That I Burn 1/1
That I Burn 1/1
Title: That I Burn
Fandom: The Devil Wears Prada
Pairing: Miranda/Andy
Rating: R
Disclaimer: They do not belong to me, I belong to them.
Prompt: 'Domestic violence between Nate and Andy brings out Miranda's protective side'.
Requested by: iimzadi(hope you had lovely holidays with your loved ones, and also, your other prompts are genius. I'm definitely giving them a try.)
Summary: Can't you see that I burn?
****
Within the grandeur of love
The flames prickle one's skin
...oh love, can't you see that I burn?
--------------(me) Alex S. Velazquez
****
Miranda had never seen herself much as the caring, doting type. And then, her daughters were born, and almost unbeknownst to her, she became protective and tragically weary of any and all outsiders. She's managed to keep these feelings lodged exclusively in that twinge in her side that she's named after her daughters. That mother's love is the only corner of herself reserved for caring and doting. It's easier to hide, for someone with so many walls.
She is observant, however, she always has been. She imagines that this will come in handy when the girls begin dating.
Sometimes this ability she has, to see every little detail, down to a crooked stitch, becomes a burden. Especially now, when she can't get a particular image out of her head.
Andrea had handed her third latte of the day, when her long sleeve--unusual for a sunny New York day--rode up just the necessary length to reveal a tiny scratch just above her wrist.
It couldn't have been bigger than an inch in length. Still. It was deep and still fresh.
For a week, Miranda wonders if the young assistant has simply had an incident with the letter opener, such as a former employee did once in the past. She wonders if maybe Andrea has a dog--or a cat. A cat is possibly to blame. They are infernal animals, after all.
She hates to admit it, but it's kept her up late at night and suddenly, it becomes a borderline obsessive tendency to look for more telling signs of anything. Every single time she calls Andrea in for any reason, she glances at whatever skin is free to view. Her neck, arms, legs. The girl does have beautiful skin and Miranda would hate for it to be ruined that way.
She's only had the pleasure of having said skin to herself a handful of times, the last nearing almost a month ago now.
At any rate, her daily inspection of Andy's body results in nothing more than the usual appreciation for the brunette's curves and increasingly tasteful sense of fashion.
Until now. Now, there's a bruise.
Andy is leaning over Miranda's desk, displaying a number of swatches that have just been delivered from Marc Jacobs, when the silk top she's wearing slips off to reveal a black bra strap and a small bruise about the size of a quarter split in half by the lingerie strap.
Miranda's eyes fall swiftly over the revealed validation of what she feared in the first place.
After a moment, she realizes that Andy has stopped speaking. At this, she looks up to meet a careful brown stare.
Self consciously, the young woman quickly pulls her shirt over the bruise and disappears soon thereafter.
Miranda is left thumbing through swatches. And gripping her pen so tightly in her palm that it nearly pierces her skin.
She lets the day pass without a single interruption. Meetings, a complete cancellation of a two hundred thousand dollar shoot, and an uneventful lunch with a former flame later, Miranda asks Andy to stand guard at her desk while Miranda finishes up the last of the day's approvals, and at around ten, she calls her in.
Andy glides in with careful determination. Determination to avoid the subject altogether, Miranda can tell.
"So--" Miranda begins as she shuts her computer screen and lays her hands flat on the surface of the lap top, "--what's going on, Andrea?"
There is a long pause before Andrea finally replies flatly, "To what are you referring?"
An even longer pause follows as Miranda attempts to gather her self control. "You know what."
Andy shakes her head and pushes herself off the chair, making sure that her last statement is clear as she goes, "Leave it alone, Miranda."
Miranda does not want to leave it alone, but she sits back and glares at the back of Andy as she disappears in a hurried pace. Miranda's got no rights to Andy anyway. Difficult as it may be to accept.
To say that the encounter troubles her, is putting it lightly.
Miranda stays an additional hour, sitting at her desk, mulling over the very short conversation and maybe making too much of it.
Andy calls in sick to work the following day. And Miranda goes on a blood shedding rampage across the long, cold corridors of Runway, verbally slapping anyone in her way.
