The White Queen Falls (Miranda/Andrea); Chapter 12
Pairing: Miranda/Andrea
Rating: NC-17/Mature at some point
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Fluff
Betas: My darlings Susi and Jiggles.
Summary: What if Miranda hadn't known?
Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to "The Devil Wears Prada". I only want to play around with our two favourite ladies. I make absolutely zero profit of this.
A/N: This is the last chapter I have had ready, so from now on I can only post as fast as I can write. I am aiming for two chapters per week, but I work full-time, and the wife's anger at anything Meryl-related will not allow me to write much at home. I'll do my best, but please be patient! :) I will write whenever I can, I promise! :)
Previous: [ Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 ]
Chapter 12
The gentle, melodious trickle of bird song filtered through to Miranda's subconsciousness and gradually lured her from slumber. As she listened, still barely awake, she noticed that it was the only sound she heard, occasional twitters and whistles breaking through an otherwise surprising silence. There was no wind brushing through the trees around them, no rain drumming against the roof, and not even the steady crashing of waves booming in the distance. After four days of seemingly endless downpours, the absence of constant noise from the elements was unsettling.
She took a deep breath, and as her lungs filled with crisp morning air she felt an unexpected heaviness push against her chest. Blinking her eyes open, she could only make out the vague outlines of the cabin around her, dawn still too young to help her see. However, Miranda did not need to rely on sight to know that she was not alone. Pressed against her under the blanket was Andrea, her warm body pinning Miranda to the couch.
As the foggy remnants of sleep dissipated, Miranda slowly became aware of how their legs were tangled, and even through the layers of their clothing she could feel the younger woman's breasts push into her side. Andrea had an arm wrapped around her waist, and when Miranda turned her head to squint into the darkness, she felt the cold tip of her nose brush against the softness of Andrea's cheek. Her own arms were loosely slung around the slumbering body, and when she carefully allowed herself to revel in Andrea's proximity, she had to suppress the sudden urge to squeeze.
Heat crept over her face as she quietly inhaled through her nose, the mixed scents of shampoo, slumber and something uniquely Andrea causing her to feel lightheaded. A knee was nestled between her thighs with deliciously teasing pressure, but as much as she wanted to give into her instincts, she restrained her hips from grinding against it. Closing her eyes again, she instead attempted to focus on Andrea's even breathing, finding a sense of peace and protectiveness in simply holding the younger woman close.
Miranda knew she could not permit herself to indulge in her physical attraction to Andrea. But whereas in the past she would have distanced herself altogether, seeking safety by avoiding all contact, she now longed to preserve the bond they had formed. It was something wonderfully intriguing and entirely new. She realised that never before had anyone been as selfless and trusting as Andrea had been by bringing her to this place.
People always wanted something out of their acquaintance with Miranda, be it money, favours or fame. But not Andrea, no. At a time when Miranda had needed it the most, the younger woman had swept her away to a place where she could safely lick her wounds and heal, without asking anything in return. And the fact that the cabin held such emotional significance only showed Miranda how much Andrea truly trusted her.
It had taken a while for Miranda to fall asleep the previous night, her mind too busy with thoughts and emotions from hearing Andrea's heartbreaking story. She had learned so much about the younger woman, and the new information had only cemented the growing affection in her heart. In a world ruled by self-serving opportunists and greedy strategists, Andrea was a rare flower, blooming despite the acid rain and the toxic air. Some would call it naivety, but Miranda now understood that Andrea wasn't kind to others due to a lack of knowledge or awareness of how the world worked, but in spite of it.
Miranda had only ever had a handful of close friendships in her life, most of which had not survived her lifestyle and the merciless pace of the fashion industry. Nigel was one of the few people whom she could still count on, since even Stephen, after so many years, had turned his back on her. Miranda knew she was largely to blame for people abandoning her, the strong need for survival inside her erecting impenetrable walls that shielded her from almost any lasting connection. It was something she wanted to absolutely prevent from happening with Andrea.
As dawn progressed, Miranda studied the peacefully sleeping woman in her arms. Andrea looked so young that the excited flutter in Miranda's chest quickly turned to guilt. She felt like a fiend, a predator lusting after an innocent maiden. Why did her heart suddenly want to have a say in things, after keeping quiet for so many years? She knew that she would be able to handle mere sexual attraction by squashing it down, just as she always had. But the added fondness for Andrea created an explosive combination that she found incredibly difficult to control.
