Secret Santa fic for morgan4510! (2/3)
The second part is right here, people.
Have you made your guesses?
Notes are on the first part. Comments are love.
She sits in her chair, which has turned into the one she has at work. The rest of her office, in fact, turns into the way it is today. She busies herself by doodling human figures using a fountain pen on a pad of paper with her initials at the top and bottom, and actually manages to sketch a few dresses when she feels the air change slightly in temperature and footsteps inside the office. She looks up and her eyes widen at the person who stands in her doorframe.
“This place smells like an ashtray, who’s smoking?” Her visitor asks, frowning slightly.
“Nigel?” Miranda asks, shocked to see her old friend. “What are you doing here?”
Nigel looks at her, as though he himself is surprised, and he looks from her, to the rest of her office, to his clothing. Nigel is wearing dark blue pajamas. Silk pajamas, in fact.
“Am I at work?” Nigel asks, aghast. “You let me come to work wearing this?”
Miranda’s lips curve up into a mischievous smile. “I didn’t know you wore silk pajamas, Nigel.” She plays with her fountain pen and raises her eyebrows in a fit of amusement.
“They’re menswear, Miranda.” Nigel replies. “Evening wear for men.”
“Ahem,” Miranda says, exaggeratedly, as she raises her eyebrows. “You know I trust your good judgment.” She laughs, and Nigel blushes, but she pretends to have coughed instead.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Nigel asks, scowling.
“I may remember it when I do see you at work.” Miranda answers, getting an idea.
“Well, you’re a vision, as usual.” Nigel comments dryly, gesturing to Miranda.
When she looks down at her clothes, she doesn’t see the silk pajamas she knew she was wearing when she was with Bette Davis; instead she sees clothes she wears to work. She lifts a foot questioningly and sees a Prada heel. She then smirks, and shakes her head slightly.
“As usual,” Miranda echoes. “Why are you in my bizarre dream?”
“Your weird dream?” Nigel asks back, shaking his head. His lips then break out into a wide grin, as if he finally remembers what he was invading Miranda’s space for. “Oh, that.”
“Yes, that,” Miranda recognizes, nodding. “You know, Bette Davis was just here.”
“Really?” Nigel adds, looking pleased. “So did you bond over ballbusting techniques? Did you share war stories about single-handedly bringing powerful men to their knees?”
“What are you talking about?” Miranda asks back, genuinely puzzled. Nigel hides a wide grin. “She was the one who was smoking earlier,” Miranda adds. “She brought me here.”
“Shit,” Nigel curses, without apology. “That’d be really hard to beat. You know how I’m probably the only person who knows that Margo Channing has a portrait at your townhouse.”
“Depends,” Miranda says, teasing Nigel again. She’s always enjoyed their little back and forth jabs at each other. Nigel teasing her that he’ll move to Vogue, while she’d tease him that he could be easily replaced. This is another round, she thinks. “If you’re Christmas Present.”
Nigel preens, and he wipes his nails on his pajama top’s collar. “The one and only.”
Miranda looks up, and she imagines she could see Jacob Clarke the Third right now. She ignores Nigel for a minute and raises an eyebrow at the ceiling. “You know, Jacob, I could have used additional Elias-Clarke stocks instead.” She shakes her head, and turns to her friend.
“Shall we, Miranda?” Nigel asks, with an enthusiastic smile on his face.
“By all means, Mr. Kipling,” Miranda replies, and she puts her arm in his.
The two of them walk down the hallway, to the elevator, and once the elevator hits the ground floor, they walk through the lobby and out into the open pavement, where a chauffeur is waiting for them. Miranda finds the actions so ordinary that for one moment, she wonders if she isn’t actually dreaming, and if she is, in fact, getting into a car with Nigel and waiting for some driver to take her to an unknown destination. But then she thinks about seeing her younger selves, and shaking hands with her favorite actress, who she never met, and she’s confident that this is all a dream. The chauffeur-who isn’t Roy, thank goodness-enters the car and drives.