Jace, the newest second assistant, takes most of the heat, and if Miranda weren't too preoccupied with her near exploding nerve endings, she would feel sorry for the petite, dark haired girl.
She sends her off early with one final tongue lashing and leaves herself with a pounding headache. Miranda turns in her chair to face the window, just as Jace bolts out in tears, and presses her fingers to her temple, massaging there, hoping to ease some off the pressure.
She knows it won't do much, however, and after a few moments of no result, she decides to go for a drink.
At around ten-thirty, she hears the unmistakable sound of laughter.
She doesn't bother to wait and make sure. She knows who that laugh belongs to.
She's furious and up on her feet in no time. When she finds her, she's leaning against the bar with a couple of people. One, a woman, who seems to want to kill Miranda at first glance, the other, a man, whose eyes light up like a Christmas tree at the sight of her.
Andy turns only after the other two have. And when she meets Miranda's un-entertained stare, the brunette dares to smirk.
"You seem well, Andrea. I'm glad that stomach bug has died out."
Andy nods and hold her drink to her lips, "You know how those things are--"
"Can I speak to you in private for a moment?" Miranda asks, her patience wearing very thin.
"Sure--" Andy replies and follows Miranda into a not-so-crowded corner, where the older woman turns and stares deliberately.
Miranda doesn't quite know where to begin. She knows she is not to mention anything that might indicate she claims any part of Andy's life. But, she is still Miranda Priestley, and Andy is still her employee, and while that is the case, there will be none of this, so Miranda squares her shoulders, purses her lips an regards Andy closely before stating, "If this--behavior is going to affect your work, you might as well not come back tomorrow, Andrea."
Andy doesn't say a word. She stares back with an unreadable expression, studying Miranda's features with apparent scrutiny before she replies coldly, "What I do with my free time is none of your business."
Miranda's lips turn up into the tiniest hint of a smirk before she replies, "You have no more free time, Andrea. You work for me. I thought you knew that by now." Andy's eyes grow piercing almost instantly as they stare back. Miranda feels a twinge of--something. But she will not allow Andy to make her into something she isn't. Miranda Priestley does not tolerate mediocrity as far as work is concerned, and as far as--other things are concerned, she will not be pushed away and then be expected to come back to beg. She's asked and was rejected. And that's that.
And then, Andy does the unexpected. She kisses Miranda. Quickly and without a warning. It isn't sweet or tender. It's bruising and punishing and Miranda responds for just a second before roughly pushing Andy away.
"What's the matter?" Andy asks cuttingly, breath heavy, eyes still narrowed, "You don't like it in public? Huh?" She rushes Miranda then, pushing her against the wall. The bar is fairly crowded and anyone who might glance their way would think the two women are having an intimate conversation, the way Andy is looming over Miranda, one arm perched above the silver haired woman's head as Andy leans in close and in turn, forces Miranda harder against the wall. Andy's tone drops when her lips graze Miranda's ear, "Or do bruises turn you off? You don't want to fuck me if you can tell someone else's hands were on me?"
Miranda makes an attempt to move away, fighting the shiver the courses down her spine. She grunts softly as Andy presses her body against her and jails her in place.
"You don't own me." The younger woman whispers harshly. "I'm not yours. And what goes on when you're not around is none of your business. So, why don't you go home and pretend you never saw me?" At this, Andy pulls back and meets Miranda's deathly glare again and smiles briefly.
Miranda knows she should leave. Fire Andy and leave. What she does instead, she wishes she were drunk enough to blame it on that.
But as she's slammed against the bathroom stall door only minutes later, Andy's lips demanding against her own, Miranda knows that somehow, going home was just never really an option.
Andy's hands are forceful when they pull at Miranda's buttoned up blouse. One hand slips inside and palms Miranda's breast firmly.
Miranda moans and tears her mouth away from the kiss to catch her breath, while her hands trail down Andy's body and try to pull at some clothing. The she's being restrained, however, and it won't allow her much except for Andy’s hands. Andy's hands , which seems to want to devour every piece of Miranda.
