Ice Breakers VIII/?
Title: Ice Breakers, Part Eight/?
Genre: The Devil Wears Prada, Movie
Pairing: Miranda/Andy
Disclaimer: all recognizable characters are owned by 20th Century Fox, even the ones that just seem like bastard offspring from said motion-picture are probably owned by not-me… I’m creating very few characters for this story.
Summery: Miranda has had a few nasty break-ups in her life. This is the story of a couple of them and their fallout.
When Clara knocked gently at the door to Miranda’s bedroom, both women on the bed were broken out of the spell the movie had seduced them into. Glancing up from the laptop’s wide screen they watched as another tray laden with delicious-smelling food was brought towards the editor. As Miranda paused the movie and tried to pull herself up a bit more on the bed, she groaned.
“Eating in a bed,” Miranda muttered unhappily, noticing as the younger woman glanced at her watch, “I think the last time I ate in a bed was when I had the twins.”
Clara began clearing away the other tray with Miranda’s work things so she could eat. The older woman, however, was too focused on how intently Andrea was checking the contents of her purse and slipping her shoes back on as she eyed the door.
“I’d better go, my break is up.” The young woman sighed, sounding a little unhappy about it herself. “I have to get back to the paper for a meeting, Grayson wants to talk to me about my hours…” Andrea trailed off, already lost in thought apparently.
“When should I expect you tomorrow?” Miranda asked as evenly as she could, despite the slight worry she felt coiling in the pit of her stomach. Andrea looked at her and grimaced.
“Actually,” The brunette began, “I can’t come tomorrow. I’m set up to do a few interviews out in Brooklyn on the youth art and culture scene that’s developing out there. It’s kind of an all-day event - I even have to take a photographer out with me.” Miranda’s stomach tightened again and she started thinking.
“You’ll be tired, no doubt,” She began, “But I’m sure the girls would love to see you. They’ll probably feel I was harming them further, keeping you here when they were unable to see you…” The younger woman cocked her head to the side, looking doubtful. “Come for dinner. I’ll have Roy meet you wherever you wish, just give him a call when you need picking up.” Andrea opened her mouth to protest, but never got the chance.
“After the haranguing I got en-stereo last night on my ‘keeping you from them’, I am afraid I must insist. The girls want to see you, Andrea… besides,” Miranda groaned as she tried to adjust her position. The young woman quickly wrapped an arm around her lower back and helped her move. Noticing how close they were to one another, as their eyes locked, Miranda’s voice lowered as she went on, “They need someone who can interact with them, make them smile a again. I’m no fun to them, stuck up here.” She noticed a small smile grace Andrea lips as she shook her head.
“Fine.” She relented quietly. “I’ll spend the evening with the Priestly family.” Andrea slowly drew her arm back towards herself but made no sudden move to get up. “It might be nice to get to spend some time with them again. As much as my roommates are childish, there’s just something about getting to be around actual children.” The young woman laughed, shaking her head. Miranda cleared her throat.
“Yes, well.” Miranda suddenly found herself feeling oddly saddened by this turn of events. She could see it already in her head, what tomorrow night might be like: Andrea downstairs laughing and joking with her daughters, who seemed to idolize the girl, enjoying their dinner at an actual table - - and Miranda stuck up in her room all the while. She sighed and glanced at the tray of food, no longer really hungry.
“Enjoy the movie,” Andrea said quickly, throwing the strap of her bag over her shoulder, reading to go, “I want to hear what you think of it tomorrow.”
“I’ll just save it, then.” Miranda offered, “We can finish it while the girls are doing their homework - before the book arrives.”
She watched as Andrea’s smile became almost achingly wide on her still somewhat tired looking features. “Okay,” Andy said quietly, backing out the door. “Tomorrow.”
