New fic: Light Up, Part II
Light Up
Fandom: Devil Wears Prada
Pairing: Miranda/Andy
Disclaimer: I don’t own Miranda or Andy, or anything remotely related to the Devil or Prada. Alas.
Rating: M
Note: Melodrama alert! Couldn’t resist. Thanks as ever to my beta, Xander, who helped immensely in keeping this one on track. Xan, you’re a star!
Part II.
The car idled at the curb, but on her way toward it, Miranda collided with something tall and solid that had seemingly come out of nowhere.
“Whoops! ‘Scuse me--”
Miranda realized that the solid thing was a person. Andrea. Andrea, who had been gone from Runway for almost a year, and whom Miranda had seen exactly once near this very same location. She raised an eyebrow.
“Miranda! I’m so sorry I didn’t see you--I was just in a rush to get started on something and I wasn’t looking where I was going. I really apologize.” She smiled brightly, and Miranda felt something tug in her belly. Something she could not quite put a name to.
“Well, yes. All right then. Go on.” Miranda stepped around her.
“Wait a second, aren’t you even going to say hello?” Andrea looked crushed.
Interesting. “Hello.”
“How are you?”
“I thought you were in a rush to ‘get started on something.’”
Andrea rolled her eyes. “It can wait. For you. And since you’re here, if you have a second, I’ve wanted to tell you something for a while now.”
Miranda tried not to look curious. “Oh?”
“Yeah. Um. Well, I’m sorry for the way I acted. When I walked out on you. That was really stupid.”
With a sniff, Miranda looked over Andrea’s shoulder toward the car, attempting a façade of indifference. “That’s all right.”
Andrea tugged her sleeve, and Miranda looked at her. “It’s not. It was awful. I just got… overwhelmed. I was so upset, for Nigel, I didn’t even think about the decision you had to make, and what would have happened if it had all--”
“Yes, I see,” Miranda said. She looked around, hoping no one had overheard anything. “It was a long time ago.”
“Anyway, if I could do things differently, I would. Honestly. You might not believe this, but I really liked working for you, Miranda.”
“Did you, now?”
“Yeah. I mean, you drove me kind of crazy, but comparatively speaking my job’s boring.”
“Crazy,” Miranda said, and found herself smiling wickedly. “How sweet.”
Andrea smiled again. “Of course you drove me crazy! I’m still not over the ‘Harry Potter’ extravaganza yet.”
Almost against her will, Miranda let down her guard. “That was a good one, wasn’t it,” she said slyly. This was, surprisingly, like talking to an old friend. No one who worked for her was so relaxed around her. No one who’d ever worked for her, in fact. Even those who’d left on good terms were alert, waiting for her to strike, or accuse. Which she could have done with Andrea, but for some reason, didn’t.
“Yeah, only you would say that.” Andrea bit her lip, and Miranda’s eyes were drawn to the image. “Hey, would you let me take you to lunch? To say thanks for everything?”
“Lunch. With you.”
“Sure! You can tell me how awful everyone is at Runway, and for the last three minutes, I’ll tell you how I’m doing.”
Miranda firmed her lips against a smile. She would not laugh. “I’m very busy.”
“I know. But if anyone asks, you can just tell them we had lunch so you could bitch me out. You know, make threats and such.”
“No one ever asks me anything,” Miranda purred in lieu of an answer.
Little crinkles formed at the corners of Andrea’s eyes as she chuckled. “Oh yeah, forgot already. Then you have no excuse. How about Thursday?”
“I’ll have to check my schedule.”
“Good! Thursday then, 1:00. I’ll be down here, okay? If you don’t come, I’ll know you’re busy. And if not this week, then next. I’ll wait here every Thursday till you show up. Okay?”
Miranda was caught in a web. It was an unusual experience to feel not like the spider, but the fly. “All right.”
“Great! I’ll see you Thursday. Have a great day!” She backed away from Miranda then, and nearly tripped over her heels as she did so. “Whoops.” Miranda covered her mouth. At least Andrea’s fashion sense had not reverted to Old Navy; she was wearing a gorgeous pair of Zanottis.
Finally, Miranda strode toward the car and slid inside. “Go,” she told Roy. As they drove down the street, she passed Andrea, whose smile was enormous. She looked almost ecstatic. “Hmm.”
---
Miranda had waited for Andrea in this very spot. Not the first Thursday, though she had been free. There was something in her that wanted to know if Andrea would follow through with waiting every week until Miranda showed up. She had. The second Thursday was what Miranda considered their first date.
