Archive of Our Own

Love, pain, and regret are three threads that have been woven and intertwined throughout human history, for one cannot exist without the others. How many times have we regretted not choosing the right partner, lamented using hurtful words, or failed to nurture and cherish the flame of passion until it was to late, dying away.

"If only," "what if," and "I wish" are phrases uttered with resignation, understood with sorrow and experienced with desolation.

The elders of the mountains profess that "where your treasure is, there your heart will be," and Andy Sachs, who has lived for twenty years without her treasure, without Miranda Priestly, can attest to this.

She has spent twenty years searching for her in every corner of the world. Had tried with men (only for a year, as she realized she is a lesbian) and with many women of different cultures, countries and languages. Andy looked for Miranda in the red hair of the Australian woman, in the white curves of the German lady, in the voluptuous legs of the gorgeous Cuban, and in the icy eyes of the Nordic dame. Still had no success as her stubborn heart didn't care how many women she slept with, as long as they weren't Miranda, she shouldn't even think about settling down with them. It was her dragon or no one else.

So, tired of being a breathing corpse with half heart, Andy reasoned that if having someone couldn't fill that stubborn void, then substances would work. Turns out, that Miranda was right, she was a fucking idiot. No matter how much alcohol, drugs (only marihuana cause her mother would kill her), or tobacco she consumed, it only made the memories, conversations and moments they shared together replay in her mind like a endless movie.

Who ever said "drugs will make you feel better", her fist have their name on it. What a crock of bullshit.

After a few (several) terrible choices and one scream match with her therapist, Andy decide that the best thing to do, before self-destructing, was to dedicate fully to her career. So, she forced herself to forget her childhood dream of being married with four little rugrats running around her legs with the annoying but kind-hearted doggie playing with them; and if in that dream Andy imagine a woman with white hair and their babies with red hair, it was just a product of the induced alcohol.

Her perfect path began and taking a page from "La Priestly's Workaholic Bible" with fierce determination, coldness and inflexibility, Andy spent the following years broadcasting, reporting and live-streaming on the violence, government corruption and wars that were happening in different parts of the world.

She won more awards and honors than she ever imagined for her actions. Andy thought that being a pioneering journalist on the Palestinian genocide, the violence of the mining industry in the Congo, and the extreme famine in the Middle East would fill half the void, or at least cover it up, but she failed. Again. For it didn't cover even a fucking single gram and instead, it caused a tear in her already battered heart, because it didn't matter the skin color of the mothers and their children her eyes beheld; in every scene she saw her family, as for Andy (and this was the final straw for her therapist to call her crazy and quit the sessions) Miranda, Cassidy and Caroline were hers.

If only the Academy and the judges knew that a part of the journalist longed to die to stop being a walking corpse, they surely would have given her a golden ticket to the asylum. But luck or not, her stubborn and obstinate ass survived, and today she is a titan in her field, and dares to say (though she's not the only one) she's finally an equal with the devil in Prada.

In all those years, just one time they coincided at the same gala. Unfortunately, Miranda was with husband number four but luckily for the brunette, the teenage twins were with them. That night after a little whisper/scream match, they restored their bound.

No matter the day, Andy would always write to the redheads twins on their birthday, sending them a postcard and a souvenir from wherever she happened to be in the world, and they always took the time to reply, updating her about their lives. For years they exchanged emails, until the twins' twenty-first birthday, when the brunette was involved in a car bombing that turned murder-suicide.

The now young adult women didn't understand why Andy was reporting from countries that were increasingly violent than the previous ones, but still they supported and encouraged her until the tragic episode in Afghanistan.

The first hours of the incident they had no news of the journalist's condition; no matter how many calls they made and how many times they used the Priestly name, no one could tell them if their Andy was still alive. For four long, dark days, while they inflicted terror on the other end of the line, their mother, unable to accept the possible death of the only person she had ever truly loved, sank into despair and depression, drinking her cava night after night, trying to cope with her shattered heart.

Finally on the six day, Andy appeared on the live stream, seated in a wheelchair with a sling on her right arm, a black eye and chapped lips. The dark gloom that had covered the Priestly resident magically disappeared; however, for the twins, the time had come to make a decision and boy, they did.

"We refuse to lose another parent figure. We are cowards, but we learned from the best.

If reincarnation exists, swear to us that you will not appear in our lives, unless we are enough for you to choose us.

Caroline and Cassidy Priestly." 

Those were the last concise, truthful and hurtful words Andy received from her little red monkeys. Despite the brunette's desperate attempts, she was unable to contact them again. For months, their words haunted her until Andy forced herself to suppress them from her memory.

Sometimes, to survive a Priestly, it's best to erase the tape and move forward without looking back.

The days turned into night and time marched on.

On an ordinary morning, years later, an old friend painted the way back for her.

"There's a position with your name on it. Consider it for old times' sake." was the text Nigel sent her.

The journalist, recently arrived in the United States, pondered it, as her last experience a couple of months earlier (the building where she was broadcasting was bombed, and she survived by clinging to the building's logo) had made her realize her deplorable mental state and how dangerous the job was. So, pulling her head out of her ass, she quit, went into intensive therapy at a new clinic (her old therapist refused to answer her) and got out of the hole she dug herself in.

For days, Andy premeditated with herself, her therapist and the universe whether it was the right thing to do, until one afternoon in Central Park she saw the newspaper headlines, sealing her fate.

"Modernization has left the dragon behind."

"The senile must go. New blood is the answer."

"Put down the pen before you tarnish your legacy."

A burning, blinding fury settled in the pit of her stomach. Miranda may be a perfectionist, strict and tenacious editor, but even beneath that tough, reptilian skin, there's a bruised heart.

The worst mistake she made was leaving the way she did, but not this time. History will not repeated again.

"Yes."  she answered seven days later.

"Gird your loins, Six." 

Now Andy is back in New York with more traumas, physical scars (like the one from her spine to her hip, a gift from the car bomb), a long list of medication and PTSD, but in one piece and without being suicidal.

She has learned (fi-fucking-nally!) to live with the crater in her heart.

Winning is winning, right? Right.

On the way to Runway, she was prepared for the difficult and impossible scenarios. Andy convinced herself that fixing things with Miranda wouldn't be easy, much less a walk in the park, but she never imagined how much her heart would burn, break and bleed when Miranda asked Nigel, "Who is she? Do you know her?"

"Do I know her?" 

A slap would have hurt less, preferable to Miranda not wanting to remember her. Andy has studied, drawn and imagined those blue orbs so many times in different scenarios with diverse emotions that she perfectly recognizes the editor's mood, as well as when she's telling the truth or a lied.

The stubborn and unbreakable red thread binds them so tightly that when Andy burrows into the dragon's eyes, it's like reading her favorite book, knowing every word, paragraph and page number without possibility of error.

Even if Miranda wanted to erase the brunette's appearance and personality from memory, she would never succeed. For just as Andy is cursed by time to remember her voice, body and essence, her dragon is under the same spell.

Neither will forget the woman they love, cause for their fortune or destruction they have each other tattooed in their marrow, soul and deepest core.

They will be relentlessly hunted by each other until the end of the time.

On the second day of their reunion, and for the sake of what little remained of their hearts, they made a pact to not recalled the past.

For weeks they treated each other like strangers, only as fellow editors with a single objective: to keep Runway and Miranda's legacy afloat. If the editor ate in her office, Andy would leave hers. If Andy arrived at the same time as Miranda to take the elevator (she stopped counting after the seventh time), the journalist would go up all fourteen floors on the stairs even if she was twelve minutes late. In the meetings and planning sessions, Nigel was the cursed mediator; the little man held on for the three of them and surprising they survived for a few months, but as they say, all good things must come to an end, and their luck finally ran out in Milan.

Everything was going according to plan. The plane landed without a hitch, the hotel was up to Miranda's standards, the new designers were innovative, the clothes were dazzling and the Runway team performed flawlessly; it was going well, more than well. But that last night, the industry bent and the new era was born.

Miranda, along with the prestigious designers, the entire staff and guests, gathered in the Crystal Ballroom to close Milan Fashion Week. The devil in Prada had never spoken before, despite being encouraged to give a speech; Donatella wasn't the only one who drink went to the wrong pipe, when she saw La Priestly take the stage.

When Miranda announced her retirement from Runway after nearly three decades as editor, Andy's universe burst into flames.

The dragon was leaving her kingdom, but not before placing her most loyal minions in her now-former empire. Nigel would be her successor, with Emily taking Nigel's place, Serena as head of makeup and Andy would officially become the feature editor.

Priestlys legacy was secure.

For hours Andy talked, listened and laughed, but even at gunpoint, she couldn't recall the conversation. She was still frozen in time from the moment Miranda uttered:

"One moves with the world and with time, but you also have to know when to step back. Today is my last day as Editor-in-Chief of Runway." 

Andy couldn't comprehend it. She didn't grasp the meaning. Was it a test? A marketing strategy? A launch? The answer was a simple no.

Miranda Priestly, the Devil in Prada, the Ice Queen was bidding farewell to her kingdom.

Out of the corner of her eye, Andy spotted the figure in black sequins approaching one of the many glass doors. Employing tried-and-tested techniques, with ingenuity and strategy, she set her glass down on the bar and, avoiding eye contact to prevent conversation, followed her out.