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow would not be like before, Miranda reminded herself as she watched Andrea walk back out of her house again. Tomorrow, if anything, would be full or memories of what before was like and now could never really be again. Back, prior to everything becoming, well… whatever it had evolved into. Even Miranda wasn’t sure how it all had ended up this way. Before Andrea leaving, before the fight, before her relationship with Ian; when they were all a little bit happier than they were now, before whatever delicate happiness they’d had was broken.
Miranda stared at the clock for a long moment, calculating how long it was still before her children returned home, her lunch forgotten. Already she missed Andrea.
But perhaps Miranda had been wrong about how the next night would have gone. As the older woman upstairs slowly and achingly pried herself to the edge of her bed, she listened as noises from the floors below drifted up to her room. As she reached for her cane - a hideous, industrial, practical looking thing - Miranda steadied herself and swallowed. She tried to decipher one sound in particular from the din that wafted through her slightly ajar door and sent a small prayer to the gods of Vicodin as she stood up. Clenching her teeth a bit, Miranda made her way slowly from her bed to the banister.
She could hear music and laughter and voices but she could not tell any particulars about any of them individually; what song was playing, who was speaking, what they were saying… She had no idea what her girls were up to, but she wanted to find out. Holding the railing in a death-grip and her cane in the other, Miranda began making the tedious journey down the rest of the stairs.
I don’t know what they’re thinking, Miranda grumbled to herself, They know Andrea is supposed to be by soon - you would think they would be on their best behavior, happy to see her, the way they were angry with me after we returned from the hospital…
As Miranda made it to the second floor, the editor stopped to listen. The girls weren’t in their rooms. As she continued on down the stairs, she realized that the music was coming from the kitchen. The music that was slightly blaring was the Beatles, and as she reached the last stairs into the entryway Miranda realized the voices weren’t speaking but singing along… and rather gracelessly at that. Walking through the corridor towards the kitchen, Miranda could see her daughters at the stove.
Cassidy was stirring a large pot of something; Caroline next to her was watching one only slightly smaller. Both were grinning so widely Miranda was actually taken aback by it - shaking their heads in time to the music and singing along in a way that was obviously more for entertainment than accuracy. Miranda paused a few feet from the doorway and watched, a little mesmerized. What has gotten into them, Miranda wondered. But then as her eyes roved over the remains on the cutting board, the boxes of ingredients on the counter-top, and the refrigerator door open, suddenly Miranda remembered that Andrea was coming by and did not want the young woman to be greeted by a mess. She opened her mouth to speak when the fridge door closed itself.
Or, more accurately, Andrea closed it.
Dressed in a very flattering pair of jeans and a black peasant blouse, her perfect brown hair tied back in a simple bun, the young reporter was singing and moving right along with her daughters. As Andrea approached the stove, container in hand, she grinned as she added something to the skillet which she soon began flipping the contents of - much to the wonder and admiration of the twins. Miranda’s mouth began to water.
The girls just kept right on singing and dancing in place near the stove right up until the song came to a close. Miranda wondered, as she began making her way towards the door again, if her kitchen had ever beheld anything such as this. As the bright lights of the kitchen revealed Miranda’s approach, all eyes fixed on her.
“Mom!” Caroline called out happily; Cassidy pressed the pause on the iPod stereo as the next song had already started. “Andy’s teaching us how to make dinner! You want some?” Miranda looked to Andrea, somewhat surprised by this news, but instead found Andrea looking more than a little unhappy.
“What do you think you’re doing?” The young woman accused, wiping her hands hastily on a dish-towel and making her way around the island.
“I live here, Andrea, as you might remember,” Miranda eased herself down into one of the stools on the opposite side of the counter. “How could I in good conscience not come investigate what was, I was sure, a band of circus performers raiding my house.” Andrea’s mask of inpatients broke briefly into a small smile.
“Miranda, do you have any idea how long it’s going to take you to get back into bed?” The girl warned. Miranda paused, she’d not thought of that earlier. Shrugging one shoulder, she waved this off, to which Andrea could merely shake her bangs into her eyes. She was obviously trying to hold in a laugh. “Going a little stir-crazy up there, huh?” Andrea ventured.
