Amberlight Pt. 6
Title: Amberlight
Fandom: AU The Devil Wears Prada
Pairing: Miranda/Andy
Rating:Mature
Summary: A year after Paris, Andy has her life on track again, she's rocketing to success in her job at the Mirror and her freelance work has caused her to be taken under the wing of one of New York's elite writers. So, it's obvious that it's about time for fate to throw a wrench into the works once again.
Author's Note: Well, I did receive some freetime, so here's part six. I actually had a lot of fun writing this part as it's sorta the changing point of the story. I can finally step away from set-up and into the actual meat. I hope you all enjoy this bit as well. Enjoy!
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Amberlight: Part Six
The voices surrounding her brought her back into awareness. Three voices, if her hearing wasn't lying to her. That quiet dulcet tone was Miranda's, there was no doubt about that. Annoyance laced her words and Andy prayed that she herself wasn't the one poking at Miranda's wrath. The second voice was male and accented lightly. It had to be Doctor Michaels, yes, the way he said her name proved it.
Oh, so they were talking about her. Great.
The final voice was heavy with concern. Elizabeth didn't have the ability to keep her voice in a soft monotone able to bring a grown man to tears, but it was distinct enough to garner a listener's attention. Andy heard her name brought up again and she quickly realized that the three were having a disagreement.
About her. Andy's survival instinct told her to not let them figure our she was back with the waking now. She managed to keep from flinching when Doctor Michaels shouted.
“You could have killed her!”
Miranda scoffed, “She's here, isn't she?”
“Physically, yes. Mentally?”
Andy could sense Miranda's expression darkening. “James, what are you straggling on about?”
Elizabeth spoke up, ever the mediator. “Miranda, she's mongrel-bitten. It's a crushing blow to one's psyche even when it's a proper introduction. When it's an attack? No one's strong enough to handle that sort of process.”
“She's had the dreams, Elizabeth. You told me that those meant she was coping.”
“One dream and you want to welcome her in with open arms?” Doctor Michaels snorted.
“Honestly, Miranda, six months ago you were screaming at me when I first took Andrea in--” Miranda scoffed, and Elizabeth waited a moment before pressing on. “Demanding that I drop Andrea quicker than last year's fashion.”
“I didn't want you bringing her into this.”
Elizabeth's voice was dry, irony lacing it. “Oh, this is quite different then. Mongrel-bred is the new chic, is it?”
“No!”
“I respect you, Miranda, and trust you to have a level head on your shoulders; explain why I am ignoring the safety of the Pack right now to listen to you defend this girl?”
“I was supposed to be her ...guide.”
“Supposed to be?” Doctor Michaels sounded wary. “Miranda, is this--”
“Oh don't act like a moron James, do you think I would stoop so low as to maul someone?” She let out a sharp hiss. The doctor must have made an expression that she disagreed with. “I wanted to be the one to usher her in, but after Paris...”
“What did happen there?” Doctor Michaels asked.
Elizabeth clucked her tongue, “Miranda, you told me what happened, remember? I wouldn't break my friendship with you for anything. Andrea was an interesting girl, yes, but I wasn't going to cause emotional harm to you.”
Miranda sniffed, Andy could feel the air move as she waved a hand to dismiss Elizabeth's assurance. “Don't talk about her as if she's dead already. She may have been... brought in under less-than-ideal circumstances, but that shouldn't be any concern. You were willing to accept her back then, accept her now.”
“Miranda--”
“I can step in to guide her, still. You know quite well I'll keep her in line--”
“You think you're capable of taking on that responsibility?” Andy could feel the room go cold as the doctor spat out his words with a derisive laugh. If he wasn't in favor of killing her, Andy would have felt sorry for him. “You really think so, Miranda?”
“Spit it out, James.”
Doctor Michaels let out another dark laugh, the sound was grating against Andy's ears. “Fine. So you can teach her, no problem there. When she succumbs to the beast and goes rabid, are you also capable of putting her down?”
Andy's mind screeched to a halt. She must have made a noise because the room was quiet. She went still again, begging them to think it's a sleep-induced sound. It worked because Miranda spoke again. “I have the highest assurance--”
“Knock of the attitude Miranda, it's unbecoming. Can you kill the girl when she turns into a monster?”
Tension suffocated Andy. Miranda wasn't answering and she wasn't sure she wanted to hear an answer. If Miranda said no, was she going to be killed anyways? Who would do it? Doctor Michaels looked barely strong enough to lift a small patient, let alone a grown woman.
“Yes.”
Andy glared at Miranda in her mind's eye. What sort of messed-up answer was that?! It was Andy's life on the line here, hello!
Elizabeth sighed. “All right.”
“Lisa!”
“James, shush.” The command in the redhead's voice stopped the protest in the doctor's throat. “We'll allow Miranda to have her fun. Every pup needs to learn the hard way, we all know this. Do whatever you please with the girl, Miranda, but when the resolve breaks and you can't do what's best for everyone involved, especially Andrea, I will. I've done it quite a few times before and I most certainly believe this won't be my last.”