They walked through lawns, streets, and alleyways of that prestigious Italian neighborhood until they entered the "Titans corridor of the Fashion Industry."

Miranda paused amidst those walls, contemplating each of the logos of the prestigious fashion houses, most of which La Priestly had helped to rise to become what they are today.

—Observing your legacy? —the nowformer Editor simply nods, without deigning to look at her. Miranda knows Andrea has been following her all night.

—So, —Andy steps beside her— Versace, Vuitton, Prada and Klein. Do you know what all those skirts on display are missing?

For the first time that night, blue eyes sink into brown ones.

—Cerulean Belts.

A weak uncontrollable chuckle escapes the former editor.

—Aha! That you do remember, eh. —she teases, unable to hide the flash of anger in her eyes.

"Time will only give you so much…" Miranda sighs.

—Of course I remembered you, Andrea. But it was best to leave our story where it belongs. In the past.

—For everyone? Or rather, for you?

Miranda's laugh is hypocritical, tinged with irritation.

—Don't play the victim as it doesn't suit you. Not when you were also the one who pulled the trigger in this bloody, silent war.

—Me?! —shouts in outrage— You knew perfectly well that I loved you, but you never said anything. Not even at a snails pace.

—Andréa, you were almost twenty five. A young adult who didn't even know her own fashion sense, much less her sexuality. I refused to take away your freedom to experiment and choose. Besides, what would you have wanted with a woman who was about to go through a media circus divorce with eight-year-old girls and a badly behaved dog?

—Everything. I wanted everything.

An overwhelming silence settles over both strained shoulders. Past and present clash in their orbs, a battle between heart and reason.

—It doesn't matter anymore. —Miranda says, exhausted— We are years too late, Andrea.

The brunette fiercely shakes her head.

—No. It isn't.

—Andréa, for God's sake! —Miranda cries out for the first time in decades— I'm almost seventy, my body has aged and has betrayed me. My daughters hate me, my empire has abandoned me and I lost the love of my life before I even dared to love her.

Miranda wants, desires, yearns with every last bit of her being to confess her love and even though her body and spirit are demanding it, she refuses. Her punishment is watching those brown eyes reflect injustice, melancholy and such immense pain, that not human being would not know how to express into words.

—I won't, Andréa. —she emphasizes— I won't let you throw your life away to take care of this old hag. This old woman with parki...

—Enough! —the indignant shout closes the devil in Prada jaw.

With her orbs flood, Andy approaches menacingly, grabbing Miranda by the shoulders. Shaking her weakly.

—I never let anyone disrespect you, even got slapped for it, —reveals, ignoring the violent blues waiting for a name— and I'll be damned if I let you psychologically abuse yourself. You and this fucking industry never understood that you are so much more than your age. Miranda you are an icon of strength, of resilience; and yes, you are the most stubborn, authoritative, and creative woman I have ever known, and believe me, I've been to unimaginable and inhospitable places in the world. I could spend all night discussing your qualities and compliments, but I'll just say that you with your dark, light and grays parts are the woman of my dreams. I have loved you for twenty years, and rest assured that I will love you for many more, even if you don't correspond me back.

After surviving twenty years, lastly the older woman loses the battle with her broken core. She sobs bitterly against Andrea's chest, crying out how unfair fate has been, wailing for the loss of the woman who could have been her wife.

—Forgive me. Andréa forgive me! —Miranda repeats like a broken record until Andy silences her with a soft "shh."

Brown eyes, gaze at this woman who, despite her expensive clothes, smudged makeup, and disheveled hair, remains the most beautiful woman her orbs have ever had the honor of gazing.

—Only if you forgive me too.

—I already do.

Unconsciously, they lower their gazes, longing for each other's tempting lips. Slowly, Andy begins to close the distance, unimpeded by Miranda. However, before the brunette can finally taste her beloved's full lips, slender and delicate fingers touch hers.

—I will leave this life without having tasted earthly glory. But I am at peace with it. —she smiles dejectedly.

—Miranda... —the desolate voice makes the dragon lady's shattered and bleeding heart clench with equal parts of pain, regret and resentment.

—No, my darling. I have Parkinson's —reveals to an alarmed, shaking and deeply saddened brunette— I refuse to let you waste what's left of your life with me in hospitals, tests and loneliness.

—I can… —her voice trembles.

—Andréa. I won the euthanasia case.

—No! —Andy's bare legs touch the prestigious floor, defeated. Her violent, heart-wrenching, inconsolable screams are drowned out by Miranda's abdomen.

Now she understands everything. The now former editor wasn't just saying farewell to the Runway empire.

She was saying goodbye to life.

—I beg you! —Andy says, on the verge of a mental breakdown— I implore you! Let me take care of you. I swear to God I will watch over you, I will acom...

—Shh. —Miranda kneels with difficulty, looking into panic brown orbs— Andréa I can't let you love me. I resist to leave you with this love, darling. Besides, we both know that what's left of your soul will disappear, when I die.

Andy has lost the war she didn't know existed. If Miranda Priestly says no, there is no power on earth that can change her mind.

—It's not fair! —cries out in deep sorrow. Sobbing like a child who has lost her must treasure teddy bear.

—I know, darling. —Miranda cups her chestnut-brown hair in her hand, resting her forehead against her beloved's.

They remain kneeling, feeling the warm air from their mouths, savoring their last moments. At any moment, Miranda must go to the airport to catch the jet to her final destination.

Andy's knees tremble, begging for a break. Caring little about the cost of the clothes, she sits on the floor, placing Miranda into her lap.

"We fit perfectly together." Miranda's chest, stomach and pelvis seem like a cog that was needed to complete Andy's.

—The girls? —Miranda for the first time that night looks away.

—My Bobbseys will never know about this. I paid a considerable amount of money to have the death certificate state the cause of death as a sudden heart attack.

Andy opens and closes her mouth, trying to say something, but honestly, she doesn't know where to begin.

—Andréa, I am not so heartless to leave them with the truth that I committed suicide because I preferred that to facing my illness alone. Besides, it's not the best time to take them out of their careers and lives. I was a selfish mother until college; I will not make the same mistake twice.

The brunette nods, knowing the twins' situation.

Caroline, the "ice-cold lawyer" as she's been nicknamed, is in the middle of a ugly divorce, fighting the custody of her firm. She only married for reputation and appearances as she doesn't believe in love. On the other hand, Cassidy, the "heart-removal" doctor, is devoted to her patients and current partners but in the matters of the heart, she sleep with anyone who crosses her path, caring very little for their feelings. She takes, takes, takes and when she gets satisfied, she slips away like a thief in the night, to never seen again.

By the time Miranda realized her Bobbseys' perspective on love, it was too late. Try as she might to change things, she never succeeded, and instead, she made the twins furious. They both accused her of having no right to judge when "you used the 'Priestly Method' with five different partners while longing for the woman you really loved!" and "Don't act so dignified, as it doesn't suit you."

Her last conversation with them sends shivers down her spine after all this time.

"At least we don't hurt anyone with our action. We don't have to think about our children." Caroline said, plunging the dagger.

"Yes Mother. We won't put them through the hell you selfish put us through." Cassidy finishes, piercing her heart.

The twins' relationship with Miranda never recovered, that's why they only see their mother once a year. The three women promise themselves that they will beg for forgiveness the next time, but the Priestly genes are so strong that they dismiss it as soon the thought form in their heart.

A Priestly never makes mistakes and much less apologizes for them.

—I will keep an eye on the girls. —Andy's voice pulls her from her thoughts.

Miranda wraps her arms around her neck, hugging her as if her life depended on it.

—Miranda? —a voice interrupts.

Andy blinks rapidly to make sure her vision isn't failing.

—Roy.

The man who was once tall, strong and full of life has been taken by the years. Now Roy is somewhat stooped, thin and his once jet-black head is now full white but the years have been kind to him, for his eyes reflect a peace that only undisturbed life can bestow you.

The brunette stands up, also accepting Roy's hand.

—Andy. —the man says, happy to see her. The journalist hugs him tightly; for a moment, it seems as if she's 24 and he's 37.

—It's good to see you, Roy.

—The pleasure is all mine, Andy.

—Roy. Wait in the car. —he nods, giving Andy's shoulder a squeeze, saying goodbye. It might also be the last time she sees the big man.

—Andréa, I n—and before the editor could react, a pair of reddish lips crashed against hers.

The books weren't wrong when they described kissing the love of your life as a suspension of time, fireworks, and a swarm of butterflies happening all at once. Desperate, Andy thrust her tongue in, searching for her partner, reveling in the moment when she found her both rebellious and dominant.

—Andr—Andy's mouth sought Miranda like lungs seek oxygen. With haste and passion, the journalist devoured her lips, ignoring the taste of salt.

Andy imprints this moment into her memory, wanting to remember until she and her impossible women met again in some other life. Andy's sobs separated them.

—My Andréa, why?

—I will no leave this life without having tasted your lips. —says, caressing her thin, weathered lips with her index finger.

The car starting lets them know Miranda is already in borrow time to leave for the airport.

—Promise me something, Miranda.

—Anything, darling.