“Where are we going?”
“Relax, Miranda,” Nigel says, handing her a glass of champagne. “I’m not kidnapping you.” He then leans back and regards her, before drinking his serving of champagne. Even with their years of friendship, she still feels like a bug under a microscope, and tries not to fidget. He then smiles after a few seconds, and she tries not to sigh in relief. “You look well.”
“Of course I do, why wouldn’t I?” Miranda asks, before taking a healthy sip.
“Andrea Sachs does you well,” Nigel explains, pleased. “In both senses of the word.”
“Careful,” Miranda warns him, sending a pointed stare. “I can drop you off right here, and believe me, I don’t care what happens to you and Christmas Yet to Come.”
“I feel like last year’s shoes.” Nigel then says, putting a hand over his heart.
They look at each other and share a delighted chuckle.
“It’s always good to ride with you in the car, Nigel.” Miranda says, patting Nigel’s arm.
“I’m glad you feel that way.” Nigel says, licking his lips and smiling widely.
The chauffeur drops both of them off at Central Park. Miranda is curious as to why, but if she’s sharing a dream with Nigel, at least they can talk about it. Or not. As she gets out of the car, she also wonders if everyone in New York is being visited by ghosts of Christmas. It would be odd, she thinks to herself, to have these mature, slightly jaded folks being visited by ghosts. It would also be nice not to be the only person who felt that way, though. She looks at Nigel.
“What are we doing here?”
“We used to walk here, remember? On weekends, when we were broke and couldn’t afford to go out and party?” Nigel asks, and Miranda sees him as she did when they first met-balding but in denial. This look works best for him. “We both were starting out, and we’re the only ones that survived. The only ones that stayed, in fact. Do you ever think about that?”
“Not really,” Miranda admits, and the two of them watch the leaves fall down. It was like any other ordinary day. It was definitely autumn, and the sun was shining brightly, although it wasn’t as hot as it looked. “Most days I think about surviving the present. Do you?”
“Sometimes,” Nigel says, and he looks at Miranda and chuckles.
“What?”
“I don’t know,” Nigel replies, smiling. “You’re certainly the last person I’d think about having this discussion with. Sharing your innermost thoughts and bringing up the past.”
“I feel that way about most people.”
“Thankfully, I’m not most people.” Nigel comments.
“Exactly.”
The two of them walk further, taking in the sights. Miranda finds the silence a comfort. She doesn’t want to know what Nigel has in store for her, but she does want to clarify one thing. “You aren’t dead, are you?” Miranda asks, nudging his shoulder. “Bette Davis is dead.”
“No,” Nigel says loudly, before turning to her. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing.”
“This isn’t the Divine Comedy, Miranda.” Nigel reminds her. “Specifically, this isn’t Inferno. I don’t have to be dead to talk to you, you know. This is A Christmas Carol.”
“The girls like the Muppet version.” Miranda says, out of the blue.
“I’m sure you do, too.” Nigel says, and he stops. Miranda stops too. “Ah, here we are.” Miranda looks up and is surprised once more. They’re right in front of her townhouse. She looks up at the steps and her door, and taking Nigel’s proffered hand, the two of them walk up and go inside. “The townhouse?” Miranda asks. “We’re not anywhere else?”
“Apparently, you aren’t.” Nigel says, eyes widening at the sight. “I thought we’d be going somewhere warm and exotic as well.” He then hums, before adding, “This is interesting.” He turns to Miranda, who appears surprised to be spending Christmas at home. He takes a wild stab and guesses that she made reservations in advance. “You really didn’t make reservations?”
“I did. I had Monique make them four months in advance.” Miranda then pauses, as if realizing something. “If they end up lost, I’ll fire her tomorrow morning. What an idiot.”
Nigel chuckles and shakes his head. “Another one bites the dust,” He sings briefly, and he follows Miranda to the living room, where they both peek in the room cautiously.