Andy's kisses are growing rougher, her hips grind hard against Miranda, and it instantly feels wrong.
"Andréa, wait--" Miranda pants, trying to kiss the young woman's shoulder, attempting to ease the alarming frustration with which Andy kisses her and touches her, "--stop..." Miranda finally grunts, managing to pull Andy's hands away and up between them. This is meant to hold the brunette still, but Miranda watches the sight of a fresh bruise on the same wrist as before.
"What is this?" Miranda asks softly, her breathing slowly returning to normal as she searches Andy's eyes. Andy doesn't have to say anything, however. Because her eyes tell Miranda everything she needs to know. The dark pools of brown seem hallow almost instantly and sad. Miranda's blood runs cold. "Did he do this?"
He. The 'he' they don't talk about.
Andy's gaze suddenly drops to her wrists, in Miranda's gentle grasp and she's almost inaudible when she speaks next, "He's hurt--I hurt him. And he was upset. it's okay--" She nods, the end of her sentence dissolving into thin air.
Miranda bites her tongue for all of two seconds before replying as softly as possible. Still there's an edge to her voice, "Andrea, this is NOT okay."
"It's fine--" Andy whispers with a soft nod. The sound of the bathroom door opening distracts them for an instant. The sound of laughter that follows tells them that whoever just walked in, is probably too drunk to care that there are two pairs of feet in one stall.
Andy looks up then and adds in a hushed tone, "I'm leaving him tonight--" She pauses, as if to try and let Miranda know of an underlining reason for her leaving her boyfriend, "--it's just--a difficult transition..."
"I understand." Miranda says, letting Andy's hands fall gently from her grasp. She clears her throat quietly and it is she who averts her gaze now. Slowly, as the uneasy, thick tension begins to build between them, Miranda realizes she's in a dirty public bathroom stall. She figures she can use this as an out of the all too intimate moment and her mouth opens, but only a hitched breath sounds off against the neon blue stall walls when Andy's hands begin to button Miranda's top.
Andy's head is bowed forward and her hands are careful with the buttons now. Miranda wants to kill Andy's loser boyfriend all over again.
Without a word to suggest it, Miranda holds Andy's face in her hands and tilts her chin up, swiftly leaning in to kiss her softly. They kiss longer than anticipated and before they know it, Miranda is holding Andy in her arms while Andy sheds silent tears against Miranda's shoulder, ruining the silk top she no longer cares too much about.
"Andrea--" Miranda says, once Andy's walked her outside.
"Yes?" Andy asks, eyes no longer tearful, but a little puffy.
The truth is, Miranda never planned this. She never planned on being this involved with Andrea Sachs, out of all people. She never expected being attracted to someone so young. So female. But, here she is now, looking at what was meant to be a casual thing, with feelings that are anything but casual, but which are far too complicated to fit into her schedule. Eliciting a frustrated sigh, Miranda says plainly, "--call me if you need me."
Andy's eyes fill with tears again, but she fights the flood that is bound to happen with a smile. They don't do that. Andy never calls Miranda. Miranda calls Andy. No one else would understand the importance in the allowance of a phone call. It doesn't matter. It's done. And Andy is glad. She wants to kiss Miranda, with her sternly pursed lips, chin held high and worried eyes. But, Andy knows very well that it isn't appropriate, and while she almost crossed a line earlier in the bar, the brief contact, physical and otherwise, has sobered her up a bit and she holds back, offering Miranda a short wave of her fingers. "I will." Andy manages. And does not cry. She disappears back inside bar before Miranda gets in her car, because she doesn't believe that her emotions--out control as they are--can handle seeing the older woman drive away.
****
It's well past two in the morning, when Miranda receives the call. And she's glad she never bothered to change out of her clothes, in favor of hiding out in her study, attempting to work. It's an accidental call. It's noisy and there's shouting, but Miranda can't quite make out what was being said. Instead of lingering too long with her ear pressed against the phone, she races out the door.
She's only been to Andy's place twice before. But she remembers the route very well. The late hour offers some clarity to the--usually--traffic infested New York streets. For once, Miranda doesn't notice Andy's disagreeable neighborhood. She isn't even sure she locks the car before she starts up the steps and pulls the door to the building open with a force, that slams the heavy, metal door against the wall, then shuts with a loud bang behind her.