—Promise me that in the next life, you won't let the age difference, social class or other people's opinions keep us from getting married, starting a family and building a life together.

Miranda nods. She fears that if she speaks, heart-wrenching sobs will escape.

—And I promise to never let you go, even if my insecurities and immaturity scream to do so.

With a final, heartbreaking kiss, they seals the promise.

—Goodbye, my Andréa.

—Goodbye, my love.

As Miranda walks toward the car, memories starts projecting in her eyes, the past and present swirling in her mind. The first time she saw Andrea, the last elevator they shared just hours before. Her youthful smile, the laughter of a confident woman. Her nervous delicate voice, the voice and poise of the editor, focused and cold.

From the window she watch the hunched figure of the love of her life. A final look and the car drives off.

Andy looks at the blurred shine night.

Now what?

— — — — — — — —

Lago di Garda, Milan.

3:57 AM

—For you, my love. —says a tipsy Andy, sitting on the sand. She raises her bottle of grappa (liqueur) to the starry sky, where her dragon will soon glow among them.

A few hours ago, Miranda's jet took off from Milan for its unknown destination. Unwilling to go to the hotel and still refusing to live in this cursed reality, Andrea walked along the Italian coast until she found this deserted paradise.

—It would be magical, if only she were here. —murmurs feeling that lump in her chest once more. She takes a long swig from the bottle, wanting to drown her sorrows with the burning liquid.

—God! —coughs hard.

"These Italian drunkards weren't lying, is good enough to knock out an elephant." although now that she thinks about it, it's pretty cheap for its alcohol content.

"Whatever." Andy shrugs, tilting the bottle.

—Mamma Mia signora! Stai bene? (Holy mother, ma'am. Are you alright?) —a barefoot man, dressed in old-fashioned white clothing and wearing a pirate hat, asks her worried.

Andy must be more drunk than she looks, cause she didn't hear him arrive, even though the only sounds are the lake, the campfire and the soft wind.

"Oh shit. How I say…?" clears her throat.

—Non parlo italiano (I don't speak Italian)

The man chuckled at her broken accent. He doesn't know if her cheeks are flush with embarrassment or for the alcohol.

—English, right? —he said, giving her a tender look.

—Yes. —sighs in relief.

—What I asked was, were you alright, ma'am?

Andy looks away, gazing at the fire.

—No.

—Oh. —the man sat down across from her with the fire between them, wanting to make the brunette feel secure, since he was, after all, just a stranger.

—Ragazza (Girl) These gray hairs aren't just for the lads, you know —he says, tossing his platinum mane— Do you want to tell Uncle Vinni?

Andy gently shakes her head.

—I don't. Sorry. —replies, her voice breaking.

—That's what a woman's love does, huh? —states, placing his hat to the side, gazing longingly at the bottle.

—How did you know? —she asks, perplexed.

Vinni chuckles, settling more comfortably in his "seat".

—Only a lady can make another human being like this. It doesn't matter if they're men, women or aliens. We all become heartbroken fools.

Andy, for the first time in months, lets out a genuine laugh, nodding in agreement.

—Miranda.

—Aah. “Worthy of admiration,” of course.

Andy, puzzled, tilts her head.

—Do you know her?

—Nope. I have no idea who she is, but that’s what Miranda means.

—Oh. I didn’t know that.

They remain silent for a few minutes. A thoughtful brunette stares into the flames of the campfire while the strange man examines his companion.

—So. Miranda is your love. —Vinni states.

The brunette simply nods, taking another long swig from the bottle.

—¡Salute Ragazza! (Cheers girl!) —he exclaims, surprised and somewhat worried. This Miranda chick, really broke this poor woman's heart.

—Sorry. —Andy quacks between coughs. Not wanting to be rude, hands him the bottle— Here, Vinni.

The Italian, neither stubborn nor lazy, took a long swig, savoring it.

—Aah! Just like old times.

Andy smiles at Vinni. A recovering alcoholic can recognize an old one.

—Miranda would have thrown us in the lake for our terrible taste.

—Probably, but she's not here, and—before he knew it, the young lady sobbed intensely, her breath coming in short gasps.

—¡Cazzo! (fuck!) what did I say? —Andy shakes her head, raising a finger in a "wait" gesture.

Fifteen minutes, two drinks and a hug, the lump in her throat loosens. For now.

—My impossible woman, the love of my life for over twenty years, is going to die.

—To die?

—Yes. She's going to undergo euthanasia.

—Cazzo! (Fuck)

Andy snickers at Vinni's wide eyes.

—Indeed.

Vinni takes a swig. Andy deepens her. She notice they have less than half the liquor left and at this rate they'll have to go to the corner store two blocks down for another one. Probably it's still open, with so many drunks around, the owner would be an idiot to close it.

The brunette's phone rings, breaking the silence that settles between them.

"Nigel" appears on the screen. Andy sighs, declining the call again.

—A Star Wars fan?

—Excuse me?

—Your ringtone.

—Not really. Nigel, my friend, made me set it when he called. According to him, it's the best melody ever made. I don't think so. For me, it's The Lion King.

Vinni nods condescendingly. In silence he watches the distraught brunette, gazing at the starry sky, unaware that her tears haven't stopped. It seems as if she is searching or waiting for something to appear.

—Andy, —he says solemn— have you ever thought about get back in time?

The corners of her lips curl up, lowering her gaze.

—I have for almost twenty years, Vinni. —says, stirring the campfire with a stick, focusing on the flames to keep from bursting into sobs.

—That long?

—Pathetic, isn't it? —smiles humorlessly.

—No. Human, I would say. But would you really change practically your entire life?

—All of it. —there is not hesitation in Andy's voice— You can't imagine how much I long to be twenty four, standing on the other side of the avenue, exchanging glances with Miranda before she gets into her car to go home.

—You really do remember every detail, after all this time. —he says, stunned.

—Vinni, when you've been surviving without half your heart and so close to death, you cling to your memories as your only lifeline.

The gray-haired man meticulously examines the brown-red orbs, as if weighing her soul, pondering whether she's worthy. Before Andy can question him, whatever he's been searching, Vinni finds it, for he nods decisively.

—Andrea Elizabeth Sachs, do you swear you will do it? —Vinni stands up, walking toward her.

—How do…

—Andrea Elizabeth Sachs, do you swear it? —urges, standing before her.

—Vinni, but what…

—Andrea Elizabeth Sachs, do you swear?! —he shouts like a mad man.

—Yes, I swear! —screams, terrified. It's just her damned luck to have a psychopath as a therapist before he murders her.

Vinni smile.

—One chance only... —does one clap.

Suddenly, the sound of the lake's waves stops. The wind dies down. The crickets cease their chirping and the campfire goes still.

—Twenty years ago... —Vinni clutch his palms together.

A blow and a buzz, a light forms inside his coconut hands.

Andy, speechless, feels her heart race. Electric currents surge through her nervous system as chills and tremors course through her body.

—¿Vi-Vinni? —stares, mesmerized, at the ball of light in the Italian's hands. Second by second, the shape and intensity increase.

—And a gift. Good luck, Andrea Elizabeth Sachs.

He opens his arms, unleashing the light.

With a boom, Andy's body launched into the air. Curtains of sand envelop her, while drops of water trickle down her pores.

The brunette screams in horror, powerless to stop gravity. The light goes into her orbs.

Her body is no more.

In this plane.

— - — - — - — - — - —

Manhattan, New York.

May, 2006.

15:39 PM.

Andy hangs up, putting the phone on her pocket. She smiles, shaking her head at the British woman's excuse. It's the most bizarre thank you she's ever heard, but oh well, it's Emily.

Adjusting her briefcase strap, she glances to her left, stopping abruptly. Andy sees Miranda, looking somewhat annoyed, heading toward the silver car, apparently chatting with the new Emily.

—I don't understand why it's so difficult to bring the car when I ask for it. —says irritably, closing the phone with more force than necessary.

Before getting into the car, the editor-in-chief stops as she recognize the figure in the brown jacket and Chanel boots.

—Andréa. —whispers, mouth barely moving. Every beat of her heart reminds her of the love and heartbreak that brunette had scar into her heart.

The aforementioned woman smiles with humility and respect, greeting her former boss.

Miranda, expressionless, goes into the car. Through the dark window, she notices Andrea roll her eyes slightly, smiling amusedly at the normal "La Priestly" gesture.

The corner of her lips widens before Miranda can (or wants to) stop it. Feeling the eyes of her driver, she puts the mask back in place.

—Go. —orders, putting on her iconic sunglasses.

Andy spins around, heading for the nearest subway before the expected storm hits, but with the wind so strong and her eyes practically blind, she bumps into a man in a white suit.

—I'm so sorry, sir! —kneels down to pick up the umbrella, but when she makes eye contact, her brown orbs get lost in strangely familiar gray ones.

—It was my fault, Ragazza. —the man touches her hand.

A sharp, illuminating clap of thunder echoes through the air.

The ground shakes slightly.

Gusts of wind intensify as panicked New Yorkers rush toward the avenue; dogs bark fiercely and cars grind to a halt, alarmed.

Andy, frozen by the mutated sound, is lost in the man's gaze. On her mind, unrecognizable scenes unfold.