Miranda shot the girl a look. “More than slightly.” She grumbled under her breath. Miranda glanced over at her girls, both of whom were now looking intently into their pots, pretending to ignore the grown-ups… they were obviously listening to every syllable absorbedly.
“Don’t worry,” Andrea drawled, “I can order you something for Roy to pick up - Clara left me a list of suggestions.” Miranda shook her head.
“What are you making?” she asked calmly. The girls’ eyes shot up, looking hopeful.
“Spaghetti.” Andrea answered, and Miranda could hear in the single word that the girl was smiling so widely it was effecting her tone of speech, “Grilled pesto chicken, garlic bread and spaghetti with a tomato-basil sauce.” Miranda raised her eyes to Andrea’s before lifting an eyebrow. Andrea just shrugged. “I can’t cook much, but this got me through a lot of late-night hunger pains in college.”
“Before you met the Cook, no doubt.” Miranda knew her tone held a disapproving edge, and she didn’t care. That boy had not been fair to Andrea, on many counts. Now it was Andrea who shot her a look. “Fine,” Miranda conceded, looking back at her girls, “I’ll join you. But no garlic bread, thank you.” The girls beamed and smiled at one another.
“Alright,” Andrea groaned, not sounding happy, more annoyed than anything. “Girls? Go get the dishes we set out from the dining room and bring them in here? I don’t want your mom getting up again unless she has to.” The girls ran off to do so and Andrea went back to working at the stove. She would not look at Miranda.
“What?”
“Nothing.” Andrea said briskly.
“What, Andrea?” Miranda insisted, hating that she must drag words out of the girl now, ever since… well. The younger woman just shrugged her shoulders and began turning off the burners.
“It would have been a lot easier for us to come to you,” Andrea said slowly, finally looking up before moving to drain the pasta in the sink. “Do you have any idea how long it’s going to take you to get back up those stairs? Without hurting yourself further?”
Miranda scoffed. “Please,” She muttered, “Like you three even remembered that I was trapped up there.” She dismissed a little bitterly. “You didn’t even see fit to come upstairs to tell me you’d arrived.” Andrea just chuckled as she came back to the stove, pouring the spaghetti into the sauce-pot.
“I did come to check on you,” she laughed, “You were dead asleep.”
Miranda froze.
“Yeah,” Andrea laughed again, “You looked pretty gone. Drooling and everything.”
“I do not drool.” Miranda insisted suddenly, praying it was true.
Andrea just shrugged, a smirk playing across her lips, “Don’t worry Miranda, I know you’re pretty heavily drugged during different intervals in the day. No one will have to know.”
It was only in this moment that the editor realized the young woman was joking.
“You’re a demon.”
“Hello, Kettle.” Andrea drawled, her smile so wide it couldn’t hold in the slight laugh in the girl’s throat.
At this moment the girls came jogging back in with the dishes and silverware, before the banter could escalate. If the look in Andrea’s eyes meant anything, however, Miranda knew it would start up again once they were alone together. Much as she could never admit it out loud, Miranda enjoyed having someone around brave enough to joke with her occasionally. Not to insult her outright, she knew Andrea would never say anything to hurt her. She did enjoy someone who wasn’t so afraid of her that they needed to take her seriously all the time, though.
A very informal setting was placed in front of Miranda at the center island of the kitchen. Her girls flanked her on either side, their smiles wide and excited as pasta was ladled onto their awaiting plates. Miranda smiled back at them warmly, thinking of how such a simple act such as eating something her daughters had cooked or glancing over their papers could make them happy. A fact brought to her attention by none other than the young woman now leaning up against the island, standing, as she ate her food. Miranda watched as Andrea took a bite of her dinner and hummed in pleasure. Miranda followed suit.
(To Be Continued...)
