A Hard Day's Night (FIC)
I don't know what exactly possessed me to write this, I just know that I want more domestic scenes with Andy and Miranda around. More of those normal people stuff we do and come face to face with. Also, I just noticed that Andy gets details about Miranda's work more often than Miranda does about Andy's. So here goes.
Title: A Hard Day's Night (props to the Beatles for the title)
Pairing: M/A
Rating: PG
Summary: Miranda thinks about how her home life has been so far.
Miranda was reading her book selection for the week when she heard the front door close ever so softly. She’s tired, her mind said, and she’s safe. She had been worrying about Andrea for the better part of the evening, after the younger woman told her that she had to go to the Bronx and pick up on a scoop. It had been an hour after dinner and Miranda was hesitant-adamant actually-that she pass the scoop on to someone else. But Andrea was nothing if not ambitious and courageous, and within fifteen minutes she was on a cab to the area.
Miranda wanted to lash out at Andrea’s idea of a job sometimes.
Since Andrea started moving up in the world, she started becoming less fearful of her job’s disadvantages, and it annoyed and worried Miranda endlessly. Take for instance, that time when she was flown out to a college when a shooting was reported. Miranda had to pull in every ounce of her willpower and settle for calling Andrea every four hours, when she wanted to call every two. When a race-fueled riot broke out in NYU, leaving five people dead and three in critical condition, Andrea was first on the scene, with the riot still ongoing, and they had an epic argument afterwards, about work and boundaries and stretching the limits. It still gave her a headache once in a while, especially in times when she dwelled on the whole thing. Like now.
The two of them were in the hallway, having their epic showdown. It was half past eleven and Andrea had only gotten home, after Miranda spent hours worrying about her and following the news on the TV screen. She had to. Andrea did not call, nor text her during the whole incident, and the images on her TV screen were enough to tell her that the riot was not an exaggerated fight. There were guns and death and blood. Upstairs, Miranda thought that the girls would be in deep sleep, and would have no recollection of this in the morning other than the fact that there were voices hazily yelling and arguing downstairs. Was she ever wrong.
“Miranda, you can’t tell me what to do and what not to do,” Andy yelled, and looked up at the twins who perched themselves on the banister. “You two, go to bed. Now.” She then eyed Miranda, feeling more than just slighted. “I refuse to have my career manhandled like the way you want to. I will not resign, and I will not move to some other safe publication. That’s final.”
“Do not yell at my children.” Miranda growled. “They have nothing to do with this.”
“I signed up for this the very first day I went to university.” Andy hissed. “You can’t tell me to back out now. This is part of the job, and this is my responsibility.”
“You have a family, you should be more conscientious about these things.”
“No one tells you how to do your job, Miranda.” Andy spat out. “Don’t tell me how to do mine.” She then walked out of the townhouse, slamming the door in the process.
Breakfast was as awkward as it could get. Miranda and the girls were dining silently on the breakfast table, without the benefit of Andrea’s chirpy morning greeting, her knock-knock jokes, or her reminders for dinners, Broadway shows, concerts, or plays they would attend. Miranda put her hand on her forehead and rubbed it slightly. She was going to fire someone today, she can tell, but it will never be enough to abate the epic sulk Andrea had put her in.
“Mom, are you and Andy breaking up?” Cassidy asked.
“Cassidy,” Caroline growled. “Shut up and eat the damned omelet.”
“Caroline,” Miranda called out. “Watch your language. I will not tolerate that kind of vocabulary in my house. Cassidy, Andrea and I had an argument, and we had to deal with it.”
“But Mom, she did come home safe.” Cassidy argued.
Caroline kicked her under the table. “Can you just shut the hell up?”
“Caroline!” Miranda snapped, her patience having been stretched the previous night. “There will be no Internet or television for you this weekend. Cassidy, I suggest we steer clear from that topic. Yes, there was an argument. And no, we are not breaking up, unless Andrea decides to hinge the future of our relationship on the events of the previous night.”
