Mixed Signals: Chapter 1
Title: Mixed Signals
Author: ficburd
Rating: NC-17 (somewhere down the line)
Pairing: Miranda/Andy
Summary: It’s a Mirandy fic. What more do I need to say?
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in the movie the Devil Wears Prada; sadly, they belong to someone else. I make no money out of writing this story and therefore there's absolutely no reason to sue me.
A/N: Not beta-ed. Feedback much appreciated.
Chapter 1
It had started maybe a week after the benefit. Or more like a day after it. Okay, so it had been at the benefit. Andy could even remember the exact moment when it had happened. In two words: thank you.
The look of genuine gratitude on Miranda's face had been like an electric shock to Andy's system. All the time that she'd been working for the woman she'd thought her to be this inhuman bitch from hell who was incapable of basic human emotions like for example embarrassment, relief and gratitude. To have been able to witness all three flash across the editor's face in relatively quick succession had been like learning that Santa Claus really existed. A surreal experience, to say the least. Who would have known; the Ice Queen wasn't made of ice after all.
Add that to the fact that Miranda had looked like a goddess that night in a beautiful black Armani dress that left the shoulders bare, and Andy had been hooked. A great big light bulb had very suddenly, and very unexpectedly gone on inside the young brunette's head. She was attracted to her boss. Her very female, very married boss, who was twice her age and generally known as the evil ruler of the fashion industry.
God, what was wrong with her?! Couldn't she have gotten a crush on somebody slightly less...well, just less? And even if the unthinkable were to happen and Miranda would return the feelings, Andy couldn't imagine what it would be like to be with someone as demanding and high-maintenance as her. It was one thing to be the editor's gopher and have to deal with the insults Miranda delivered at work every day, but Andy sure as hell didn't see herself putting up with that sort of behavior in a personal relationship. No sir-rey. She still had her dignity. Sort of.
The same dignity that had made her act like a complete fool in front of Miranda for the entire week between the benefit and Paris. Everything had been 'Can I get you anything, Miranda?' and 'No, I don't mind getting up at five to walk your dog, Miranda,' and 'The Jonas Brothers to sing at the twins' birthday party? Sure, I'm on it, Miranda'. It was a wonder she hadn't offered to lick the editor's Prada boots for her while she'd been at it.
By the time they were sitting in the luxurious suite in the very high class Parisian hotel and Miranda was telling Andy about her impending divorce, Andy had already reached a point where she could no longer deny the facts. Somewhere amidst running all the endless errands, she had hopelessly, and very stupidly, fallen for Miranda Priestly. So when she heard about the fashionista suddenly being single again, her heart couldn't help but jump for joy at the news. Sure, she was sad that Miranda was sad, but... Well, she was only human after all.
Still, it was hard for her to see the woman she cared for in so much distress. She had to try very hard not to go sit next to her and envelop her in a big, comforting hug. Somehow Andy didn't think that would have gone down well. Tears or no tears, Miranda was not to be mistaken for weak.
It was clear to Andy that the editor's worry for her daughters was genuine and that she really loved those little girls of hers more than anything. It was hard to detect any sadness in her demeanor about losing a husband and lover, though. One might even go as far as to say that she was more concerned about the loss of the perfect facade plus the loss of a father figure for the girls, than she was about losing a husband. That made Andy think that perhaps Miranda saw everything, including personal relationships, as a part of some game in which you need to excel and win. Marriage, to Miranda, wasn't about love; it was about control.
That realization alone should have made Andy think twice about acting on her feelings. If only they hadn't been so strong. But they were. They'd been very sneakily growing in volume during the last eight or nine days.
So, before she knew what she was doing, she'd already blurted out the words, “I'm so sorry, Miranda.” A slight pause, and she'd even been stupid enough to add, “If you want me to cancel your evening, I can.”
No surprise, the woman almost flippantly brushed aside her suggestion by saying, “Don't be ridiculous. Why would we do that?”
Why, indeed. What had Andy expected? The editor was an ace at keeping her emotions in check. The slight drop in her guard had obviously been only momentary, and now the defenses were once more firmly up in place.
As a last attempt to get the woman to open up to her, Andy tried, “Is there anything else I can do?”
Miranda handed her the folder she'd been holding, and looking deep into Andy's eyes, said, “Your job.”
Trying to hide a small sigh of disappointment that escaped her lips, Andy let her gaze fall into her own lap. A lightly breathed, “That's all,” from Miranda was all it took for Andy to realize that her presence was no longer desired. She would now have to get up and leave the room. Leave Miranda alone with her pain. It wasn't like there were any alternatives, now was it? Was there?