She glanced down at her watch. It had been nearly fifteen minutes, but she was giving Detective Samuelson the benefit of the doubt. If he didn’t arrive in three minutes, she would go to the location regardless and talk her way in. And make a few phone calls on her way.
But after a moment, she saw a dark, unmarked car speed up to the curb, tires squealing as it came to a stop. Miranda rushed toward it, her cheeks already numb from the cold. She slid into the car and slammed the door, barely looking at Samuelson.
They didn’t speak for the first minute or so. Miranda was thinking only of Andrea, and her stomach was becoming more unsettled. “What do you know?” she finally asked sharply.
Marcus scratched what looked like day-old stubble on his jaw. “Probably less than you. What’s your connection?”
“Andrea, obviously.”
“How do you know her? I heard she’s just a cub reporter in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“She worked for me. And you might as well know that we’re together.”
From the corner of her eye, she saw Samuelson turn toward her. “What the fuck does that mean?”
“It means she’s my lover.”
“Fucking hell. No way, Miranda. I’m turning around.”
Miranda pulled out her phone. “Fine. I’ll call New York 1 first.”
She saw the detective grit his teeth, breathing through them noisily. “So you get the pillow talk, huh.”
“If you’re implying that Andrea shares information about the stories she works on, you’re correct. It’s perfectly legal. You don’t have to insult me.”
“Insult you? You’re blackmailing me, woman. What the hell do you expect?”
“It’s not blackmail. It’s assistance. For which you will be well compensated.”
“You paying me?”
“No. But you’ll keep your job.”
He exhaled. “Bitch.”
Miranda ignored him. “I asked what you knew about the situation.”
“Fine. We got a call from a neighbor about gunfire sometime after 9am, and when a couple of uniforms knocked on the door they heard another shot. The door was already barricaded by that point and the guy was screaming about killing some people inside. We set up camp, asked around, made some phone calls and IDed your Andy as a reporter on the scene.”
“How?”
“She’d handed out her card, and talked to a bunch of the folks in the neighborhood about Joey. They’d gotten used to her coming around. Two people saw her go inside with Maria and the kids this morning.”
“I take it ‘Joey’ is the suspect in question.”
“That’s the deal. He got three months for assaulting a convenience store clerk down in Harlem a while back, and with time served it was barely four weeks. He got out, got high and went straight there.”
The news did not ease Miranda’s mind in the least. “What are their chances?”
He huffed. “Christ, Priestly, I have no clue. He’s violent, he’s a tweaker, he’s a repeat offender. Meth makes people crazy. If he was a dope fiend they’d probably be smoking a bowl together. Too bad, huh.”
Miranda shut her eyes and asked the question that had plagued her. “How do you…” She paused to be certain her voice wouldn’t break. “How do you know the hostages are still alive?”
Samuelson honked the horn twice at the traffic in front of them. Finally, he put on the siren. It screamed in Miranda’s ears and made little difference in their progress. “Thermal imaging.”
“Thermal imaging?”
“There’s a camera that can detect heat signatures. Live bodies read red. Believe me, Miranda, there are five people in that house, and they’re all alive. Last I heard, anyway.”
“When will we get there?” Miranda wrung her hands.
“Few minutes. But I’m laying down some ground rules.”
“Fine.”
“Stay out of the way. Don’t talk to the press. Don’t speak to anyone but me. Don’t bother the cops, they’re trying to save your girlfriend’s life. Stay behind the tape. Don’t talk to the press.”
Miranda chewed the inside of her cheek. “You said that twice.”
“That means it’s twice as important as anything else. Don’t call anyone and tell them what’s happening. If any plans the rescue team sets in motion go public, they could blow it on camera.”
“Why?”
Samuelson turned to her, his expression telegraphing that she was possibly the stupidest person on the planet. “Bad guys watch tv, Miranda. They watch to know what’s happening. There’s a 99% chance the tv’s on inside and the guy knows exactly what we’re up to because of live reports happening fifty feet outside his door.”
Though she felt silly for making the suggestion, Miranda offered, “Then the press should feed inaccurate information. They have to mislead him.”
The detective chuckled. “It’s been done. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn’t. Let’s just see how it goes, okay?” The car drove up to a barricade, and two police officers waved them through.
---
After four Thursday lunches, half of which went over the two hour mark, Miranda suspected Andrea was trying to tell her something.
Miranda had only an inkling of that ‘something’ when they’d worked together. Then, it had just been a spark. An attraction that Miranda had initially written off, because it seemed silly. Crushes were not Miranda Priestly’s style. She had affairs. Sexual encounters. Marriages. Divorces. But nothing so simple as an unrequited crush.