She sees herself receiving a Pulitzer Award, beaming but with a sadness in her eyes impossible to hide. Stunned, stares at the way she is kissing countless women who share some resemblance to Miranda Priestly. Scandalized, she witnesses herself smoking marijuana (my mother will fucking kill me!) in a seedy clandestine bar. Distraught, observes the growing pool of blood beneath her unconscious body amidst the rubble of a building, clearly in a war zone. Frightened, Andy watches her mouth screaming in anguish in front of a computer screen, throwing papers from her desk to the floor. Surprised, she notices an older Nigel and Miranda exchange glances, until the editor utters, "Do I know you?" (She doesn't know if the pain in her heart is hers or the memory. Possibly both). With tears in her eyes, she sees her older self kneeling, bawling over the abdomen of an equally distraught Miranda, and finally, Andy's heard herself shouting, "Yes, I swear!" before everything goes white.

Another flash of lightning snaps her out of her trance. The torrential rain has unleashed itself.

—Oh my God, I'm back!

Soaked to the bone, spins around, looking for Vinni.

—Miss! Miss! Come here before you get hit with something. —an annoyed officer yells. If he didn't notice the money in her clothes and briefcase, he'd think that girl was some crazy woman from downtown.

Andy jumping like a bunny with her arms rise, celebrates like she had won a gold medal.

—Miss! —the officer, unexpectedly, finds himself embraced by the drenched girl.

—This time I won't let her go. I swear!

Andy stars running like a bat out of hell down the street, ignoring the judgmental eyes.

—She's bat shit crazy. —the officer says, fascinated.

—Ah, young love!

The policeman turns, seeing a man in a white suit, barefoot. His gold teeth stand out even in the rain.

—Only in New York. —he murmurs, walking away from the other lunatic.

— - — - — - — - —

—What do you mean it's closed?!

—Miss, no one can enter the subway until Civil Protection gives us the go-ahead, and to be honest, with this downpour, I seriously doubt that will happen today.

The brunette fiercely shakes her head.

—Sir, the streets are at a standstill, no taxis are running and my only hope was the subway. I must get to the other side of the city.

The man scrutinizes the soaked brunette.

—Where are you going? —asks, intrigued. A bit of chisme (gossip) is good once in a while.

—I need to get to 73rd Street, on the Upper East Side. —the chubby employee gives her an incredulous look.

—You live there? You?! —he giver her a full-body signal. Her soaked clothes prevent him from discerning her social status, but he highly doubts this girl is from money. If she is, she wouldn't be standing in this torrential rain without at least a fucking umbrella.

—For the sake of your help, I will ignore your prejudice. And to answer to your question, no. But the woman i love! —Andy shouts, shaking the man, before he can contradict her— The love of my life and my future wife, does!

The man, stunned, stares at her, captivated.

—Either you are one crazy chick or you are telling the truth. —now he interrupts Andy— But even if I wanted to, I can’t help you.

—But why?! —Andy whines, bouncing on her toes.

—I can’t let you in, there’s no service. Unless …

—Unless?! Sir, please! —insists, placing her hands in supplication.

—God better give me brownies point for this. Little Tubsy!

—Boss. —a deep voice says from behind them.

"Little my boobs!" A dark-skinned man, nearly two meters tall and weighing less than 120 kilos, takes off his hat, clutching it in his hands.

—Take this lady to the Upper East Side and get our sandwiches, little guy.

—Yes, boss. —he disappears among the bodies on the downpour.

—He won't kill me, right? —she didn't survive suicides, bombings, twenty years and a fucking time travel only to be murdered by a big guy, even one who looks like the actor from The Green Mile.

The subway employee laughs uproariously.

—No way! That big fella wouldn't kill a mouse even if you paid him a hundred bucks!

Said man approaches on a small motorcycle with a sidecar attached to the side for the "passenger."

—Good luck, Sachs!

—How do you know my…? —turning around, the place was empty— Thats it! If I survive this excursion, I swear to go to therapy and see the chamanes. (shamans.)

—Let's go! —Tubby fella said, showing her a pink helmet with boat stickers.

—Here I come, my love. —Andy whispers, sitting uncomfortably with her legs tucked into her chest. It was impossible not to grimace as she put on the smelly helmet.

—Hold on tight, girl. Tubsy got you.

As the throttle widened, they sped off.

Andy's scream of terror and Tubsy's scream of jubilation were the last things the New Yorkers heard before the motorcycle, speeding recklessly, turned the corner.

— - — — — - — - —

—Ah! —Andy shriek, clinging to the cart like a cat refusing to take a bath.

The squeal of tires on the asphalt stops the fucking cycle.

—Safe and sound girl! —says a grinning Tubsy.

Not caring about her trembling legs, Andy throws herself face down on the sidewalk, kissing the small river beneath her.

—Good God, I promise I will never wish for death again.

Tubsy has the nerve to laugh.

—Good luck, Ragazza! —and before Andy can get up, the motorcycle accelerates to full speed, disappearing once more.

—You almost fucking killed us, Vinni! —yells in a mix of terror, euphoria and fury. Leaning against the leafy tree with yellow lights (surely a prank by the twins), tries to calm her heavily breathing.

The honk makes her head turn. A black shape holding an umbrella emerges from the car door.

—Andréa! —Miranda calls out, startled. Andy can't tell if it's because she arrived before her, the state of her clothes, the pink helmet with the little boats on it or her pallor and trembling, still from the adrenaline rush of the hellish ride.

—Miranda. —taking off her helmet, she stands up.

—Leave. —the editor closes the door, staring walking toward her.

Unexpectedly, cold, wet hands touch Miranda cheeks. Before she can ask, a dense, strong gust of wind knocks the umbrella from her grip.

—Oh God! —in seconds, she's just as soaked as the delighted journalist— An...

—Miranda. —Andy's eyes, brimming with tears, surveyed every part of the editor's face— My Miranda. —with utter calm, she placed her lips on the dragons forehead, nose and cheeks.

The editor clenched her fist in the center of Andrea's shirt, moving docilely at her command. Tremors shook her body, not from the wind or the water, but from the tenderness she had never been caressed before.

—I love you, Miranda Priestly.

After a journey through time, twenty years, eleven months and seven days; she finally kissed those delicate lips as she should have done from the very beginning.

Andy gently traced her tongue along Miranda's lip, asking for entry. The one and only time she had done it was impulsive and spurned, but now she have in her pockets all the seconds, minutes and hours she desired.

The brunette explored the editor's mouth with her own, archiving in her memory the moans, tastes, and breaths the dragon bestowed upon her.

Wanting to merge with her Andrea, Miranda deepens the kiss. Forbidden fruit has never brought her to such ecstasy. Only with the brunette would she melt on her lips, granting her first kiss in the rain, soaked to the bone.

—Mommy? —two almost identical voices, each with a distinct accent at the end, ask dumbfounded.

Breaking the kiss, the lovebirds separate, seeing the gaping twins along with a amazed (though he tries to hide it) Roy. It's not every day (or any day, for that matter) that you see Miranda Priestly under a tree in a passionate encounter with a former assistant in the rain.

—Andy! —the twins shout when they realize who is socking (ew!) their Mommy face.

Before any adult can grab or stop them, Caroline and Cassidy step out from under the umbrella, instantly getting drenched.

—Bobbseys!

—Misses!

—Rugrats!

If the rain left any dry spots, the journalist and editor's body instantly drenched them.

The twins, like little monkeys, clung to their Mommy and Andy's legs. They had missed the brunette terribly, as she always asked how they were feeling, listening without complaint to their silly ramblings and asking if they wanted her opinion or just to vent. Something neither of their parents, much less the household staff did.

Andy treated them fairly, and if for some reason she had to scold them (something that rarely happened), she always explained why, making them reflect on their decisions and always cuddling them afterward, if they desire.

—Let me see you, my babies! —Andy's voice turned urgent.

—Andréa? —Miranda and the girls looked at her, puzzled, as if Andréa truly couldn't wait another second.

Caring very little about the small river that flows through the sidewalk, Andy kneels down, bringing the two smiling twins in front of her.

Placing a hand on one of the little girls' rosy cheeks, Andy touch their faces with reverence and maternal love. The journalist etched their smiles into her memory, replacing those blue eyes devoid of darkness or coldness.

In their old life (as she would call it from now on), Caroline and Cassidy's eyes were always icy or empty. So deeply scarred by "what it means to be a Priestly" that before adolescence, they hid their hearts from everyone, including themselves, losing part of their secret twin language.

—Monkeys you have no idea how much I have missed you. —Andy says, her voice barely a whisper. Her tears are hidden by the wetness on her face, but nothing can conceal the heartbreak in her orbs.

—We missed you too. —Caroline begins, tears welling in her eyes.

—So much, Andy. —Cassidy finishes, unable to hold back her tears.

Without waiting another second, Andy cradles them in her arms, showering them with kisses and saltwater. With a strength she never though she posses, lifts the eight-year-old girls into her arms.

Can't bear to see them cry, especially since she's the reason. Andy bounces them up and down, making them laugh.

Over her dead body she will hurt them again.

—Andy! —they shout, along with a tearful Miranda and Roy with suspiciously moist eyes.

—Andréa, my Bobbseys aren't smoothies for you to blend.

—I don't know, Miranda, —says, bouncing even faster— they sound like one.