Next Part Here: angelicsinner.livejournal.com/8541.html
Previous Part Here: angelicsinner.livejournal.com/7936.html
Genre: The Devil Wears Prada, Movie
Pairing: Miranda/Andy
Disclaimer: all recognizable characters are owned by 20th Century Fox, even the ones that just seem like bastard offspring from said motion-picture are probably owned by not-me… I’m creating very few characters for this story.
Summery: Miranda has had a few nasty break-ups in her life. This is the story of a couple of them and their fallout.
When Clara knocked gently at the door to Miranda’s bedroom, both women on the bed were broken out of the spell the movie had seduced them into. Glancing up from the laptop’s wide screen they watched as another tray laden with delicious-smelling food was brought towards the editor. As Miranda paused the movie and tried to pull herself up a bit more on the bed, she groaned.
“Eating in a bed,” Miranda muttered unhappily, noticing as the younger woman glanced at her watch, “I think the last time I ate in a bed was when I had the twins.”
Clara began clearing away the other tray with Miranda’s work things so she could eat. The older woman, however, was too focused on how intently Andrea was checking the contents of her purse and slipping her shoes back on as she eyed the door.
“I’d better go, my break is up.” The young woman sighed, sounding a little unhappy about it herself. “I have to get back to the paper for a meeting, Grayson wants to talk to me about my hours…” Andrea trailed off, already lost in thought apparently.
“When should I expect you tomorrow?” Miranda asked as evenly as she could, despite the slight worry she felt coiling in the pit of her stomach. Andrea looked at her and grimaced.
“Actually,” The brunette began, “I can’t come tomorrow. I’m set up to do a few interviews out in Brooklyn on the youth art and culture scene that’s developing out there. It’s kind of an all-day event - I even have to take a photographer out with me.” Miranda’s stomach tightened again and she started thinking.
“You’ll be tired, no doubt,” She began, “But I’m sure the girls would love to see you. They’ll probably feel I was harming them further, keeping you here when they were unable to see you…” The younger woman cocked her head to the side, looking doubtful. “Come for dinner. I’ll have Roy meet you wherever you wish, just give him a call when you need picking up.” Andrea opened her mouth to protest, but never got the chance.
“After the haranguing I got en-stereo last night on my ‘keeping you from them’, I am afraid I must insist. The girls want to see you, Andrea… besides,” Miranda groaned as she tried to adjust her position. The young woman quickly wrapped an arm around her lower back and helped her move. Noticing how close they were to one another, as their eyes locked, Miranda’s voice lowered as she went on, “They need someone who can interact with them, make them smile a again. I’m no fun to them, stuck up here.” She noticed a small smile grace Andrea lips as she shook her head.
“Fine.” She relented quietly. “I’ll spend the evening with the Priestly family.” Andrea slowly drew her arm back towards herself but made no sudden move to get up. “It might be nice to get to spend some time with them again. As much as my roommates are childish, there’s just something about getting to be around actual children.” The young woman laughed, shaking her head. Miranda cleared her throat.
“Yes, well.” Miranda suddenly found herself feeling oddly saddened by this turn of events. She could see it already in her head, what tomorrow night might be like: Andrea downstairs laughing and joking with her daughters, who seemed to idolize the girl, enjoying their dinner at an actual table - - and Miranda stuck up in her room all the while. She sighed and glanced at the tray of food, no longer really hungry.
“Enjoy the movie,” Andrea said quickly, throwing the strap of her bag over her shoulder, reading to go, “I want to hear what you think of it tomorrow.”
“I’ll just save it, then.” Miranda offered, “We can finish it while the girls are doing their homework - before the book arrives.”
She watched as Andrea’s smile became almost achingly wide on her still somewhat tired looking features. “Okay,” Andy said quietly, backing out the door. “Tomorrow.”
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow would not be like before, Miranda reminded herself as she watched Andrea walk back out of her house again. Tomorrow, if anything, would be full or memories of what before was like and now could never really be again. Back, prior to everything becoming, well… whatever it had evolved into. Even Miranda wasn’t sure how it all had ended up this way. Before Andrea leaving, before the fight, before her relationship with Ian; when they were all a little bit happier than they were now, before whatever delicate happiness they’d had was broken.
