New fic: Light Up, Part IV
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 IV.
“I don’t want to eat. I can’t.” Miranda turned her head away, the scent of the hamburger turning her stomach.
“You have to. If we’re here all day and night, you’ll turn psycho on me, and we’ll both suffer. Eat, Priestly. Or you’re going back downtown.”
She pursed her lips before taking the white bag from Samuelson. She would do it for Andrea. And if she threw up, she would make sure to do it on Samuelson’s shoes. But from the look of them, they’d already been through worse.
Returning to her post on the hood of Samuelson’s car, she nibbled at the sandwich, struck dumb when hunger overtook her after the first bite. It was already 2:30; she’d been here more than two hours and nothing had happened. She could tell there were phone conversations taking place between someone or another; the echo and scream of walkie talkies was everywhere. The reporters still hovered nearby, and Miranda wondered if anyone had recognized her yet. She hoped not. She didn’t want the children--
Oh, god. Her children. And Andrea’s parents. They didn’t know, did they?
Quickly she choked down most of the hamburger, ignoring the greasy French fries in the bottom of the bag. When she was done, she pulled out her phone, which had not rung once that afternoon, and dialed Emily.
“Get me Andrea’s emergency contact information. We should still have it on file.”
“Yes, Miranda. Hold on.” She listened to their hold music, amazed that Emily had not even flinched at her request. Nigel must have told her the news. He must have told everyone. Miranda experienced only a twinge of dissatisfaction. She was officially out of the closet, she supposed. “I’ve got it,” Emily said, interrupting her train of thought.
Miranda wrote the phone numbers down on the white take-out bag. “Thank you,” she said distantly, dreading the upcoming conversation.
“Are you all right? What’s happening?”
Struck by the concern in Emily’s voice, Miranda replied, “I’m fine. Just… waiting.”
“I’m sorry. We’re here if you need anything. Anything at all.”
Miranda felt her throat close. She did not want more of this kindness. “Fine.” She hung up, and swallowed with effort. No tears. Not now. She wished Marcus would come back around and order her to get her shit together again. That was far more helpful.
Before she lost her nerve, she dialed the first number on the bag beneath the scribbled words: Charles, cell. Before the phone rang even once, a man picked up. “Hello?” He was frantic; he knew.
“Mr. Sachs, this is Miranda Priestly. I take it you’re aware of the situation?”
There was a long pause. “Miranda? What is this? Why are you calling, we need to keep the line clear--”
“I’m very near the location where your daughter is being held, Mr. Sachs. I just wanted to--” As she said the words, she wasn’t even sure why she was calling. To communicate with someone else who knew and loved Andrea. To relate to another person whose world would fall apart if anything happened to her. “To be sure you knew.”
“We got a call from the paper. We’re at the airport--our flight takes off in twenty minutes.”
“Good. Is someone collecting you from the terminal? The police?”
“No, they just told us to go to the precinct--”
“I’ll have a car waiting. Which airport, airline, and flight number?”
“What?” Charles said, flustered. “Kennedy, on Delta. Hold on, Miranda. What are you doing there?”
Miranda winced, and hoped that if she stuck to the facts, he wouldn’t ask too much. “Andrea and I are very close, Mr. Sachs. We can discuss it later. But the most important thing is for you to be here. The number I’m calling from is my cell--contact me as soon as you can. And if anything happens, I’ll phone you immediately.”
“Okay,” he said. “It’s flight 132. And thank you. I’m glad someone’s… there for her.”
“I am, Mr. Sachs. Very much so. Stay in touch.”
“I will.”
Miranda heard the click that indicated he’d hung up, and she took a deep breath. She phoned Emily with details about the Sachs’ arrival in New York, and Emily breathlessly agreed to handle everything, including hotel reservations. Miranda intended to offer them room in her townhouse, but didn’t assume they’d accept. Especially if things didn’t end--
She put that thought out of her mind. Her Blackberry vibrated in her hand, indicating she had a text message. She glanced down, and sighed. Caroline.
Mom, what’s happening? One of my friends saw you on the news.