—We don't! —in unison they say. Andy cackling , gives them a final kiss on their cheeks.

—Andy, will you stay forever this time? —Cassidy asks, resting her head on her shoulder.

—Don't abandon us again. —Caroline whispers in her ear.

Andy swallows hard. From Miranda's gasp, she deduces she heard them too.

—Never again, my little dragons. Wherever you go, I will be there.

The twins search in brown orbs, assessing whether she's telling the truth. Without any barrier, Andy let them see her soul.

—Mommy. —both voices says.

—Yes, Bobbseys.

—Our family is now complete.

A white hand rests on the editor's lips. When they were toddlers, the editor used to tell them the story of Miriam, a poor girl who had no parents, but only a grandmother who cared, protected and encouraged her to be the best version of herself. Before going to the angels, Grandma Carina told her only granddaughter that when she found her partner, she should say aloud, "Our family is complete." That way, she thanked the deities for the red thread they had sacrificed for her.

The one who was once called Miriam knows that her Andréa would be the exception to all her rules. That brunette inspired her to be a better person, mother and (God willing) wife. The journalist never tried to change her, instead she always listened and respected her opinion, even when she didn't agree (as was often the case). She had the patience of a monk with all the Priestlys.

If Miranda is fire, Andréa is water. Her darling lover is that warm, fresh dew at dawn.

These months without Andréa have been some of the worst experiences she's ever had. Her world crumbled when Miranda watched that slender figure walk away from her in the Place de la Concorde.
Andréa didn't just abandon her; she robbed her heart too.

Only for her Bobbseys did she not fall apart, but it was hard, as that thread that bound her to her brunette wouldn't let her rest. It followed her everywhere, so much that the two times she kissed other lips, her subconscious accused her of betraying Andréa's memory.

But neither Miriam nor Miranda are fools. She will not let Andrea slip through her fingers, once again.

—Yes, Bobbseys. Our family is complete.

Andy doesn't know exactly what that phrase means, but whatever it is, she'll make it happen. The twins, radiating happiness, draw Miranda in, merging the two women with them, creating a perfect square.

A ray of sunshine falls upon that family.

Its done.

Slowly, the rain stops. Through the branches of the trees, the light appears once more, and with it, a colorful rainbow forms in that gray landscape.

Roy, wiping away his tears, watches the truly and last (he swears he'll go on his knees to see the Santo Niño [Holy Child] if it happens) family Priestly. Only one more little giant is missing.

The front door slams open and Patricia barks from the entrance of the residence.

—Patricia! —Cara shouts astound, as the Saint Bernard had never done that in her two years of life.

The puppy runs toward her family, but not before jumping into every puddle she encounters in her path.

—Patricia, you are getting wet. —Miranda tries to scold her, but it's impossible at this point. The twins laugh, amused, as the puppy takes flight, splashing them in the vast river.

—Patty! —the little animal, listening, stopped in front of Andy. If there had been any doubt before that Andy had only tamed dragons, now not a doubt of her dominance remained over the Priestlys.

The brunette gently placed the girls on the ground. Miranda instinctively takea their hands, since they were still out on the street.

Just as she had with the twins, Andy kneels reverently, stroking Patricia's face, covering her snout and ears with kisses.

A few days after the twins' sixteenth birthday, a speeding car ran a red light. If Patricia hadn't pushed Cassidy out of the way, she would have been hit. Sadly, the puppy died on the scene, as the armored pickup truck ran over her. The Priestly family never had another pet and the tribute Runway paid to Patricia was so beautiful that more than one person shed tears upon reading it.

"You saved one of my treasures, but I lost one of them in you. I will never forget the blessing you gave me, Patricia Priestly. Fly high, my little one."

Miranda wrote, along with a photograph of Patricia sitting on her lap.

Andy still remembers her daughters' sobs and spasms when she arrived at the funeral, after Miranda had left. She promised herself that if they ever met again in another life, the little animal would wish for nothing.

—Thank you, Patty.

The puppy, as well as the Priestlys, turn their heads in confusion, but even so, the puppy licks her cheek, resting her head on the journalist chest. Andy sobs into her fur, begging for forgiveness and promise her that in this life she will live longer than she can imagine as the brunette will be there to grant it all.

More calmly and with utmost care, she picks up Patricia's meager 150 pounds, as if she were a puppy. She bounces on her toes, making the little animal howl with joy. The twins, caught up in the excitement, jump for joy, while Miranda gives her a look so full of love that Romeo would fall short.

Roy and Clara tear up as they witness such a precious scene.

The Priestly family is at last complete.

—Caro, Cass, Patricia, shall we play? —three children, neighbors from across the street, arrive with water guns and balloons.

The river of water is still large, although it has stopped raining, the trees continue to drip water, making the air heated.

—Mommy, Andy, can we? —the twins ask, giving their best puppy-dog eyes. They've only gone outside to play once, and that was with their Andy too.

—Bobbseys…

Hearing their mother's sound of refusal, the twins lower their heads sadly.

—Miranda, don't worry. I have the solution! —Roy quickly wiping away his tears, rushes into the car. Not caring about getting arrested or fined, he blocks the street, sealing it off from the outside world (just like his Mexican brothers-in-law do). The other children's bodyguard seeing it, also close off the other end of the street.

—That's a way to keep them safe. —Andy says, amused, still with Patricia's in her arms.

—Kids! Grab your hoses, it's time to play! —the grumpy old man across the room, to the astonishment of the others, says. Perplexed, since they all remember him with green eyes, not gray, they join him, starting a water fight.

More children join in, soaking each other. The downhearted twins watch everything from the sidewalk.

"Remember Miriam," Miranda thinks, "besides, it's Friday." she reasons.

—Go on, Bobbseys, —she smiles at them— I will get your water guns in a minute.

The twins bounce like fireworks, shouting with joy. They hug their mothers, chasing after Patricia, who is already ahead of the fun.

—Miranda, here. —Cara says, breathing fast. She ran up to the third floor in record time to get the twins' water guns and balloons.

Roy arrives behind them, smiling.

—You must know I am a woman of few words, but I'm grateful that you're both still here. —Miranda says, her voice unwavering, yer her eyes moist. Cara and Roy nod, knowing that Miranda would rather wear something from Walmart than explicit thank them or give them a hug.

Andy, unable to contain herself (and doing it for both of them), puts them into her arms.

—Thank you for looking after my girls.

—My pleasure, Andy.

—Always, Andy.

—Roy, Cara, after my Bobbseys’ finished, go home. I don’t want to see you for the next 15 days. —they stare at her, speechless— Cara, I know you have your parents’ golden wedding anniversary coming up. Contact Emily; she will give you the tickets and hotel reservation in Mexico. Everything’s already paid for. And Roy, I know you have been saving up for your three little ones to go to Disneyland. Emily will also give you the reservations, hotel and flights so you and your family can go to Disneyland Miami, all paid for.

Disregarding Miranda's rule, they wrap her in their arms, thanking her profusely. For the editor, it might be a few dollars, but for them and their family, it's a blessing.

An Angel in Prada.

Mr. Fredys saves a somewhat uncomfortable Miranda by spraying Roy with the hose, which in turn splashes Cara. Like little children, they each grab a water pistol from the twins, starting another war.

—I love you. —Andréa says, looking at her as if she were the eighth wonder of the world. Miranda flush red— They call you all those names and don't know that beneath that armor is a precious woman. I know you have hurt people with your words, but I also know that you have said those words even worse to yourself. Whether you're the editor, the mother or the wife, you Miranda Priestly are more than enough.

Miranda shakes her head, unable to speak for fear of sobbing.

—Loving you is and will be always a privilege for me, —Andy takes her hands— I promise to love you through the good, ordinary and bad days. I will embrace your darkness and show it that light doesn't hurt. I will love your three treasures like my own blood and bones and they will never lack nor will they desire anything as long as my heart beats. Allow me to love you and I promise to never to let go of your hand, no matter if the world condemn us for it.

With tears streaming down her cheeks, Miranda runs her fingers through the damp hair, drawing her closer.

—Show me how to love Andréa and I promise I will love you so deeply that you will never doubt my devotion and passion. Be mine, Andréa Sachs.

Mouths meet like waves lapping on the sand. Andy lifts Miranda off the ground into her arms, the editor responds by wrapping her legs around Andy's waist, deepening the kiss. Neither of them hears the camera flash.

—Welcome to the new era.

— - — - — - — - — -

After hours of playing in the street, the twins got drenched than they ever did at the water park, as hoses, balloons and water guns weren't enough for them, they also raced wheelbarrows in the river.

Their Bobbseys' breath-holding ability is impressive.

"It was about time to buy new uniforms, anyway." Miranda thinks as she tossed the tattered clothes into the laundry basket.

While Miranda checked on the twins and Patricia in the bathroom, Andy prepared a hearty dinner. When Andréa offered to make Aztec chicken soup, Miranda tried not to show her confusion and doubts (unsuccessfully), since she remembered hearing Emily or Nigel said that the brunette could burn even the coffee water. But seeing her so confident in the kitchen, she realized they had lied.

It seems Andréa has known how to cook for over eighteen years.