Andy's apartment door has been left ajar when Miranda reaches it and it's quiet. It sends chills throughout Miranda and when she slowly pushes the door, she prepares herself for anything. Her heart beats rapidly before she comes face to face with the dreaded man she's never met but already hates.
Nate smiles viciously and announces sarcastically with a snort, "Chivalry has a arrived, Andy!"
"Where is she?" Miranda asks with as much fear as she would show a small puppy, looking down her nose at him, then over to the right as approaching footsteps bring Andy to view.
"Miranda?" Andy asks, eye make up smeared, feet covered in only cotton socks and confused at the sight of the other woman, "What are you doing here?"
Miranda regards Andy for all of a short moment before her eyes turn back in Nate's direction, even as she instructs the brunette, "Grab a coat and get in the car, Andrea."
Out the corner of her eye, Andy spots a pair of discarded black boots and slips them on quickly, stumbling a bit with the second one. A coat is flung over the backrest of a nearby chair and she grabs that too, wide eyes never leaving Miranda. Once the jacket is on, the frightened brunette steps between her occasional lover and the once sweet and adoring Nate. "I'm ready, let's go--" Andy whispers to Miranda, making sure their eyes meet to make her point that they both really need to go.
Miranda pauses for a moment in the wake of Andy's request, then says again, "Go wait in the car."
Andy's breathing becomes unnervingly erratic almost immediately as she shakes her head and becomes nervous, "No, come on. Just leave it, Miranda. Let's go."
"Andrea." Is Miranda says. It's a warning.
Andy knows this tone very well, and while she hesitates for two seconds, she steps around the older woman and stops only when she reaches the door. She turns and sees Miranda and Nate, staring each other down like two opponents on a battle field. Not knowing what to expect, Andy leaves the door open and waits nearby, ears on full alert as a hand instantly flies to her mouth and she begins to bite her nails.
Inside, Nate grins on and crosses his arms over his chest. "Miranda Priestley fucks her assistants," he says coldly, "Who knew you were a closeted dyke, huh?"
Miranda offers a cold smirk of her own, then replies, "Who knew you were a woman beating low life, huh?"
At this, his nostrils flare and he shouts, "You ruined my life!"
Calmly, she takes a deep breath and regards Nate with contempt, "I didn't damage Andrea--" She pauses and for a moment, she wonders if she has in fact damaged the young woman, "--I didn’t beat her."
"Trust me, she gives as good as she gets--" He replies quickly.
Miranda can't hide the disgust she feels and her hands clench into fists at her sides. She shuts her eyes momentarily, then turns towards the door, "If you come within a block from her again, you will be sorry."
"Protective, too. Andy must love that--"
Miranda turns on her heel and snaps, "I suggest you move, you pathetic, little child. Because if I see your face again, you will be sorry. Don't underestimate the power of a well calculated phone call."
He laughs, "Am I supposed to feel threatened?"
Miranda offers a cackle of her own, "I would be."
Out in the hallway, Miranda halts for a second at seeing Andy only a few feet away. Upon reaching her, she says, "Didn't I tell you to wait in the car?"
"You didn't have to come over here, Miranda," Andy tells her as they proceed towards the exit.
Squaring her shoulders and making little physical contact, aside from the occasional brushing of their arms, Miranda says quietly, "Yes, I did." Shaking her head, she adds with a frustrated sigh, "Damn it, Andrea, what were you thinking? Why would you come back here to that man?"
Andy's heard Miranda curse all of five times, and said curse words were only uttered under more private circumstances, so the statement surprises her. She stops walking, "This is my home, Miranda--"
Miranda stops only two steps ahead before turning towards Andy, perplexed.
"--this is--was--my relationship. I was either going to fix it, or end it right. I broke it--"
Miranda rolls her yes, because Andy is beginning to sound like those battered women who can't seem to leave the idiots who beat them, "You did not--"
"I did." Andy cuts in, then adds softly, almost shyly, "You and I did. I mean, he broke it, too, but-- I started it."