She dialed her daughter, who was likely on her way home from school by now; word traveled so quickly through Dalton she was amazed she hadn’t gotten a call earlier in the day.
“Mom!”
“Hello darling. Is Cassidy with you?”
“Yeah. What’s wrong? Why are you with the police?”
She wanted to shield her children from this incident; she could hardly bear the knowledge of Andrea’s whereabouts herself. But this had to be done, and they’d find out from the internet anyway. Perhaps they could tell her if the news reports were giving out Andrea’s name publicly yet. “I’m fine. Your father’s fine. But Andrea…”
“Is she writing about that thing with the hostages?”
Well, they knew that much. Miranda’s heart began to pound harder. The words were very, very difficult to say. “She’s inside the house, darling.”
“What do you mean?”
“She’s…” Miranda fought the lump in her throat and shook her head. “She’s one of the hostages.”
There was whispering, and Cassidy’s voice came on the line, a little higher and thinner than Caroline’s. “Mom, Andy’s in there? They said on the news that that guy has a gun, and that he has his girlfriend and kids. They didn’t mention anyone else!”
“Then you must not tell anyone, anyone at all about this, Cassidy. Not your friends, or even Elissa. No one. Is that clear?”
“Okay, Mom. I swear.” There was another flurry of whispers. “Caroline promises too. We just want her to be okay. What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to stay here until Andrea is rescued. And I want you to go home and stay with Elissa. Will you do that for me?”
“Yeah.” The quiver in her daughter’s voice spoke of tears coming, and fast. “Mommy, everything’s going to be okay, right?”
Please, god, let me say it with conviction. Help me believe. “Of course, sweetheart. We’ll have her home with us very soon.”
Cassidy began crying in earnest then, and Miranda took a deep breath and tried to keep herself in check. Caroline came back on the line. “Mom, we’re almost home. Call us soon, okay?”
“Of course. Mommy lo--I love you.”
“We love you too.”
She’d been trying to stop calling herself “Mommy,” because her girls were growing up. But it was difficult to break the habit, especially now.
Rage filled her, choking in its intensity. She hoped the man inside that house, whoever he was, would be killed by the police when this incident came to a close. She did not want to go to jail for premeditated murder.
---
Miranda wanted to throw something made of glass at the wall, just to hear it shatter. She had not been so infuriated for ages; maybe not even since Stephen had tried to accuse her of infidelity during the divorce proceedings.
“I thought you’d be busy! You always have fifty invitations!” Andrea shouted.
Miranda abhorred shouting. Was the girl trying to cause a war? “Lower your voice. I cleared my schedule. For you. I wanted to spend New Year’s Eve with you. And now you tell me I sent my regrets to four separate events for absolutely nothing. Because you’re busy.”
“It’s not nothing, it’s a party with my friends. We can celebrate later--I figured you’d already have plans.”
Miranda exhaled through her nose, steadying herself. The truth was that she had said no to those parties because she wanted to spend New Year’s Eve with Andrea. Badly. She’d expected to have her all to herself for at least a few days. With Miranda sharing the girls with Jeffrey, she would get them for Christmas, and he’d have them for the New Year, leaving her calendar completely open. Andrea was to return from Ohio on the 29th. It was perfect. But now it was ruined. “This is--” she nearly said the clichéd words ‘our first New Year’s together,’ but closed her mouth. A thought occurred to her, one that sent her mind skidding off in a new direction.
Perhaps she cared more than Andrea did. Perhaps her feelings were not returned as deeply. Perhaps this was just a fling. Andrea was so young, and Miranda was only her third lover. There was always the possibility that Andrea wanted to branch out. See other people. Other women. Miranda sneered. “Fine. Go with your friends. Don’t bother calling again, I understand your priorities now. Don’t come over tonight. Or ever.”
“Wait a fucking second, Miranda!”
“I said lower your voice,” Miranda said. “Better yet, this conversation is over. Goodbye.” Miranda hung up, ignoring the twisting in her belly. Andrea gave her so much happiness, but it was bound to come to an end. It always did. Better now than later down the line, after it was too late for Miranda to extricate herself with some semblance of grace.