Cassidy nodded shyly, and ate the rest of her omelet.
“We could go to Central Park or something, Mom.” Caroline suggested.
Miranda’s face instantly softened and she gave her daughter a half-hearted smile. “That’s sweet of you, bobsie, but Mommy’s not in the mood. We’ll talk about it later.”
“How about ice cream?” Cassidy asked. “We haven’t been to Mario’s in ages.”
Miranda considered the suggestion. A call to Mario’s was in order. And if they had their mint chocolate ice cream, she could always order a sandwich and… yes. “Tonight, then.”
The girls’ eyes immediately twinkled and they grinned, making Miranda’s morning marginally better. Mario’s was their shelter during the storm, and Miranda certainly wanted the jazz music, the whiff of vanilla, and the sweetness of chocolate after this fucking typhoon.
A few minutes after Cassidy asked for another omelet, the doorbell rang. Miranda released a heavy sigh and walked down the hallway to the door. She wasn’t disappointed. Andrea was on the other side, and she looked worse for the wear. Her eyebags were completely visible, and she was still wearing the clothes from last night. She was clutching a Starbucks cup, and there was a big cloud of steam coming out. She raised an eyebrow.
“I understand if you don’t want me to come in.” Andy preempted. Her eyes were red with tears, Miranda guessed. “I just… I wanted to say sorry. I feel like an asshole for yelling at you and the kids last night. I… I didn’t know how to say it, Miranda. I don’t want to feel like I have to rely on you every time. I want to move up in the world, and make you feel proud of me. I want what you have. I want to be a legend at what I do, and this is the only way I can do it.”
Miranda felt her eyes brimming with tears. “You didn’t have to be so cruel.”
Andrea handed her the cup, which she accepted willingly. “I know. That’s all I wanted to say, I guess.” She scratched the back of her neck. “I have to go to work now. Bye.”
Miranda tugged on her wrist and Andrea turned around, surprised. “I can’t go to work like this.” She said, huffing slightly. “I need us to have a conversation like civilized adults.” She then held the door open and placed the Starbucks on the table. “Come in, Andrea.”
The two of them didn’t go to work, and after tiring their eyes out with all that crying, they slept next to each other, Andrea spooning her. That afternoon, the two of them fetched the girls from Dalton, to their delight, and after dinner, the two of them shared dessert over at Mario’s.
Miranda stared at the page before her and sighed. Damn, she was getting old. She completely blocked out everything else while she relived the memory. One look up at the clock told her that she relived it for far too long. She then found the townhouse too quiet and closed her book, putting it back in the shelf where it belonged. Where had the footsteps gone?
She resolved to move as quietly as she could and found Andy downstairs in the living room, with their favorite CD playing. She reached for the remote, turned off the player, and sat on the arm of the sofa Andrea was taking up residence in. There she was, her lover, so beautiful, and so wonderful. She stroked Andrea’s hair and smiled when the brunette snuggled to her hand.
But it was time to wake her up. “Andrea,” She called out. “Wake up.” Miranda added a nudge to her verbal alarm. Two more nudges, and Andrea was waking up, still bleary.
“Sorry,” She said softly, rubbing her eyes. “Just fell asleep.”
“I know.” She then watched as Andrea sat up. “Let me help you get to bed. Lord knows how much you need it.” The two of them then started walking to the stairs. “Are you alright?”
“I don’t want to hurt you like I did ever again,” Andrea said without preamble, and put her arm over Miranda’s shoulder. Miranda heard a sniffle. “The woman I was writing about, in the series, she went back to her husband even after her counselor told her not to. They got into a fight this evening.” Andrea then yawned, before continuing. “She was admitted to the ICU.”
Miranda tried, but couldn’t stifle her gasp. Andrea had been writing a series about a group of women in the Bronx who were standing up to their abusive husbands by forming a group and separating from them physically. So far there had been nothing but improvement.
Until now.
“You remember that night, when we fought?” Miranda nodded, and Andy continued, even without looking at her. Her voice was laced with sleep. “I thought of it in the cab.”
