narrower than the other, and one had more freckles on her nose. The eyes though were the same. A beautiful, cool blue that reminded Andy of the beach she had gone to in Greece as a child. She held them a little tighter after that.
In the hospital, Andy and the two children she had sort of saved were taken to a room where she could be examined. Her head was clear now, so she knew her concussion was very minor, but her arms were a little scraped. The woman who had been chasing the girls had followed in a cab but was a little delayed. Sat on the hospital bed with a child either side, Andy wondered just how weird her day had gotten.
“You’re pretty,” a very quiet voice complimented from her left. The one with more freckles.
“Thank you, sweetheart. I think you two are the prettiest girls I’ve ever seen,” she said, turning to her right to look the other girl in the eyes too. She was met with pleased grins. A doctor walked in a moment later, a middle-aged man with brown hair greying at the temples and a lipless smile.
“Well, Miss Sachs, you’re not concussed, and your little sidekicks don’t even have a scratch. It’s a surprise, really, considering you were sideswiped by a car. We’ve bandaged and cleaned your arms already and you don’t have any other injuries apart from a bit of bruising where the car hit you and perhaps some sore back muscles.” He looked up from his clipboard to make eye contact.
“You were very lucky, and I can say with some confidence that you saved some lives too,” he said solemnly. Andy paled a little, but kept the calm smile on her face knowing that identical blue eyes were watching her closely. The doctor told her that he’d have her paperwork done and waiting for her at the front desk and she was cleared to check-out whenever. The woman from the street had arrived and was pacing in the hall on her cell phone. She was wincing every few moments at what was being said, so Andy could only assume she was talking to a parent or guardian to the two girls.
“Thanks for ‘tecting us,” the girl on her right said. She was holding Andy’s right hand and playing with a ring she had on her index finger.
“Any time, princess.”
“Am I a princess too?”
“You’re both princesses, the prettiest ones ever!”
Twin giggles filled the room and Andy felt her phone vibrate. It was an alarm she had set for the end of her time to wander as she usually got lost in her thoughts and missed appointments. She was meeting with Patty in an hour and needed to change her outfit. She looked at her clothes and noticed they were torn. Her white fitted pants and red silk blouse had obvious abrasions on the side she had hit the pavement, and her heels, a short pair of black wedges were scuffed beyond saving. She didn’t worry about them much though. The alternative was having perfect clothes and watching the two girls get hit by a car. Andy knew which she preferred.
“Is that your nanny?” Andy asked the girls. She had stood to check her clothing and looked at wide eyes still sat on the bed. They nodded at her.
“I have to get going, I’m afraid. It was very nice to meet such fair princesses,” she said with an exaggerated bow, managing to stifle the wince of pain from her side. The twins giggled at her again and said she was pretty once more and that their mommy was coming any minute now. She kissed each of their hands and bade them goodbye, slipping out of the room and passing the pacing nanny to the front desk. After filling out the paperwork there, only a signature here and a phone number there, she was out of the hospital and on her way to tell Patty how long her day had been. It wasn’t even two yet!
.o0o.
Miranda Priestly was in the middle of a very disappointing run through when her personal cell rang. She had told the nanny, Gina or something else pedestrian, that she should only call in emergencies. It was with this in mind that the woman sent her quivering staff away with an acidic, “that’s all,” and answered the call. She expected to hear some drivel about one of the girls throwing a tantrum about something inconsequential, to scold the silly girl for interrupting her and to be done with it. Instead she was told her babies were in the hospital and that a complete stranger had thrown herself in front of a car to save them from being run over. The ice that Miranda was purported to have in her veins felt less like a rumour and more of a reality when she heard that.
“Why on earth were they in danger in the first place?” She had growled. Miranda Priestly didn’t yell, it would ruin her image, but she didn’t need to yell to place fear into those around or to express her displeasure. And she was very displeased to learn that her babies had been in danger, that they were in the hospital.
“I’ve been surrounded by incompetence since the dawn of time, but your complete lack of judgement when caring for my children reaches new damn heights. When I arrive at the hospital, you are dismissed. I’m not even going to dignify your ineptitude with a final pay check. That’s all,” she hissed, hanging up before the woman could respond. Miranda stood in her office and collected the prints off her desk, her laptop and stormed out of her office. She snapped at her assistants to have her coat and bag, to find a competent nanny and threatened dismissal if Roy was not at the front door by the time she reached ground floor.
She was on the warpath. No one on the trip on the elevator dared to do anything but apologise when the elevator opened on their floor. No one in the lobby dared approach her as she marched across gleaming marble. Roy didn’t even get out of the car to open her door, figuring that she would want as little time wasted as possible. Miranda didn’t say it of course, but she appreciated Roy that way. She snarled the name of the hospital the girls were at and he pulled, rather abruptly into the flowing traffic. Miranda let her thoughts wander.
What condition would her babies be in? Would they be awake? Were they in pain right that minute? For all her posing as a heartless bitch, Miranda was suspiciously close to a nervous breakdown in the back of her silver Mercedes. Roy, bless him, had pulled every secret back way and every trafficless road to reach the hospital in record breaking time. She didn’t wait for him to open the door, she simply let her stocking clad legs carry her into the building. The whole place smelt of disinfectant and despondency, which she despised. Her Prada heels clacked disruptively on the tasteless linoleum flooring to the front desk.