She glanced at her watch; it was after six. She had no plans for the night. She would go home, have dinner with her children, and drink herself into a stupor. That was the best course of action. She strode out of her office. “I’m leaving.” Monique scurried to get Miranda’s coat and bag.
Emily leapt up from her chair, pad in hand. “But the blouses from Prada just arrived. Should I bring them over--”
“No. Just the Book. I’ll deal with it in the morning.”
“But the shoot’s at 7:45--how will you--”
Miranda rolled her eyes. “Fine. Let’s see them.” Miranda spent five minutes going through everything, but it was hard to care much. “This one for Janine. Marguerite can wear the blue, unless she’s hasn’t taken those last five pounds off. If it doesn’t fit, you have my permission to ban her from the shoot. Permanently.” Glancing at Emily, her lip curled. “And get rid of that eyeshadow. This is not the set of ‘Pricilla, Queen of the Desert.’”
Emily’s mouth dropped open, and she touched her forehead with one shaking hand. “Of course, Miranda.”
Miranda almost felt sorry for saying it. Emily had her own style; it was something Miranda secretly enjoyed. But not today. Today, she hated it. She hated everything, and everyone. She flung her coat over her shoulder and barreled out of the office.
The elevator ride was suffocating. Outside, the cold slammed into her with a nearly physical blow, but Roy’s car idled at the curb.
“Hey! Hey you!” someone shouted. Miranda turned, and Andrea was running down the block toward her, hair flying in the wind. In jeans and a heavy sweater, she looked like she was late to a football game on a college campus. Yet another good reason for Miranda to have woken up from her dream. The girl was far too young for her, not to mention immature. “Don’t you dare get in that car!” Andrea yelled.
Miranda made a beeline for the sedan, and got in without a second thought. But Andrea was too close, and before Miranda could lock the door, Andrea threw it open, pushed her over and got inside. “Get out,” Miranda hissed.
“Stop talking. Roy, do you mind?”
“Nope.” The privacy screen went up instantly.
When the glass was up, Andrea turned to her, beautiful face flushed with exertion and cold. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Nothing at all. I’m just coming to understand what our relationship means to you. Which is not much. You’re free to do as you like, Andrea.” The words stung Miranda’s heart. She would not bend, though. This was over.
“Jesus. You are a lunatic. I thought I was doing you a favor. And you didn’t even let me finish! I was going to meet you after your parties. When I said later, I meant later that night, at your place, or my place, or wherever. I mean, I know you don’t want to be seen with me in public--”
“I never said that,” Miranda interrupted.
“You don’t have to. It’s implicit. We don’t go out. No one knows about us, and I’m fine with that. For now. So I thought you could go your way, I go mine, and we’d see each other after and celebrate. Do what people in love do on New Year’s Eve. Have some champagne and make love and be happy.” She shook her head. “What’s so awful about that?”
Miranda had listened to Andrea’s words, but her attention snagged on two words from her diatribe. She tried to repeat them, but struggled with the effort.
“What?” Andrea demanded.
“In love,” Miranda finally breathed. “You said ‘people in love.’”
Andrea seemed to recognize the change in Miranda, and shrugged. “Yeah.” Her lips pursed miserably. “I love you.”
“Oh,” Miranda said. Something in her brain was about to short-circuit. “Oh.”
“Except right now it’s kind of hard. I really, really hate being hung up on. And if you don’t believe I’d rather spend New Year’s with you instead of anybody else in the world, you’re an idiot. I plan my life around your schedule, Miranda. Even when I haven’t slept much, or when I’m working, or busy, or my family wants to see me. And now, when I try to let you do what you have to but still spend time with you, it backfires.” She wiped at her eyes. “Why are you so quick to assume that I don’t want to be with you? Don’t you want this?” She sniffled, and her face changed dramatically. “Are you trying to let me down easy? I thought you loved me too. Oh god, I am so stupid,” she sobbed, and broke down in tears.