“Lisa, I really don't agree with this.” The doctor began a new spiel, but a short growl silenced him.
“Then at the next full moon you can challenge my position. Until then, my word is law and you're going to tuck your tail between your legs, walk out of here, and keep quiet. Understand?” There wasn't a verbal response, but the door did slam a second later. Elizabeth sighed. “Miranda, the same goes for you. I'll allow this, but when the time comes, you're in no position to argue, understood?”
“Of course, Elizabeth.” Miranda didn't sound chastised at all, and there was another shutting of the door. Someone murmured a prayer for guidance and the bed shifted as someone sat by Andy's hip. “You can stop playing dead now.”
Andy cracked open an eye to see Miranda with a blank expression. She looked tired. Andy bit her bottom lip, wondering how to start off a conversation after what she just heard. “Hi Miranda, it's nice to see you again after a fuzzy wolf popped up in my bedroom; shame about the killing bit. How was your time after my world went ka-blooey?”
Miranda's lips pressed into thin line and her eyes narrowed. “I'm going to allow you the excuse of the tea making one have a loose tongue.”
Andy winced. Oh god, she must have spoken aloud. Oh hell, Miranda was going to kill her now.
“I'm not going to kill you, will you please stop giving me those eyes.” Oh, one worry off her mind then. “Also, Andrea, a baby rabbit is 'fuzzy'. A kitten can be considered 'fuzzy', as can a stuffed teddy-bear. A wolf is -not- fuzzy.”
“Ok, not fuzzy. Got it.”
Andy didn't get it at all, and Miranda understood that for her eyes flashed a skyward 'why-do-you-curse-me-with-morons?' look. She remained like that for a heartbeat, then pursed her lips. “Well?”
Andy blinked. “Buh?”
“Oh, for heaven's sake, I did give you too strong a dose.” Miranda's gaze lowered and she pressed her fingers against her temples. “Where are your questions, Andrea? You wanted to be a journalist so terribly, did you not?”
“I did! I do!” Andy exclaimed, “but my head's really fuzzy.”
“Can we pretend that the word 'fuzzy' is banned from intelligent conversation?”
Andy groaned, covering her face with the pillow. She took a breath and then pushed it aside. “Fine. So. Right. Huh.” She rubbed at a cheek. “All right. Um. I'm just going to ask, without actually saying what I saw, because I might still be hallucinating here--”
“How did you figure that?”
Andy flashed Miranda an 'are-you-serious?' look that rivaled the editors. Miranda actually looked impressed, for her eyes narrowed in amusement. Andy's nod was firm. “Don't interrupt my mental crisis!” She stared up at the ceiling. “What I saw last night wasn't a bad acid trip, right?”
No answer.
Andy shot up and poked at Miranda's shoulder, ignoring the unspoken rule that one never-ever touched Miranda Priestly. Ever. “Right?”
“I was told not to interrupt.”
Andy took that for a yes. “Then, you're a werewolf?”
“I think the current term is 'lupus-sapient', but that's from the influx of wildlife specialists so, yes Andrea, if you want to use an outdated expression from the 17th century.”
“Actually, in the 17th century, it was 'loup-garou' from the French Countryside Trials ... that you have no care for because you're not interested in them. Shutting up now.” Miranda had the gall to smirk. “So, um, when can I freak out?”
“I suggest 'never'.” Miranda's cheek twitched and from the haunted look that suddenly shadowed her, Andy didn't think it was from holding back a smile. “Apparently, there isn't anyone that has overcome the trauma of a mauling.” She interpreted Andy's blank look as a question and continued explaining. “It means, Andrea, that you should remain absolutely calm and overly-cheerful; unless you have a death wish and want to worry a group of hyper-paranoid wolves that you're going to snap and expose them.”
Andy saw red. “Oh, right. I'll take a hint from your book and just not give a shit, shall I?” Miranda made to cut in but Andy shook her head, her hands balling into fists around the blankets. “Don't. You don't have the right to say anything. What the hell do you know about keeping calm here, huh? You said it yourself, “it was an honor, so magical” -- well Harry Potter's out of the fucking building, Miranda! There's no magic, no wonder. You just think I can accept this and even consider pretending that my life's still normal?!”
“Yes.”
“Fuck you, Miranda.”
Miranda reared back, her eyes flashing. She bit the inside of her cheek, watching Andy glare at a vase. “Are you done?” At Andy's murderous look, she held up a hand, cutting the younger woman off. “No. Tell me, are you done with your little outburst? If not, please, feel free to continue. I'll resume after you're spent.” Andy didn't say anything, but she knew her own cheek twitched from the effort. “You're quite right, Andrea. I have no idea what it's like to wake up after being attacked and told you're about to lose your sanity and be killed for your own safety.”