Miranda kissed her on the cheek and stroked it a bit. “Don’t worry about it, darling.”
“I’m not worrying about it,” Andrea said. “I just… don’t want an encore.”
“In any case, I won’t let you hurt me.” Miranda replied, businesslike. “I happen to have a very capable legal team, and I assure you, if ever that happens, you will have to jump over barbed wire fences and a field full of landmines before you can get even fifty feet of me.”
Andy laughed, and suddenly became awake. “Good. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Come in late with me tomorrow.” Miranda invited, her voice light. She wanted to laugh, herself, but knew that when either she or Andrea were tired, both of them preferred silence. “We can have breakfast with the girls and enjoy a movie. Or just talk in the garden with coffee.”
Andy hummed with delight. “It is my off day tomorrow.” She then paused and let silence rule for a while as they neared their bedroom. “But what about Runway? Won’t they need you?”
“They don’t need me to be in until eleven.”
“Oh.” Andy yawned once more. “I don’t feel good.”
“It’s called emotional trauma, Andrea.” Miranda said, as she laid Andy on the bed. She then went to the closet and picked up a change of clothes. “I’d assume you’d be more susceptible to it.” She then started undressing Andrea, shaking her head lightly at her actions.
“I’m too tired to comment on that one.” Andy answered, as Miranda pulled her shirt over her head. She then lazily sat up and allowed Miranda to put on her pajama top for her. Miranda then went across the room and turned off the light, leaving only the bedside lamp on.
The two of them then pulled back the covers, and fell asleep.
The next morning, Miranda Priestly woke up to the stream of sunlight shining mercilessly in her bedroom, and to Andrea Sachs entering said room with a tray of their breakfast. The brunette was still in her pajamas, something which caused Miranda’s heart to clench, not in sorrow, but with some heightened affection that came with seeing one’s loved one in pajamas and with hair flowing so naturally. Andy leaned down and gave her a kiss to the lips.
“Good morning, Miranda,” Andy greeted, smiling widely. “Slept well?”
“Better than three days ago,” Miranda replied, and kissed Andy on the lips once more. “Lie down next to me. I haven’t had breakfast in bed since, I don’t know, forever.”
Andy snorted in amusement and laid down next to Miranda. The two of them basked in the silence while they ate their breakfast, occasionally punctuating it with comments about their work, the twins’ prospective boyfriends, the twins’ schoolwork, or their journey to adolescence.
“Sometimes I don’t know how I found you.” Miranda said suddenly. Andy looked at her quizzically, and Miranda half-shrugged and half-smiled. “Sometimes, you still surprise me. When you wake up in our bed, and you look at me like I’m the most wonderful person you’ve ever met-I don’t know what to say or do with that. I feel like I don’t deserve it sometimes.”
Oh boy. How straightforward. Andy drank some of her coffee.
Andy raised Miranda’s hand to her lips and kissed it. “It’s okay.”
“And sometimes I feel too tired to care that you’re here.”
“Growing bored with me, huh?” Andy joked, and laid her head on Miranda’s shoulder. “I guess we’re never really going to get used to this.” She then put an arm around Miranda and sighed. “Thanks for taking care of me last night. I was feeling a little drained by everything.”
“Are you better now?”
“Yeah, even with unexpected morning confession.” Andy then sighed, and Miranda detected regret in her voice. “Sometimes I wish things were the way they were before. I’d come home early to you, and we’d spend some time together. We’d do things together more often. But I told you-I can’t do that anymore if I wanted to go high up the ladder. I feel disappointed.”
“It’s called growing older, I think.” Miranda replied, and snuggled into Andy. “But look at us,” She said, kissing Andy’s hand softly. “We’re lucky. We’re growing older together.”
“Yeah,” Andy replied, with a wistful sigh, and inhaled the scent of Miranda’s shampoo. She then smiled, and stroked Miranda’s hair. “And I can’t help but like it.”
Miranda nodded her assent, and the two of them watched the sunlight enter their room.