Amid laughter and excited voices, the four recalled their favorite moments of the afternoon, sharing a joyful evening, the likes of which had not been seen in the residence for a long, long time. Patricia even ate a whole chicken breast that Andy had prepared especially for her. Miranda merely raised an eyebrow but said nothing, as once a year wouldn't hurt.

After loading the dishwasher, Miranda heads upstairs, where Andréa must be reading to her Bobbseys after they had used their best pleading and puppy eyes to make it happen. Upon arriving, she leans against the bedroom door, mesmerized by the voice changes the brunette uses to better characterize the characters.

Patricia and the Bobbseys are so captivated by Andréa's storytelling that they haven't noticed her.

—The End! —the audience applauds— Thank you, thank you. —she bows.

Andy spreads the blanket on Caroline's bed contrary to Cassidy's as she removes the comforter, folding it at her little girls feet in case of need. Their thermostats aren't anything but identical.

—Sleep well, Rugrats. —she place a soft kiss on each of their foreheads.

—Will you be here tomorrow? —Cass asks. Andy, would like to say yes but not wanting to impose her presence, starts shaking her head.

—She will be. —Miranda's voice leaves no room for doubt.

—Forever? —Caro confirms.

—Very soon, Bobbsey. —Miranda says, giving their babies a goodnight kiss as well.

—Rest well, Paty. —Patricia huffs in her bed between the twins.

They turn off the lights, leaving the door ajar.

Andy hasn't taken five steps before Miranda is pinning her against the wall.

—Mir—a passionate kiss interrupts her.

Andy intertwines her fingers in the white hair, uncontrollably begins to rub herself against the burning body.

—Make love to me, Andréa. —Brown orbs light up with desire.

Andy lowers her hands to the editors thighs, lifting her up. Miranda instinctively wraps her legs around the brunette.

Between kisses, furtive touches, and the occasional pause against the corners, they reach the bedroom.

—Miranda. —stops in front the bed.

—Andréa?

—Are you sure? Once I taste your body. You, your name and your daughters will be mine.

Not a threat. A promise.

—Andréa, I don—Miranda begins to question, but is interrupted by the serious, dominant and possessive brunette.

—My heart, soul and body are yours. My fingers will not touch another skin, my tongue will not taste another essence and my entrance will never be filled by anyone but you.

Miranda moans shamelessly. Her inner beast, thirsting to possess, tears her beloved's cotton t-shirt. However, before she can taste that pink mound, she is stopped by fingers on her white hair.

—Be my wife, Miranda Priestly. Say you will be mine to love, to possess, to take. —Andy's tongue stifles the older woman's exaltation— Marry me.

Now it's Miranda who halts the fiery assault.

—Andréa, you don't know what you're asking. You're too young to—interrupted, again.

—No. I don't need years to pass for me to understand that you are my soulmate. I love you without explanation, without reason and without any doubt in my heart.

—If you marry me, there's no divorce, —Miranda interrupts Andy, placing her hands possessively on her waist— not for this love. I will never let you go nor my daughters, as we Priestly possess without reason. And Andréa, I assure you there will be days when you will want to leave me.

—There won't be. Because only I, Andrea Priestly, will know how to tame you like no human being ever could. I will break you, but I will rebuild you in equal parts. Because this, —one palm touches her breast, the other her wet entrance— have always belonged to me. Your ecstasy, orgasms and moans are mine from now on.

—Yes! —she moans, rubbing herself shamelessly against the brunette's fingers. She'd never been so close to climax and she hadn't even been penetrated yet.

—Yes, what? Use your words, Miranda.

—I will marry you, Andréa Priestly. Because as this belongs to you, —she plunges the brunettes fingers into her cavity— this, —slim, large fingers goes into Andréa's soaked boxers— from now on is mine to drown. Know this Andréa, every night will be perfect for making love to you. I will make you seek and beg for my warmth, until death do us apart.

Andy crashes her lips against Miranda's thirsty ones, as they both begin the swaying of their hips, initiating the ritual.

—Mine! —Andy opens Miranda's shirt, buttons flying across the room.

—My Andréa. —Miranda forcefully pulls down her beloved's boxers. Andy rips off her dragon's silk thong.

Naked bodies fall onto the bed. A battle for dominance and conquest ensues, unsurprisingly the brunette is the one who wins, placing a stunning Miranda beneath her sweaty body. She makes a mental note to hit the gym, as the journalist will need the stamina when she possesses the love of her life with her strap-on.

"I'll be damn" Miranda thinks burning inside. She has never allowed anyone to dominate her body before. Once again this possessive brunette is the exception.

—Gird your loins my love as you will be horse by the time I finish with you. —declares, her brown orbs blazing— You have denied me your essence far too long, baby.

Miranda's ego, still unyielding, challenges her.

—Can you? They don't call me a dragon just because of my temper.

Andy growls green with jealousy. She licking and biting those lips in retribution. Andy will erase, destroy and replace all the hands, lips and fluids that ever possessed her beloved.

—They weren't me, —answer without worry, still marks the pale neck with hickeys— and Miranda?

—Yes? —dark blue eyes flash with apprehension, for she knows that this possessive woman will ruin her for anyone else. Her body will not be just hers anymore as Andréa Priestly is now her one and only mistress.

—Your job is to say my name, more, hard, there and stop. Can you do that?

Without waiting for a answer, Andy plunges into those pale thighs. Mercilessly sucks on that pink pearl, thrusting three fingers into the river of moisture, pumping rhythmically.

The conquest has begun.

—Andréa! —Miranda arches her back.

Andréa is touching that rough wall that makes her feel ecstasy faster than she can say Prada. She places her hands on the brunette's head, rubbing her intimacy against her partner's exquisite tongue.

—God, there!

Strick one.

—Miranda. —Andy stops her feast on that pink sugar lips.

—Almost there! —groan, chasing the thrusts of Andréa fingers with her hips. Andy stops her with her right arm.

—Whose the owner of this perfect pussy?

Miranda is grateful that her cheeks are flushed from the exertion. She's never been spoken to so vulgarly before, and from the spasms in her vaginal walls, she can see that Andréa has realized she's enjoyed it.

—You! —moans as she feels firm but frequent thrusts. Her finger begin to tugging her nipples.

—My. Name. —the brunette teeth bite on her clitoris, delivering the final thrust to her g-spot, making her come. Hard.

—Andréa Priestly!

— — — — — — — — — —

—No more, darling. —says a sweaty Miranda, stopping the tongue licking between her legs. She's lost count of how many orgasms Andréa has given her.

"I won't challenge her anymore" tries to promise herself, but laughs at the lied. If that's the beast her future wife becomes when challenged, she doesn't want to know what happens when she's jealous. Her tamer will have a long, exquisite task ahead of her.

—I love you. —Andy says with her hair disheveled, still licking her lips, savoring Miranda's essence.

—I love you more, darling. —thirsty she inserts her tongue, reveling in the mingled taste of their come. Andréa hasn't been the only one who has conquest, as her scratches, bites, and hickeys on the brunette's body attest to her triumph.

As they catch their breath, Miranda rests her head on her woman's chest and with her foot caresses Andy's well-formed calf, while the brunette plays with her tousled hair.

—Andréa, will you tell me the story.

Against her will, Andy's body tenses. Miranda lifts her head from her chest, watching her, waiting.

—Nothing escapes your notice, my love. But I'm afraid you will think I'm crazy. —shine orbs watch her fearfully

—Andréa, I would help you bury a body. —affirms serious as a tomb— Tell me darling.

Andy sighs, nodding. Sitting back against the headboard, she place Miranda on her lap, stroking her back.

—Do you trust me? —Miranda asks, feeling how fast her partner's heart is beating. The brunette nods.

—Tell me. —Andy does.

In the darkness of the room, she tells Miranda the story of the past life, the transmissions, the twins, a few (quick) adventures, the reunion, the farewell, Vinni and the hellish journey with "Tubsy".

Throughout the entire story, Miranda never stopped caressing her skin, occasionally interrupting with a possessive, nostalgic or painful kiss. Only twice did she ask her to stop talking about her near-death experiences, as the mere thought of that left her breathless.

—I'm sorry, darling. —Miranda said, losing the fight against the flood of tears in her blue eyes.

—Do you believe me? —Andy insists, kissing away her tears.

—I do. No one can create such a story without being able to hide their involuntary reactions.

They remained in a comfortable silence, each processing the story.

—My love.

—Yes, darling.

Miranda presses her lips to Andréa's shoulder, encouraging her, as her muscles tense once again.

—We have to go to Seattle on Monday.

—Why?

—A doctor name Meredith Gray and her fiancée, Addison Montgomery, are developing a cure to detect Parkinson's disease in DNA before it develops. Amelia Shepherd, a brilliant neurologist, is also a co-author of the project.

Miranda sees in those orbs the struggle between despair and hope. She has no doubt that Andréa will respect her decision, but if things were reversed, she wouldn't have even asked and would have taken Andréa there even if she had to be tied up like a pig.

—Okay. We will go and take the Bobbseys with us. Our first vacation together.

The tension in both the air and Andy's body evaporates. Andréa kiss the leaving light out of her lips, but before the heat escalates further, Miranda stops them as its quite late, and her body is not use to this burning activity, yet.