Rational thought was of no use, either. She could repeat over and over in her head how Andrea was most probably straight, and how even if she were not, the likelihood of such a beautiful, intelligent woman harbouring anything other than admiration for Miranda was practically nonexistent. And yet those thoughts could not stop the warmth that spread through her when Andrea stirred in her sleep, the arm around Miranda's middle tightening as soft lips pressed against her throat in sleepy murmurs.
She did not take Andrea for someone who was insincere, and from the responses she had seen over the past few days, Miranda deduced that Andrea held at least some form of affection for her. Miranda knew that she wanted to cherish that affection, even if having to suppress some of the physical reactions would pose a real challenge. After all, she was not some teenage boy who could not keep his hormones in check.
Andrea shifted again, and her socked foot subconsciously rubbed against Miranda's own. The featherlight friction travelled up Miranda's legs like a strong electrical surge, and it settled low in her abdomen, causing her to squirm. That movement in return caused Andrea's knee to press firmly between her legs, and with wide eyes, Miranda gasped into the morning.
"Oh god."
This would not do.
"Andrea," she whispered, her voice raw. "Wake up."
In her sleep-drunk state Andrea only managed to rub herself more against Miranda, who in turn felt fire erupt in her veins.
"Ugh," she groaned in frustration. "Andrea, you need to get off me. Now."
"Huh?"
The younger woman lifted her head and blinked in groggy confusion, until finally their position seemed to sink in.
"Oh!" She started upward, her knee pressing even harder in between Miranda's legs as she propelled herself off the couch. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry, Miranda!"
Closing her eyes and balling her hands into fists barely helped keep Miranda together, but she was able to swallow down a loud moan.
"Did I hurt you?" Andrea continued in near panic, and Miranda realised she must look as if she were in pain.
"No, no... just," she covered her face with her palms. Torn between laughing and lashing out in frustration, she exhaled slowly and rubbed her cheeks, hoping she wasn't blushing.
"Cramp." She sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the couch. "I had a cramp. That's all."
"Oh," Andrea said, sheepishly looking down at Miranda. "Is it better now?"
The early morning yielded no more than a diffuse, grey light, but Miranda noticed how Andrea's hair was a dishevelled mess, her left cheek had press marks from where it had lain on Miranda's knitted sweater, and her eyes were heavy with sleep. She looked utterly adorable, and Miranda had to smirk.
"Yes. I'm fine."
She tugged at her collar and smoothed over her pants. Thanks to the past few stressful months at the magazine, Miranda was not unaccustomed to waking up in clothes she had worn the previous day. It was something she despised, since it left her feeling ragged and unclean, resulting in an almost obsessive compulsive need to get undressed and take a shower. This morning, however, she wanted to keep Andrea's lingering scent on her a while longer, so she just stood and discretely stretched her spine.
"But you know what would make me feel even better?" She raised an eyebrow, and Andrea immediately jumped into action.
"Coffee! Of course, Miranda!"
Once in the kitchen, busy refilling the water of the coffee maker, Andrea asked, "would you also like breakfast?"
Miranda had followed across the room, and as she sat down on one of the bar stools she stroked her chin in contemplation.
"Yes, I think I would like some scrambled eggs." She was rather hungry.
"Coming right up," Andrea smiled.
For a while Miranda watched Andrea work, the sense of domesticity not escaping her. As her assistant at Runway, Andrea had always fetched coffee and brought her breakfast, but here on the island in Andrea's own cabin and with the dynamic between them having so profoundly shifted, the setting felt positively homey. Miranda could imagine the sound of small feet trampling down the staircase, her daughters lured by the noises of food preparation, and she pictured them reading their Harry Potter books on the couch while the adults drank their lattes by the fire.
"Here you go," Andrea grinned when she placed the steaming cup on the counter in front of Miranda. In the dimmed kitchen light Miranda could see that the younger woman's eyes were still slightly red from all the crying, and she recalled the feeling of a distraught Andrea in her arms, clinging to her as sobs had shaken her tired body. Before she realised what she was doing, Miranda reached out and carefully brushed an unruly strand of hair behind Andrea's ear.
Gaze cast downwards, Andrea traced the movement with her own fingers, smoothing down her chestnut locks as best as she could, suddenly self-conscious. Miranda's heart beat faster. She was appalled by her own lack of control, but thoroughly endeared by the small blush that appeared on Andrea's cheeks.
"Thank you," Miranda tried to break through the ensuing awkwardness. "For the coffee."
"It's no problem," Andrea smiled again, but she did not look Miranda in the eye. "You're my guest... in a way." She shrugged and began cracking eggs on the edge of a glass bowl. "Although that still feels really weird."