Miranda stared at the clock for a long moment, calculating how long it was still before her children returned home, her lunch forgotten. Already she missed Andrea.
But perhaps Miranda had been wrong about how the next night would have gone. As the older woman upstairs slowly and achingly pried herself to the edge of her bed, she listened as noises from the floors below drifted up to her room. As she reached for her cane - a hideous, industrial, practical looking thing - Miranda steadied herself and swallowed. She tried to decipher one sound in particular from the din that wafted through her slightly ajar door and sent a small prayer to the gods of Vicodin as she stood up. Clenching her teeth a bit, Miranda made her way slowly from her bed to the banister.
She could hear music and laughter and voices but she could not tell any particulars about any of them individually; what song was playing, who was speaking, what they were saying… She had no idea what her girls were up to, but she wanted to find out. Holding the railing in a death-grip and her cane in the other, Miranda began making the tedious journey down the rest of the stairs.
I don’t know what they’re thinking, Miranda grumbled to herself, They know Andrea is supposed to be by soon - you would think they would be on their best behavior, happy to see her, the way they were angry with me after we returned from the hospital…
As Miranda made it to the second floor, the editor stopped to listen. The girls weren’t in their rooms. As she continued on down the stairs, she realized that the music was coming from the kitchen. The music that was slightly blaring was the Beatles, and as she reached the last stairs into the entryway Miranda realized the voices weren’t speaking but singing along… and rather gracelessly at that. Walking through the corridor towards the kitchen, Miranda could see her daughters at the stove.
Cassidy was stirring a large pot of something; Caroline next to her was watching one only slightly smaller. Both were grinning so widely Miranda was actually taken aback by it - shaking their heads in time to the music and singing along in a way that was obviously more for entertainment than accuracy. Miranda paused a few feet from the doorway and watched, a little mesmerized. What has gotten into them, Miranda wondered. But then as her eyes roved over the remains on the cutting board, the boxes of ingredients on the counter-top, and the refrigerator door open, suddenly Miranda remembered that Andrea was coming by and did not want the young woman to be greeted by a mess. She opened her mouth to speak when the fridge door closed itself.
Or, more accurately, Andrea closed it.
Dressed in a very flattering pair of jeans and a black peasant blouse, her perfect brown hair tied back in a simple bun, the young reporter was singing and moving right along with her daughters. As Andrea approached the stove, container in hand, she grinned as she added something to the skillet which she soon began flipping the contents of - much to the wonder and admiration of the twins. Miranda’s mouth began to water.
The girls just kept right on singing and dancing in place near the stove right up until the song came to a close. Miranda wondered, as she began making her way towards the door again, if her kitchen had ever beheld anything such as this. As the bright lights of the kitchen revealed Miranda’s approach, all eyes fixed on her.
“Mom!” Caroline called out happily; Cassidy pressed the pause on the iPod stereo as the next song had already started. “Andy’s teaching us how to make dinner! You want some?” Miranda looked to Andrea, somewhat surprised by this news, but instead found Andrea looking more than a little unhappy.
“What do you think you’re doing?” The young woman accused, wiping her hands hastily on a dish-towel and making her way around the island.
“I live here, Andrea, as you might remember,” Miranda eased herself down into one of the stools on the opposite side of the counter. “How could I in good conscience not come investigate what was, I was sure, a band of circus performers raiding my house.” Andrea’s mask of inpatients broke briefly into a small smile.
“Miranda, do you have any idea how long it’s going to take you to get back into bed?” The girl warned. Miranda paused, she’d not thought of that earlier. Shrugging one shoulder, she waved this off, to which Andrea could merely shake her bangs into her eyes. She was obviously trying to hold in a laugh. “Going a little stir-crazy up there, huh?” Andrea ventured.