—Andréa, lets sleep. Tomorrow the Bobbseys will want pancakes and will wake us up at dawn.

Nodding, Andy gets up to grab a nightgown, handing another to a puzzled Miranda.

—Just in case they come in before we wake up or need to. I don't want to traumatize our daughters. —she shrugs, dismissing it as unimportant.

"Our daughters." Miranda feels her thousands of butterfly in her stomach

—I love you Andréa Priestly.

Andy smiles, amused.

—Oh, the fearsome dragon. —teases with her response being a pillow to the face.

—Shut up.

—You asked for it, Priestly. —Andy pounces, kissing her face and neck, discovering that Miranda is ticklish.

—Andréa! —the posh lady cackles, trying to stop the attack— Stop!

Andy, laughing, does so. It's a miracle the twins didn't wake up with all the noise. Once dressed, they snuggle up.

—Goodnight, my love —Andy squeeze her little spoon.

—Goodnight, darling.

They sleep soundly for hours. It's the best sleep the couple has had in years until a little bundle slips between them.

—Baby? —the brunette sleepy asks, also pulling her legs up, since Patricia has lain down at the foot of the bed.

—Mami, sleep me here. —Cass says, falling asleep as soon as she touches the pillow.

Andy at once opens her eyes, blinking rapidly, trying to hold back happy tears. The brunette pulls her little dragon closer, snuggling even tighter.

Not even ten minutes pass before another bundle joins them.

—Caro?

—Mami, here me sleep. —like her twin, she is already fast asleep.

Andy can't help but let out a choked sob.

—Andréa.

The brunette sees blueish wet eyes.

—Our family is complete.

"I'll find out what it means tomorrow," she promises herself. Andy sits up, pressing her lips to the foreheads of their daughters and wife.

—I love you.

Se lies down, intertwining her fingers with Miranda's. The twins nestled between both bodies.

Finally, her dream has come true.

— - — - —- — — — —

Manhattan, New York.

June, 2007

—Caroline and Cassidy Priestly, apologize. Now. —before the twins could open their mouths to argue, she continue— You may be Priestlys, but you're also Sachs here —palm press into her chest— Forgiveness isn't for cowards, it's for the brave.

The recent birthday girls turned to look at their Mommy, but she gave them a stern look.

"No, thank you." the nine-year-olds thought.

—I'm sorry Cass, for putting blue dye in your shampoo. —said the one with green hair.

—Sorry Caro, for putting green dye in yours. —finished the blue-haired one.

Andy bit her lip, trying to hold back a laugh. Miranda sighed, shaking the dye harder than necessary to remove the fantasy colors from her Bobbseys.

—And?

The twins exhale in exasperation, no longer resisting the shirt of "unconditional love" that binds them.

—We won't call each other stupid, dumb or idiot again —their voices like one choir, repeating the familiar phrase.

—Very well. Do you want a—the twins fly towards her before finish the question.

It's the second time their Andy has scolded them, and it's still not a pleasant experience. Actually, its worse than when their father scolds them (when, surprisingly, that happens). Their Mami never withdraws her affection after a reprimand, although if they don't want it, she respects their space without taking it personally.

—Come on, Bobbseys.

Andy helps them remove the "reconciliation, sisterhood and forgiveness" shirt. Mia Sachs, Andy's mother, cut and sewed the shirt herself for her children whenever they fought, whether as kids or adults. The Sachs matriarch never allowed them to "maybe later" to resolve their misunderstandings.

Andy, wielding this powerful weapon, made her own shirt, much to the twins' horror and Miranda's amusement.

—Yes, Mommy. —the twins say, holding hands as they enter the bathroom. Seconds later, the shower runs.

Miranda surprises Andy by sitting her on top of the dresser of her (their) T-shirts. Miranda may have put a face when she saw them, but every night she takes one of them as her pajamas, without once glancing at her silk ones.

—I love you, Andréa Priestly —she says, pressing her lips to plumpness ones.

—Soon, my love. Very soon. —unconsciously glances down at her engagement ring.

The sound of bottles falling interrupts the moment.

—It was her fault! —their troublemaker mini dragons shouts. Miranda grunts, resting her head on her fiancée's neck.

—Your daughters are waiting for you.

—Hey! Why is it that when they do something naughty or say something bad, it's always my fault? —points at her chest, feigning indignation.

—Because they're Sachs-Priestly, after all.

—Ha.Ha.Ha.

—Moms! —Caro shouts impatiently.

—We are ready! —Cass chimes in.

—Do you have to shout? Am I reaching for t—

—Come in! —Andy ignores the reproachful look.

—I don't even know why I bother.

—Took you long enough. —taking Miranda's hand, they go into the bathroom with their small, mischievous dragons.

Another ordinary day at the Priestly house.

— — — — —

Seattle, Mercy Grace.

December, 2008

—Mrs. and Mrs. Priestly, please come with me. —they follow the nurse into the familiar office.

The newlyweds greet the medical team that has been battling Miranda's cells. When the doctors first saw the Queen of Fashion, they honestly thought it was a joke by Amelia (since Andy was the one who contacted the wicked neurosurgeon) when she told them that, the Titan of the fashion industry accepted to be their guinea pig.

After a long and detailed conversation, both parties signed numerous contracts, clauses and consent forms, initiating the project that would revolutionize the medical industry.

—Let's get straight to the point, shall we? —Addison says— Miranda, your cells came back clear. Not a trace of Parkinson's is detect.

The tension in the air dissipates.

—Clean. —Miranda whispers, pleased.

—Clean, my love! —Andy says with tears falling down her cheeks. She kiss her wife's lips in celebration.

—I still don't know how you knew, but I'm certainly, I will find out someday. —Amelia says with a smile, taking a sip from her glass of "wine" (it's grape juice).

—Intuition. —Miranda replies to the young neurologist.

Meredith and Amelia can't help but snort in mockery.

—Do you really want to know? —the brunette ignores her wife's laser pointers— A trip back in time. —says seriously.

Amelia and Meredith finally burst into laughter. Addison just shakes her head.

—Guess, we will never know —the redhead clinks her glasses with her companions, closing the ambiguous topic.

—Nope. —Andy laughs, sharing a knowing look with Miranda.

—By the way, Andy. —Addison puts her cup down, turning on the machine— Do you want me to check you out?

—Me? —points at herself in bewilderment.

—Addison. —Miranda orders, in that way only Priestly knows how to ask when it comes to her treasures.

—Addie, I told you they didn't know! —Meredith chides her.

—Oh, this is going to be epic! Wait! —Amelia rushes to the desk for the already-prepared camera. Once it's on, like a cameraman on a fifties film, she gives a thumbs-up signal.

—Someone better talk at once. —demands, ready to cut heads.

—Guys? —Andy urges them, frightened for their well being. Her dragon is about to explode.

Addison, confused, still thinking the marriage is pulling her leg, deescalating the tension.

—Your pregnancy, of course.

Andy starts smiling, then laughing so hard as if she's just heard the best joke of the century, while Miranda snorts. Andréa will never, ever cheat on Miranda. The three doctors stare at them as if they've grown extra heads; even Amelia takes her eye away from the lens.

—God my stomach hurts. Good joke, guys! —Andy still has the nerve to applaud them.

Somewhat piss of, Addison connects the laptop to the office screen, zooming in as much as possible on a specific line.

"Pregnancy: Positive"

—Bloody hell. —Miranda says, her mouth open jar, with wide eyes.

Andy mimics a fish, her eye sockets bouncing like ping-pong balls between the shocking news and her wife.

—And that's not all! —Amelia exclaims excitedly. She moves closer, not wanting to miss a single second of this epic moment. If she ever ends up homeless, this video will save her ass from misery.

—Is not? —they ask frightened in unison.

—Nope. —Medusa chuckles softly. She's holding herself back, and only because her fiancée asked her to. It's a miracle Amelia is still alive after poking the dragon and her mate so much.

—Triplets. —Addison reveals slowly— You are having triplets.

—Congratulations! —Meredith and Amelia shout, pulling confetti out of who-knows-where.

The thud of a body hitting the floor, Andy's shocked scream, Amelia's laughter, Addison's worried exclamation and Meredith's gasp will be remembered for years to come, even at the wedding of the newest Priestlys in later years.

It turns out Vinni's gift was magic fingers for when the brunette longed for her dragon's children. But the slightly tipsy Italian emptied more than one seed.

Upsy-daysi.

— - — - — - — - — - —

Epilogue

Milan, Italy.

January 1, 2026

—My love, do you hear that?

—Hear what?

—Exactly. Silence.

The brunette lets out a little laugh at Miranda's apparent "offense." Although her wife doesn't want to admit it, she's pleased with this quiet moment.

—Don't get me wrong. I adore our children, grandchildren, and the whole family, but God, they are noisy and mischievous.

—Darling, that's your genes.

Andy smiles, without a trace of regret. Their five offspring share many of the brunettes quirks, more than their dragon's; Miranda is incredibly grateful for this, as her treasures possess the character and decisiveness of a Priestly, but the kindness, forgiveness and remorse of a Sachs.

While Caroline and Cassidy are the ones who (almost) perfectly match both, their triplets, Cameron, Chase and Connor may physically resemble their Mami, but in temperament they inherited Miranda's, combined with Andy's sensitivity and generosity; the firm reason why the twins are very protective of their little brothers.