"What does?" Miranda inquired after taking a first, perfect sip from her coffee. "Me being your guest, or the fact that all of this," she gestured to their surroundings, "belongs to you?"
Andrea scrunched up her face in that unattractive, but completely adorable way. "Both?"
"It's a beautiful place," Miranda said softly, her lips brushing against the porcelain of her cup.
Whisk in hand, Andrea stared down at the eggs she was about to beat.
"You know... when I got the letter from the attorney... Nate wanted me to sell all of this. He said that the money would allow me to quit my job at Runway."
"I'm glad you didn't listen to him," Miranda said, her chest constricting at the thought of Andrea leaving her.
"Well," Andrea began stirring the eggs. "He just saw it as an opportunity for me to stop working at a place and for a person he really hated." Her hands paused, and she looked up, eyes wide, "Oh, sorry, I mean..."
"It's alright," Miranda interrupted, not without an unpleasant burn in her heart. "I'm well aware that most people hate me." She waved her hand dismissively and drank another sip of coffee.
"I don't hate you," Andrea said quietly, her eyes shyly flicking to the side, before she dared look back up at Miranda.
"You're not 'most people'." Miranda replied softly, and her entire being became engulfed in warmth when Andrea answered with a blinding smile. Still fresh in her mind, memories of waking up with Andrea in her arms forced Miranda to avert her gaze.
Luckily, the younger woman quickly focused on breakfast again, giving a slightly flustered Miranda the chance to calm herself with more coffee. The eggs were whipped, seasoned and fried, and soon Miranda and Andrea sat opposite each other, once again eating in silence. After a few forkfuls of food, Miranda felt like the lack of conversation was forced, as if they both tried to adhere to rules that no longer mattered. She thought of things to say, but being horribly inept at small talk, she drew a blank.
"Will you tell me," Andrea came to her rescue, "how you found out my aunt's name?"
"Hmmm," Miranda swallowed her bite of food. "Last night, when I went outside to get firewood, the next-door neighbour came to talk to me."
"Oh, Marie?"
"Yes." She finished her coffee before continuing, "she asked me how you were coping with Erica's death."
Andrea thoughtfully studied the kitchen counter. "Marie and her husband know me from those summers when I came to visit. They're nice people. When I inherited the cabin, they agreed to keep an eye on it for me until I had time to figure out what to do."
"Does your family know where you are?" Miranda asked, careful to not reveal that she already knew the answer from having read Andrea's private email.
"No," Andrea admitted quietly. "I didn't want them to know. We had a bit of a falling out, because of... stuff."
"Stuff?" Miranda teased gently.
"Yes... well," Andrea dropped her shoulders with an unhappy sigh. "I had broken up with my boyfriend before Paris... and when I returned from France, my future at Runway unsure, he had kicked me out of the apartment, all my belongings crammed into a few miserable boxes that waited for me in the hallway." She snorted humorlessly. "When I asked my parents for help they refused."
Miranda squared her jaw and inhaled sharply through her nose. She had already gathered from the email that Andrea had lost her home after ending her relationship. What she had not realised, however, was that the young woman had been thrown out onto the streets, left to her own devices by people who were supposed to care about and love her.
"Where did you sleep?" She managed to ask, keeping her anger in check.
"At Nigel's."
"Well," the rage inside Miranda quickly abated. "Nigel is one of the very few who can always be counted on."
"Yes," Andrea looked up, and a small smile graced her lips. "He's one of the good guys."
"He is," Miranda agreed.
Outside, a seagull chose that moment to land on the wooden railing of the veranda and disrupted the peace and quiet with a loud shriek. Andrea giggled at the noisy creature, and Miranda was mesmerised by the sound. It reminded her of water trickling down a small, pebbly stream. She knew it was something she wanted to hear more often.
"I think I will go take a shower now," she said, pushing herself off the barstool and out of her reverie. "I submitted the editor's letter last night, so Nigel should call some time today about the board's approval."
"Okay, I will pay attention to the phone then," Andrea confirmed while clearing away their dishes. "I do have to go out for more groceries, though, at some point."
Miranda paused and turned around at the foot of the stairs she was about to ascend.
"You know what?" A finger tapped against her lips in contemplation. "I think I will accompany you."
Of course Miranda did not believe that she needed to go out and be among people again. If it were up to her, she'd gladly forego any forced form of socialisation for months on end. However, she was not too fond of the idea of being separated from Andrea, if even for an hour, and from the beaming smile she received she deduced that Andrea would not be too happy either.
Chapter 13