Miranda shot the girl a look. “More than slightly.” She grumbled under her breath. Miranda glanced over at her girls, both of whom were now looking intently into their pots, pretending to ignore the grown-ups… they were obviously listening to every syllable absorbedly.
“Don’t worry,” Andrea drawled, “I can order you something for Roy to pick up - Clara left me a list of suggestions.” Miranda shook her head.
“What are you making?” she asked calmly. The girls’ eyes shot up, looking hopeful.
“Spaghetti.” Andrea answered, and Miranda could hear in the single word that the girl was smiling so widely it was effecting her tone of speech, “Grilled pesto chicken, garlic bread and spaghetti with a tomato-basil sauce.” Miranda raised her eyes to Andrea’s before lifting an eyebrow. Andrea just shrugged. “I can’t cook much, but this got me through a lot of late-night hunger pains in college.”
“Before you met the Cook, no doubt.” Miranda knew her tone held a disapproving edge, and she didn’t care. That boy had not been fair to Andrea, on many counts. Now it was Andrea who shot her a look. “Fine,” Miranda conceded, looking back at her girls, “I’ll join you. But no garlic bread, thank you.” The girls beamed and smiled at one another.
“Alright,” Andrea groaned, not sounding happy, more annoyed than anything. “Girls? Go get the dishes we set out from the dining room and bring them in here? I don’t want your mom getting up again unless she has to.” The girls ran off to do so and Andrea went back to working at the stove. She would not look at Miranda.
“What?”
“Nothing.” Andrea said briskly.
“What, Andrea?” Miranda insisted, hating that she must drag words out of the girl now, ever since… well. The younger woman just shrugged her shoulders and began turning off the burners.
“It would have been a lot easier for us to come to you,” Andrea said slowly, finally looking up before moving to drain the pasta in the sink. “Do you have any idea how long it’s going to take you to get back up those stairs? Without hurting yourself further?”
Miranda scoffed. “Please,” She muttered, “Like you three even remembered that I was trapped up there.” She dismissed a little bitterly. “You didn’t even see fit to come upstairs to tell me you’d arrived.” Andrea just chuckled as she came back to the stove, pouring the spaghetti into the sauce-pot.
“I did come to check on you,” she laughed, “You were dead asleep.”
Miranda froze.
“Yeah,” Andrea laughed again, “You looked pretty gone. Drooling and everything.”
“I do not drool.” Miranda insisted suddenly, praying it was true.
Andrea just shrugged, a smirk playing across her lips, “Don’t worry Miranda, I know you’re pretty heavily drugged during different intervals in the day. No one will have to know.”
It was only in this moment that the editor realized the young woman was joking.
“You’re a demon.”
“Hello, Kettle.” Andrea drawled, her smile so wide it couldn’t hold in the slight laugh in the girl’s throat.
At this moment the girls came jogging back in with the dishes and silverware, before the banter could escalate. If the look in Andrea’s eyes meant anything, however, Miranda knew it would start up again once they were alone together. Much as she could never admit it out loud, Miranda enjoyed having someone around brave enough to joke with her occasionally. Not to insult her outright, she knew Andrea would never say anything to hurt her. She did enjoy someone who wasn’t so afraid of her that they needed to take her seriously all the time, though.
A very informal setting was placed in front of Miranda at the center island of the kitchen. Her girls flanked her on either side, their smiles wide and excited as pasta was ladled onto their awaiting plates. Miranda smiled back at them warmly, thinking of how such a simple act such as eating something her daughters had cooked or glancing over their papers could make them happy. A fact brought to her attention by none other than the young woman now leaning up against the island, standing, as she ate her food. Miranda watched as Andrea took a bite of her dinner and hummed in pleasure. Miranda followed suit.
(To Be Continued...)
Next Part Here: angelicsinner.livejournal.com/8541.html
Previous Part Here: angelicsinner.livejournal.com/7936.html