“Stop,” Miranda said, putting one hand on Andrea’s shoulder and lifting her chin with another. “Please. I do. I do love you.” It was far easier to say than she thought it would be. “I love you very much. I only--my mind plays tricks--I assumed--oh, just--can we forget this ever happened?”
A glimmer of hope reflected in Andrea’s eyes. “You love me?”
Miranda nodded. “I’m a fool. I’m so sorry.”
Andrea flew at Miranda’s neck, arms wrapping around her tightly. They clung to each other, and Miranda’s stomach rolled from the rapid release of tension.
“Don’t ever hang up on me again,” Andrea insisted. “I can’t stand that.”
Miranda exhaled in relief. The warm breath on her neck gave her goosebumps. “I won’t.”
“I’ll cancel on Doug and Lily.”
“No,” Miranda said. “Go. We’ll do what you said. Spend time with your friends, I’ll go to a party or two, and we’ll meet at the townhouse.” She kissed the soft patch of skin beneath Andrea’s ear. “But then you’re mine. I won’t let you up for air for three whole days. All right?”
Andrea trembled in the embrace. “Yeah.”
The darkness in Miranda’s vision receded, and things righted themselves.
---
The clouds above were darker than ever; sporadic snowflakes were starting to drift down, melting before they hit the ground. It should have been a peaceful afternoon. Miranda was supposed to be sitting with Mark and James in their offices right now, previewing their next collection. Andrea was supposed to be sitting at her desk, typing away, listening to music on her headphones. They’d exchange a few emails, to discuss what to have for dinner, and what time they’d each be home. Miranda should be mentioning that she had plans Friday night, but the twins wanted to have a movie night, so could she spend some time with them alone?
Andrea would have said yes. Of that, Miranda was certain. Andrea always said yes.
Tears leapt to Miranda’s eyes and spilled down her cheeks without warning. She left her sunglasses in place, but her breath started to come faster. She covered her mouth against the scream of terror that threatened to tear her throat apart. Not knowing anything was driving her out of her mind; every second was harder to manage. “Please,” she begged to the empty space in front of her. “Please let her be all right.” Her whole body shook, although she could no longer feel the cold.
Snow began to fall.
Miranda wept for an indeterminate amount of time, alone. She saw the police officers clustering, separating, moving about, but it all looked the same after so many hours of staring. Why can’t you just go in there and save her?
Eventually Marcus came trudging back to her, smoking, drinking coffee. He handed her a cup that was still hot, and Miranda wanted to hug him. He also handed her a lit cigarette. “There’s been some progress,” he said.
“What?” Miranda’s heart stopped.
“Conversation. They’re talking to him every few minutes now. His high’s long gone, and the baby’s crying a lot, and he’s just trying to keep it together.”
“He’s not the only one,” Miranda muttered.
He took a drag off his cigarette. “Saw you lose it a little a while ago. You held out longer than most. You have balls of steel, woman.”
Miranda snorted. “That’s a new one. Don’t tell the Post. It might usurp Dragon Lady, or even Ice Queen as my moniker of the day.”
“They call you that? In the press?”
“You don’t get out much, do you, Detective.”
“Not in your circle.”
They smoked some more, silently, as heavy snow fell around them. Miranda wished she had a hood.
“That’s pretty unfair,” Marcus said.
“Pardon?”
“Ice queen, or whatever they call you,” he said. “I don’t know you that well, but you don’t strike me as that at all.”
“And how do I strike you?”
He looked over at her, and carefully removed the sunglasses from her face. His eyes softened. “Human. You’re as human as the rest of us.”
She snatched the sunglasses from him and slid them back on. “You keep that to yourself, Samuelson. I have a reputation to uphold.”
He chuckled, and patted her shoulder. Miranda felt grateful for the cold comfort.
As Miranda sucked at the filter of her cigarette, wishing it had lasted just a little longer, she heard a funny sound, like balloons popping. Her body reacted though her brain took a moment to catch up. Samuelson took off, and she heard two more pops, followed by a series of shouts as a swarm of police rushed toward the house.
Miranda dropped her coffee, barely noticing that it spilled all over her shoes.
---
Part V.