Because of their heterochromatic eyes, one brown and one blue, they were envied from childhood, which led to them being bullied, but only during their first year. When the gossip reached Caroline and Cassidy ears, all hell broke loose at Dalton Academy, bringing the school's reputation to the forefront. With rude pranks, illegal tapes and questionable methods, the teenagers took revenge on the headmaster and the football coach, since the two portly white men hated the feminism the Priestly marriage represented.

In less than a week, the headmaster and the football coach resigned, hoping to escape the consequences, but they were sued for everything down to their underwear. As for the spoiled, bullying juniors, some drops of diarrhea syrup in their drinks, a food fight at school (they were blame), and a few "accidental" ball tosses at recess were all it took to set the record straight.

The three-week suspension they received was perfect timing, as their mothers (after a long and drawn-out talk about violence) just happened to have to travel to Miami, taking the twins and the triplets with them. They spent a week at Disney World while they considered which new school they should all attend.

Dalton Academy went bankrupt after learning of other bullying cases, closing its doors in less than two weeks. Months later, the Addams family bought it, transforming it into Evermore Academy. Morticia, Gomez and Weems were very persuasive, resulting in the Priestly family give it a chance. All five graduated with honors before heading off to college.

Time marches on, and with it, the little hatchling grew into vigorous dragons.

Now the young triplets are in their first year of college. Cameron immersed himself in the fashion industry, following in his Mother's footsteps in editing, as he was the one who dressed the three of them in striking combinations of colors and fabrics from a young age. Chase, on the other hand, enrolled at Julliard to study music; as the most sensitive of the triplets, he inherited his Mami's gift for writing, composing unimaginable melodies from a young age. And the smallest of the three in stature but never in temperament, Connor developed both of his mothers' talents, creating imaginary worlds and bringing them to life with his ink. He is studying to be an author at New York University, and in his free time, he is an anonymous but celebrated writer for the Holy Library of Alexandria, AO3.

Meanwhile, the 28-year-old redheaded twins have become respected women in their professional fields and already, have started their own families.

Cassidy, "the faithful dragon" became a brilliant neurologist (Amelia was her mentor, after all) and married Lori Danlor, a renowned engineer who, like Cassidy, earned her own merits despite her influential mothers (Kara and Lena Danlor) in her field. Last year, Lori gave birth to red-haired twins, the adorable Luca and Luke.

Andy still teases Miranda when she reminds her that the "C"s in the Priestly name are a thing of the past, at least in her first grandchildren. Miranda cuts the joke short by emphasizing that her red-haired heritage has survived.

Andy-1. Miranda-1.

Caroline, on the other hand, became an acclaimed lawyer specializing in domestic violence. She has only lost one case in her short career, earning her the nickname "the dragon of justice"; but with the "ice princess" Alexandra Cabot-Benson as her mentor, her astute arguments were to be expected. Fifteen months ago, before her sister-in-law gave birth, she married Luis Cid, a trans man and UNICEF ambassador who loves and adores Caroline. For now, they only have two cats and if they ever want children, they will adopt, as they want to give a child a chance.

—Darling, please don't get wet.

Miranda pulls Andy from her thoughts. The slight tide almost gets her.

—Are you all right?

—Yes, my love. It's just that —she looks around, appreciating the paradise she visited twenty years ago— This place hasn't changed that much.

Even though the boozy shop isn't there, it's the same replica.

The Priestly clan has come to spend New Year's in Milan, at their small (enormous) residence facing the lake. Andy still can't believe her neighbors are Donatella and Valentino, but what can she say when she's a Priestly herself.

—Maybe for you Andréa, but for Pepe is his favorite playground.

Pepe is one of the two puppies (Paco, the other one belonging to their grandchildren) that Patricia had. The Saint Bernard passed away five years ago, breaking the breed record for longevity. Although it's not surprising, given the care, affection and pampering she received from the Priestlys, it was almost certain the little dog would live past fourteen years.

The brunette kept her promise to their furry treasure.

They walk along the shore in a comforting silence, with the kind of complicity only a marriage of twenty years can achieve.

—It can be! —Its been years since she contemplates that silhouette.

Miranda stops, noticing the sudden tension in her wife's body.

—Andréa? —Miranda asks, a little stiff as she sees the silhouette of a man walking toward them with a slow but determined stride.

—Andrea Elizabeth Priestly! —the man says with an accent— I've been waiting for you, Ragazza!

Andy, pulling away from Miranda, runs with a speed she didn't think possible, as her body isn't so young anymore.

—Vinni! —she sobs with joy, squeezing him hard into her arms.

—It's so good to see you, Andy. —he says, giving her a loud kiss on the cheek— Will you introduce me?

—My love, —Andy happily takes Miranda's hand— I'd like you to meet Vinni. Vinni, the love of my life. My wife, Miranda.

Vinni bows, gently taking the lady's palm.

—It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Mrs. Priestly.

"So this is the godfather," it was time to put a face to the man who changed the course of her life.

—I rarely say these words, but the pleasure is all mine, Vincenzo. And its Miranda for the friends.

Vinni smiles, his grey eyes conspiring, Andy nods, allowing it. The Italian pulls the former editor into his arms, holding her in a chaste but affectionate embrace.

As they separate, he notices that the couples hands instinctively seek each other out. Their bodies pressed together, fitting like a perfect puzzle.

They silently gaze at one another.

Vinni joyfully sees how far removed the broken woman with eyes riddled with scars and trauma is; in her place is a smiling brunette with a few gray hairs, but with the most peaceful eyes he has seen in a long time. The kind that only a happy, fulfill life can bestow.

—Your dream come true, eh. You did it!

Andy, with a lump in her throat, nods.

—We did. —Miranda replies.

—Tell Uncle Vinni how this story unfolds.

The three sit around a bonfire that Andy and Vinni built. They begin by recounting their encounter, during which Andy playfully punched Vinni for the hellish ride; they describe the healing process, the babies (Miranda chiding him for almost ruining her reputation because of the "little sleep I did"), the twins' and Patricia's jealousy (it got to the point where they set alarms to hug the brunette), their small ceremony (420 guests and Patricia); the christening of the triplets (her five children and dog ended up in the pool with Anna Wintour and Donatella Versace); their career achievements and published books (Andy, after being named an EIC in The New York Times, published two series that brought her international fame: The Redheads' Shannigans and The Misunderstood Queen and Her female Knight). Miranda recounted how she learned to balance Runway and her retirement six years ago, leaving Nigel in her place, Emily in Nigel's, and her empire in the best hands. She also smoothed things over with near-enemies, which is why she's sometimes consulted by other magazines (Miranda and Anna meet every Thursday to play poker, believe it or not!).

For hours they lose themselves in anecdotes, the challenges of their marriage, the hard work of raising five children and the peaceful times.

Vinni is the first one to notices the sky beginning to clear; dawn is almost here.

—In short, a good life, huh? —the Italian says, getting up.

—The best. —Andy stands, helping her wife up.

—Thank you, Vincenzo —Miranda presses her lips to his cheek, saying goodbye.

The man, red-faced with embarrass, just laughs, scratching his head.

—Before I go, I've been wanting to give you this for a while.

The couple stares in amazement at the old photograph. It's from the afternoon of their reunion, where Andy is carrying Miranda, who has her legs wrapped around Andy's waist. They are exchanging kisses, and behind them, the twins are jumping with Patricia, celebrating their relationship.

Below, in a familiar handwriting, though Miranda can't quite place where she saw it, it says:

"The one and right Priestly family."

—I knew it! —Andy says, playfully punching her arm and giving her a tight hug. She can't help but sob as she says goodbye to her dear friend. Vinni squeezes her tighter.

—Thank you. —Miranda says, pulling her sensitive wife into her arms.

The sun's rays begin to peek through.

—Ragazza, Miranda, it's been a pleasure. We will see each other again but not in many years.

Andy, still tearful, and Miranda, her eyes suspiciously moist, smile at the quick sneak peek.

Vinni walks toward the water, stopping before touching it.

—Miriam —exclamations of surprise echoed through the desert paradise— Carina would give me a good spanking if I didn't tell you that she's proud of the person you have become and couldn't have chosen a better granddaughter/daughter-in-law than the brunette for you. Kisses and hugs from Nonna (Grandma). Arrivederci! (Goodbye)

The lightning bolt envelops Vinni, vanishing him from view.

For the first time in her life, Miranda is stunned.

—Great trick, huh? —Andy breaks the silence. Miranda nods.

Their cell phone alarms blare. Time to head home with the "kids" (even though they already have children, beards and hair-ass) to make breakfast.

—My love. —Andy extends her hand.

Their engagement ring and wedding band still gleam despite the years that have passed.

—My Andréa.

The wives walk hand in hand, the sun's rays illuminating their forms.

Time waits for no one. Seconds don't come back, but decisions do. A wise person once said, "The past can hurt, but you can learn from it or hide on it." Forgiveness is the most far you can get to turn back time; use it wisely and appropriate.

It's cowardly not to forgive, but brave to admit a mistake.

Don't forget, tomorrow is not promise.

Are you ready to take control of your destiny? I am.

And you?

The End.