“Twins named Priestly. Where are they,” she bit out. The woman behind the desk seemed to sense the urgency of a mother and was the most efficient person she had encountered in days. She typed speedily and told her what room and what doctor was waiting with them. Not even a nod of thanks was spared for the mousy haired woman as the whirlwind that was the fashion industry’s queen flew in the direction of the elevators. She choked back her disgust at sharing the space with others, even for the single floor she was travelling. The doors dinged, opening to an equally as dismally decorated corridor as the one Miranda had just been in, but the woman was off like a shot, walking with expert precision to the room that held her babies. She took a breath just outside the doors, steeling herself for the sight that would greet her when she entered.
She did not expect to see what she opened the door to.
They were sat on the bed facing each other, playing a hand clapping game.
“Apple on a stick, makes me sick,” they sung.
Miranda, still unnoticed by the two girls, stood stock still as she observed her daughters. Neither were crying, though their eyes were a little red. They had no scrapes, no broken bones, not a drop of blood in sight. She let out a strangled sound that finally drew the attention of her children to her, cutting off a verse about doing the splits.
“Mommy!” they cried together, leaping from their seat and running to her. She met them in the middle of the room and collected them in her arms and forced away the tears she thought might fall from her eyes. She kissed their hair and their cheeks, using her hands to feel around them for any injury she couldn’t see. They giggled and told her to stop.
“The lady that ‘tected us was really pretty, Momma! And she called us princesses!” Cassidy said cheerfully. Miranda looked into the room, almost expecting the woman in question to appear from behind the stretcher bed. It was empty however.
“And she grabbed us real quick, Momma! The car honked but she didn’t care and the car even hitted her and she still holded us!”
“The ambo- the amub-”
“Ambulance,” Miranda supplied, in a sort of relived, confused daze.
“Yeah, that! That came and the man tried to take us out of her arms but she didn’t let em, then we rided the…” Cassidy looked to her mother expectantly.
“Ambulance,” she said again, her chest beginning to loosen from its tense state.
“Yeah! We rided that and Caro was crying-”
“You were crying too!”
“Yeah, well, she calmed us down and told us a funny story about her puppy she used to have!”
“But she said she had to go before, so we said bye-bye and she told us we were the prettiest princesses ever and bowed and kissed our hands,” Caroline, the more subdued of the two, said quietly as though saying goodbye truly saddened her.
Miranda was usually very sharp. She was the woman that controlled the fashion industry, in America at the very least, and was the editor of the world’s biggest fashion magazine. She didn’t get to her position by being dim witted or slow in the least. That being said, however, she was having a little trouble keeping up with what her children were telling her. From what she could piece together, the twins had almost been hit by a car (the thought was still enough to make Miranda’s heart stutter), a woman, as yet unnamed and faceless, had grabbed them, took the hit herself and was collected by an ambulance with her daughters. She comforted them, refused to let them go after the initial accident and kept her babies laughing and happy. They didn’t seem traumatised in the slightest. In fact, they seemed rather disappointed that the woman had gone. No one could argue Miranda was slow or dim witted, but her daughters had just thoroughly rendered her dumb.
“Ah, Ms Priestly. I’m Doctor Sheffield,” a man voiced from the door way. He seemed to be middle aged and carried a calm demeaner. Fitting for a doctor, she supposed.
“Miranda, please, Doctor Sheffield. Can you tell me what on earth happened?” The man smiled at the exasperation in Miranda’s voice, but before she could snap at him he was explaining.
“From what EMTs reported, a collision between a pedestrian at the corner of 76th and Lexington. I examined your daughters, both were a little shaken after the fact but physically are in perfect health,” the Doctor said, glancing briefly at his clipboard before meeting her eyes again.
“I was told there was another woman?” Miranda asked.
“The pretty one!” Cassidy contributed. Miranda smiled at her, relieved she was her usual boisterous self.
“Ah, yes. She’s checked out,” the Doctor said simply. Miranda quirked a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, frostiness encroaching on her expression.
“I would like her name so I may thank her properly. As I understand it, the woman was hit by a car in the act of protecting my daughters’ lives.”
“Patient-doctor confidentiality, I’m afraid. She’s checked out so I can’t give you any of her details.” The only reason Miranda didn’t threaten his job was because he did sound genuinely regretful at the news, and she didn’t think she had it in her to threaten his career all that effectively. She turned to look at her daughters who were watching the two adults interact with interest.
“And did either of you get the pretty lady’s name?” At the embarrassed look the two shared, she gathered the nameless woman would remain just that. Nameless.
Miranda let out a weary sigh after dismissing Doctor Sheffield, the emotional interruption to her day catching up to her. She gathered her daughters into her arms again, sticking her nose in their hair and breathing in their scent and calming down. The realisation that her babies had nearly died that day did not come to her until late into the night when she was catching up on some work. In that moment, in the privacy of her den as her twins slept two stories above her, Miranda Priestly wept in her gratefulness to a complete stranger for saving her the pain of losing the two most precious things in her universe.