Andy blinked, her anger vanishing. Miranda wasn't done, though. “I do, however, know exactly what it felt like, back before the exhilaration. I remember the sensation of walking into the twilight zone when you're led by the hand into a smaller room open to the outside. When everyone wears this flimy robes like it's the dressing room at a fashion show, before the clothes are brought out. Then the room shimmers and you grow dizzy from the power infusing the small space. Everyone has a glow to them, and your eyes are surely playing tricks on you, and no, you're not mad at all to see the image of a wolf super-imposed over the faces of these people.” She took a breath, her hand shaking. “In fact, you're so sure you're not crazy, you're going to ignore the fact that now it appears that the person is the image and the wolf is standing before you.”
Andy listened quietly, using Miranda's calm to coax her own emotions into settling.
“You stumble, and when you right yourself and look, you're in the middle of a circle of wolves who make a bear look like a toy. You collapse, how couldn't you, and when you wake up and assure yourself it's not a dream, the woman who took you in tells you that she's the head of a Pack of 'werewolves' and wants you to join, you have so much to offer. Oh, and there's no chance of refusal. Well, unless you're willing to be killed to keep the secret from escaping.” She stopped, meeting Andy's look with utter contempt. “I think I might have a clue to what you're experiencing right now.”
“Oh.”
“Yes,” Miranda snorted, rolling her eyes. “ 'Oh'.”
“You said last nigh that it was--”
“I know what I said, and I meant that. The second time, when it was my turn to join them, it was a wonder, and I do wish you could experience that. That I could have offered that to you.”
“So I'm going to go mad then. Is it like rabies?”
Miranda patted her hand. “Don't be silly Andrea, they don't understand the potential you've shown. They're relying on outdated information and you can be sure to tell them that after this is all done.”
Andy tucked away the tickle of pride for later assessment. “How many, uh, y'know...”
Miranda allowed Andy to stammer without rebuking, and shrugged an impeccably-clad shoulder. “How many have been mauled? Plenty. Mongrels aren't common, but they have happened in the past and we do survive for a very long time. How many have survived the attack? According to James, only seventeen in the last century have actually made it through the attack itself. I thought, from Elizabeth had first told me, that acceptance was ...common... for them, but I was painfully reminded last night that every single one of those seventeen that didn't kill themselves were put down for the sake of society.”
“None? No one's ever ...” Andy had to look away from the answer in Miranda's eyes. Her stomach clenched painfully. “So, now what? What's going to happen to me now?”
“I don't know, Andrea.”
That revelation, that Miranda wasn't sure, that Andy could possibly be in some unmarked grave in the near future welled in her throat and Andy had to choke back the sob that threatened to break. The next one was strangled and she covered her face with her hands. She needed to compose herself. One did not cry before Miranda Priestly. One didn't show weakness. They just dealt.
A hand gently pried one of hers from her face and gently tucked it in a warm hold. “It's all right, Andrea.” Miranda spoke gently, her thumb rubbing along Andy's palm. That broke the dam and the next sob was loud and full, shaking the brunette with it's intensity. Tears irritated her nose as they tracked down a cheek. Andy struggled to calm down but gave up after the next gut-wrenching sob pushed out of her. She looked wildly about the room and landed on Miranda's eyes, the blue clouded with sympathy and understanding. It was a look of a woman who had been there, accepting the circumstances all too quickly.
The pair remained like that for a while, Andy crying and Miranda holding her hand, a silent sentinel. The door opened sometime halfway through the time, but Miranda had sent whoever it was away with a cold look. When Andy's sobs faded to painful hiccups, and she could only manage a shaky breath or two in place of a deep one, she took the tissue Miranda offered and wiped at her eyes. Miranda was still quiet, and Andy took the cue to try a deep breath. It ended in a broken hiccup. Slowly, Andy began the process of gathering herself. So, she was signed over to failure.
So what?
She had been expected to fail from the moment she stepped into New York. Even worse, it was guaranteed she would fail at Runway. She knew about the betting pool, the variable was which day she would throw in the towel. She hadn't though. Andy's will hardened. She had been the only girl to meet Miranda's demands and get noticed. She got Harry Potter. Harry Potter! Well, that had been Christian, but that wasn't the point! She had survived Miranda's wrath and what more, she had come out whole on the other end.
She had walked away. A silly bite couldn't possibly break her after Paris, after Runway. Not when she had walked through fire with the Devil herself.
“I won't accept that answer, Miranda.”
Miranda took on a hawk-like appearance as her brow arched sharply. She didn't say anything as Andy twisted the tissue in her free hand. “So what if everyone thinks I'm going to go Looney Tunes on them. They don't know me. I won't accept failure in this, I can't. Nope. Nu-huh.” Andy closed her eyes and willed the despair into a small, dark box, and shoved it behind the other issues she just had no time for. She took a deep breath. Opened her eyes. Met Miranda's steady gaze. “What's the first lesson?”
Miranda's answering smile was absolutely devilish.