Miranda is there, so are her twins, and he’s pleased to see that Andy is spending Christmas with them. He smiles even wider when he sees that all four of them are on the floor, with wrapping paper, ribbons, and greeting cards surrounding them as they open their gifts. It really is a universal thing to have families sprawled on the floor for Christmas, Nigel thinks, as he watches them open the gifts. Beside him, Miranda watches the scene with a smile on her lips.
“Open your gifts,” Andy cajoles the twins, and the two girls take the boxes marked especially for them and open it. Caroline’s box contains a framed poster of her favorite Broadway play, Wicked, signed by the current cast. Another box, smaller but just as important, contains a bracelet. There are different charms hanging on the bracelet. There is a violin and its bow, a tennis racket, and a small street sign saying ‘Broadway’. Caroline beams at Andy.
“This is great, thanks!” Caroline says, instantly reaching for a hug.
“You’re welcome,” Andy says, and Miranda’s eyes mist over with the happiness she sees in them. She looks at herself and sees the exact same thing happening to her.
Cassidy tears through hers and finds a complete art set. There are two canvas boards, an apron, different sized paintbrushes, a paint mixer, and three boxes of acrylic paint. She then finds the smaller box, and opens it to find a bracelet with assorted charms. In her bracelet, she finds a pair of ballet shoes, a grand piano, and a paintbrush touching canvas. Cassidy grins.
“Thanks, Andy!” She exclaims, going for a hug as well.
“Sure, anytime.” Andy replies, and she hands a box to Miranda. “For you.”
Miranda opens the box, and in it there is something she is supposed to see, but doesn’t.
“What?” Nigel asks, as he slowly pulls Miranda out of the room. “You want to spoil your Christmas present? The one she’s probably saved half a year’s salary to get for you?”
“I can always look surprised,” Miranda replies, already walking back to the room, even as Nigel holds on to her. “It’s not like she’ll know that I’ve already seen it before.”
“Hold it, hold it,” Nigel says, holding her back. “You’re not going back.”
He then looks over her shoulder and sees Miranda kissing Andrea, to the delight of the two girls. At this moment, he spins Miranda around and she sees herself kissing Andrea, and then her girls on their foreheads. As she looks at them, Nigel watches her shoulders relax. He can’t help but grin goofily; after all, this was the stuff that all fairy tales were made of.
“She really saved half a year’s salary to get my gift?” Miranda asks Nigel.
“I don’t think you want to know the answer.” Nigel replies cryptically. He then looks at her knowingly. “You won’t weasel it out of me, but I think you can weasel it out of her.”
“She’s beautiful,” Miranda says, wistfully. “Pure as snow.”
“You’re going soft.” Nigel warns, smiling. “She really is something, though.”
The two of them then begin to hear the first few words of Muppet Christmas Carol, and look into the living room to confirm the fact. Miranda and Nigel watch as the twins snuggle into Miranda and Andy, and as Miranda and Andy’s fingers find their way into each other’s.
“Awww, that’s sweet,” Nigel says, feeling all warm and fuzzy. “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas,” Miranda breathes out, her heart warming up at the sight. She then turns to Nigel. “Why show me this? Why not let be me surprised on the day itself?”
“So you can ask me why you’re at home instead of someplace else.” Nigel answers.
“That’s the purpose of your visit?” Miranda asks, incredulous. Aren’t visits like this supposed to be for some higher purpose, some moral or lesson that needed to be learned before it was too late? She shakes her head slightly and looks at Nigel again. That was all he was here for?
“Miranda, saving Runway, and by extension, Elias-Clarke, is my job,” Nigel explains, tenderly, as if reading to a child. He then smirks a little. “I’ll be saving the minions from a round of post-holiday firing, and you’re spared from close encounters with the travel agency kind.” He then looks at the TV, and then at Miranda. “Oh, by the way, New York will be snowed in.”
“What?” Miranda asks, and Nigel only nods.
“See you at the office, boss,” Nigel says, and he gives her a salute before he vanishes.