It's all a little too real for Miranda. Too much vulnerability, too soon. Averting her gaze, she asks, "Do you have anywhere to go?"
Andy frowns, "I was uh--going to call my friend Doug..."
"Does he live alone?"
Andy is confused by the question, but answers anyway, "Um, no--with his boyfriend--"
"Stay with me, then--" Miranda says authoritatively, "--the girls are gone for the Summer, you can--stay with me. You'll have a bed there and not a lumpy couch."
"Doug's couch isn't that lumpy--" Andy says, attempting a smile, and for the briefest of seconds, Miranda returns it.
Then, to Andy's surprise, Miranda fishes a scarf out of her coat pocket and leans forward to wipe the smeared make up off Andy's face.
Andy feels small, suddenly. She feels fragile, as if she might break any second. All the shouting and the fighting with Nate recently never made her feel as breakable as Miranda's touch now and she has to bite her cheek to keep from crying. She smiles awkwardly and steps away just as so, following Miranda to the car, which leads to a fifteen minute car ride involving one exchange consisting of "It's quiet out."
"Yes." Miranda replies, both hands on the steering wheel as she makes a left turn.
Miranda excuses herself as soon as she shows Andy to a guest room and walks straight through to her own bedroom, where she paces for no particular reason and presses her hand to her chest. She feels her heart beating rapidly, and realizes she is still angry. She realizes that what she desires more than anything, is to rip Nate's head off and she sighs in frustration. It's been no more than five minutes since she left Andy in the guest room down the hall, so when she hears the gentle knock at her open door, she is more or less surprised.
"Hi." Andy says.
Miranda smiles, "Hello."
Andy, much to Miranda's dismay, seems much younger in her attire. She wears a plain white V-neck tee that hangs loose, down to mid hip. Black leggings and knee length, black riding boots complete the ensemble. Her face has been washed completely of make up. She looks young. Miranda instantly knows what's about to happen and she dreads the conversation in anticipation.
"Why did you come tonight?" Andy asks.
"You called me--"
Andy chuckles tiredly, "I butt dialed you, I would hardly say I called you..."
"I simply--did, Andrea. Let's just drop it."
Andy looks as though she's just been slapped and she blinks her confusion behind her before stating incredulously, "Drop it? If you expect me to 'drop it' after you ignored my request for you to do just that, you MUST be high."
"You should get some rest, you look tired." Miranda counters.
"Okay, now you're insulting me..."
"Andrea..."
"Do you care about me, Miranda?" Andy asks, then steps closer, "I mean--you obviously care, but, how much do you care? Because I don't want to figure it out on my own..."
"I care." Miranda says, "I care a great deal."
Andy smiles, "Really?"
"But that's as far as it goes. That's as far as I'd like it to go?"
"Oh." Andy says sadly, bowing her head, then raising once rethinking it, "Wait, no. Why? Why is that as far as it goes?"
"Where else can it go, Andrea?"
Andy has to smile at the utter cloudlessness on Miranda's face. "We can just let it go where it goes. Why do we have to decide now?"
Miranda stares back and purses her lips. She does not enjoy being unsure. And she does not enjoy the fact that she felt so sure only days before.
"Come on--" Andy says, stepping even closer to Miranda and slowly adding, "--let's just keep doing what we're doing."
Miranda's breath hitches as Andy's breath tickles her cheek. Her skin begins to ache for the young woman's touch and she has to take a moment before replying, "Do we even know what we're doing?"
"I know what I'm doing." Andy whispers seductively. She lifts a hand between them and traces a line down the front of Miranda's blouse, "Last time we did this, you knew pretty well, too."
Miranda's eyes fall briefly over the well placed bruise around Andy's wrist, when she raises her gaze to meet Andy's, they seem to both know this talk is just not going to happen tonight.
"Just keep doing what we're doing?" Miranda asks, chest heaving with every breath as she inches closer to Andy's lips. They should be talking.
Andy begins to slowly undo the zipper to Miranda's skirt as she echoes, "Just keep doing what we're doing."
END.