Slowly rising to her feet, Andy began to make her way towards the door. Her feet felt heavy and powerless, almost as if they were made of lead. This did not feel right. But sometimes you had to do things in life that didn't feel right. It didn't necessarily mean they were wrong. At least that's what her mom had always said.
Screw that.
Pivoting on her heel, Andy practically leaped her way back to the sofa upon which the older woman was seated. Sitting down next to her, Andy made the boldest (and quite possibly the stupidest) move she'd ever made. She hugged Miranda.
At first the editor's body went completely rigid in Andy's arms, and it was clear that the woman was fighting back her emotions with every last shred of will-power she had, but then something happened. The silver-haired woman began to shake in rhythm to tiny sobs that racked her body. Andy kept one of her hands pressed firmly to the small of Miranda's back and with the other she continued to make soothing motions over the upper part of the back.
“Shh,” she whispered quietly, rocking them backwards and forwards in unison. Having quite the opposite reaction to Andy's gentle soothing than Andy had hoped, Miranda just cried harder and clung to Andy's lithe form with a death grip.
This was the woman so many feared and/or worshiped? It turned out even dragons could be human after all. Andy felt her heart ache for Miranda. She wished she could somehow take all the pain she was in and carry it herself. She wished she had the power to make Miranda happy again. Well, perhaps happy was too ambitious a word. No longer upset would suffice. She'd do anything to accomplish that.
It wasn't a second after the thought had passed through her brain that Andy felt herself tilting Miranda's face towards her own and bending down to brush her lips against the editor's.
Oh. So soft.
She had only meant to do it once. As a calming gesture. But now that she'd had the privilege of feeling those heavenly lips pressed against her own, she realized once could never be enough. So, again it was. And again. Four, five, six... At some point she lost count, and instead concentrated on the wonderful feelings that kept surging through her body as she continued to pepper tiny kisses onto Miranda's mouth.
She was aware of the initial gasp that Miranda let out upon first impact. She even heard the little desperate moans that followed when she didn't let go of the editor's lips. But the thing that stuck out the most was that Miranda was still crying. Less so, but she was still crying.
Unacceptable.
Andy's mission had been to make the older woman feel better again, and she'd be damned if she stopped before she'd achieved that.
Time to bring out the big guns, then.
Tracing Miranda's lower lip gently with her tongue, Andy seeked permission to enter. Whether it was voluntary, or whether Miranda opened her mouth as a reflex connected with the sobbing and gasping for breath part, Andy really didn't care. She saw her chance and dived in boldly with her tongue.
This was what finally seemed to be able to put a stop to Miranda's sobbing. She even tried reciprocating the kiss feebly, until Andy's insistent tongue swept hers away in its quest for total dominance.
The kiss went on a few more moments until Andy realized, even through her lust-filled haze, that the woman in her arms had once again gone entirely rigid in the embrace. Pulling back from the delicious lips, Andy fixed her gaze upon Miranda's blue eyes.
Uh-oh.
The look in those ice blue eyes was such that immediately Andy knew she'd miscalculated. Big time.
Utter bewilderment and shock were more emotions that Andy would never have guessed could belong to Miranda Priestly. And yet, there they were. Staring her in the eye.
Not wanting to wait to see those emotions turn into anger, and worst of all, disgust, Andy bolted from the sofa and exited the suite running. Oh my God, what have I done? she thought as she arrived in her own room and slammed the door closed behind her. I just signed my own goddamn death sentence! The wrath of the dragon would no doubt be scorchingly fierce.
After taking a couple of deep breaths, a thought struck her head that was even more aggrieving than the one of her own imminent death by fire. She'd practically taken advantage of Miranda when she'd been at a low point and feeling defenseless. Following her own selfish desires, and some deluded thought process that had suggested it would be good for Miranda too, Andy had, uninvited, touched her lips to Miranda's. God, she was no better than men.
But what to do now? It was obvious an apology right now would most definitely be futile. She'd have more luck trying to make the Earth stop turning than to get Miranda to forgive her.
Settling on the only possible thing left for her to do, Andy set out packing her bags. She would have to leave. There was no other choice. So, leave she would. Leave Paris, leave her position at Runway, and--Oh, it was too painful to even think it! But she'd made her bed and therefore she now had to lie in it. Tomorrow morning when Miranda woke up, Andy Sachs would be nothing but a faint memory in the editor's mind.