But now it did not seem unrequited. To Miranda’s eyes, Andrea appeared… enthralled. Giddy. She blushed, she smiled, she stammered, she stared. It was positively bizarre.
And after each lunch, Miranda counted the days until the next, and looked forward to it with an anticipation that stirred something long dormant within her.
Of course, all of this remained unspoken, so it was possible (however unlikely) that Andrea did not, in fact, have the hots for her. But Miranda was determined not to show her hand. Yet.
Following the fifth lunch, Miranda offered to drive Andrea back to the office, because again, they ran late. “Thanks so much for the ride. I know it’s out of the way,” Andrea said.
“A few blocks. I don’t mind.”
“Still, it’s nice of you. I really love seeing you, and I’d hate to have to cut things short. This saves me time.”
“Well,” Miranda said. “That’s fine.”
“I mean it, Miranda. I, um, spending time with you--I don’t know what I’m saying. I see you so differently now.”
“Now that I’m not assigning you impossible tasks?”
Andrea laughed. “I suppose. And I guess you’re just… fun. I have fun. With you.”
“Fun,” Miranda sighed. “I don’t think anyone’s accused me of being fun for at least fifteen years.”
“Then they just aren’t paying enough attention,” Andrea replied. The young woman tilted her head down and looked up, brown eyes luminous beneath thick lashes. It was a model-perfect pose, one which gave Miranda an odd little flutter between her legs.
Flirting, Miranda thought. She’s flirting with me. “Their loss,” Miranda said faintly.
“And my gain.” Andrea slid close to Miranda then and kissed her cheek. Miranda’s heart stuttered at the touch. How long had it been since that happened? “Oh gee,” Andrea said, flustered. “I left lipstick. Shoot.” She reached into her purse and grabbed a tissue. “Let me--” she began carefully wiping at the mark on Miranda’s skin. Miranda flushed from the top of her head down. “Don’t want anyone at Runway to suspect you’ve been getting busy on your lunch hour.”
Take the chance, Miranda told herself. “That wouldn’t be so terrible, would it?”
Andrea kept brushing at the mark, and said, almost to herself, “Your skin’s soft.” Her fingers stilled. “What did you say?”
Miranda took a breath. “I said, that wouldn’t be so terrible.”
Andrea blinked, eyes huge and dark. “Anyone at Runway suspecting, or the, uh, getting busy part?” she whispered.
Miranda barely hung on to her train of thought. “Both.”
Andrea made a sound then, something like a whimper, and Miranda lunged. Not that she had far to go, with that lovely face only inches away. Her lips captured Andrea’s, soft and pliant, not at all surprised at the move, for they welcomed her easily. Hands dove into Miranda’s hair. Blunt nails raked gently at her skull, and she gasped at the sensation. Briefly Miranda recalled Roy in the front seat, until Andrea’s tongue slipped into her mouth and she chose not to be concerned. He was well remunerated for his position. Perhaps a bonus would be in order.
Miranda breathed her in, fingertips grazing the edges of ears down to delicate collarbones. Andrea’s skin was warm and smooth. Could she really be so delightful all over? Miranda imagined exploring this body; Andrea would be a veritable feast for her senses.
But not this afternoon. Not in the car. And not in the two minutes they had left before they arrived at The Mirror.
With an intense pang of regret, Miranda pulled away and leaned her forehead against Andrea’s. They were both panting, and Andrea pressed her fingers to Miranda’s lips. “Oh, Miranda,” she murmured, “I’ve wanted to do that for so long.”
“So let’s not waste any more time,” Miranda replied, finally opening her eyes.
“Okay.”
“Come for dinner Saturday?”
Andrea’s face crumbled. “Saturday?”
“Bad choice?”
“That’s not for two days!” she whined.
Surprised, Miranda chuckled. At least she was not alone in her desire. “I can’t tonight, and tomorrow I’m double booked. Saturday we’ll have… all evening.”
There was that breathy whimper again, and Miranda melted. She could stand to hear that a lot more often. “What time?” Andrea asked.
“Seven?” Miranda tried.
“How about six?”
Miranda slid a hand into Andrea’s hair, the strands slipping along her fingers like corn silk. “How about 5:30?”
“Better,” she said, looking pleased that Miranda had caught her drift. “I can hardly wait.”
For a single moment, Miranda hesitated. She did not want to stop what was happening, but it felt odd to embrace something new so easily. “What do you suppose we’re doing?”
Andrea grinned shyly. “Getting to know each other?” she offered. “Acting crazy? I’m not sure. But… I like it.” She stroked Miranda’s cheek. “I like you.”
Miranda kissed her again, enjoying the faint flavor of coffee on Andrea’s mouth.
---
Part III.