The Devil You Know - Part 6
The Devil You Know - Part 6
By: mercurial_muse
Fandom: The Devil Wears Prada (film)
Pairing: Miranda/Andy
Archive: Please ask first.
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: These characters are owned by Lauren Weisberger and 20th-century Fox, not me. Please don't sue me. Seriously... I'm too poor for it to be worth your while.
Summary: Miranda Priestly has become the most successful woman in the fashion industry, but at what cost?
Previous Parts:
Part 1 Located: http://mercurial-muse.livejournal.com/2535.html
Part 2 Located: http://mercurial-muse.livejournal.com/2585.html
Part 3 Located: http://mercurial-muse.livejournal.com/3006.html
Part 4 Located: http://mercurial-muse.livejournal.com/3110.html
Part 5 Located: http://mercurial-muse.livejournal.com/3421.html
Author’s Note: Before I start doling out thanks, I have a couple of notes. The portion of the story that appears in italics is a flashback. To all of you who have been hanging in there through the angst, hoping for a happy ending, here's your light at the end of the tunnel. And now I'd like to thank everyone who is still reading this thing. I would have taken this journey with or without readers, but it's really cool to know that someone else has decided to come along for the ride.
----------------------------------------
As Miranda fixed her hair, she found her gaze returning once again to the far end of the counter, where the devil horns had landed after she'd thrown them in a rather undignified fit of anger. She had been endlessly debating whether to wear the stupid things with what she currently had on, or to make a call down to Runway and get the designers scrambling for another costume. "A devil... really," she scoffed and rolled her eyes. Whoever had come up with that idea would soon be discovering what hell on earth felt like.
Reluctantly, she reached for the horns and settled them onto her head. Miranda studied the figure in the mirror critically for a moment, noting how the addition of the horns- that one small accessory -really completed the outfit, tied the whole thing together. From a design aspect alone, she decided she liked the costume, but then emotion edged in over logic.
"They'll all laugh at you," she said quietly to her reflection. And given the public persona she'd created for herself, along with the costume serving as a great visual representation of it, why wouldn't people enjoy the irony? Why shouldn't they laugh... and why shouldn't she as well? After all, it was having a sense of humor- albeit a carefully hidden one -that had always kept the whispered insults and name-calling from hurting her in the past. Seeing as everyone would be talking about her anyway, why not give them something to talk about?
Miranda restyled her hair so that it was brushed back sleekly, slightly higher than usual, and with the two crimson horns decorating its sides. She painted her lips mortician's red, so blood-red they were almost black, and her eyes were accentuated with creamy, metallic black shadow in a smudged, smoky halo around her blue irises.
She studied herself in mirror once again and, in an unguarded moment, found herself grinning and wondering what Andrea would think of the costume. Her smile disappeared and tears flooded her eyes when her broken heart sharply and suddenly reminded her that Andrea was gone. Collapsing forward as if she had been slugged in the gut, Miranda braced her hands on the counter top and bowed her head so that it hung between her slumped shoulders. She squeezed her eyes closed and took several deep and measured breaths in an attempt to hold back the tears that were threatening to pour down her cheeks.
'Dammit, Miranda,' she thought to herself. 'You'll ruin your makeup if you don't pull yourself together!'
She was frustrated by the unexpected and unwanted show of weakness and, as indignation was far easier to deal with than pain, she let that anger build as she slowly lifted her head to glare at her reflection in the mirror. Although she'd had managed to hold the tears at bay, they were still welled up in her now red-rimmed eyes. And despite the strength in her expression, she couldn't miss the hints of pain masked behind it. Seeing herself like that sent Miranda's thoughts reeling into the past and she was suddenly looking at another version of herself, a sad and broken woman she thought she had banished a lifetime ago.
Anger flared in her younger self's eyes, burning away the pain that had left her a sobbing mess the night her first husband had left her and the girls. Miranda reached out with her shaking right hand to pull her wedding band off the left. "You don't need him," she snapped, holding the ring up before throwing it down the length of the counter. "All that time wasted on him, only to fail," she sneered at herself.
She didn't think about the fact that her marriage probably wouldn't have failed if she would have invested even more time and attention in it. No, she could only focus on what little time she had given her husband, because it now felt like it had been spent in vain. "All that wasted time..." Miranda repeated, disgusted to hear her voice tremble with emotion.
Miranda thought about her marriage, pondered what good had come from the shambles of it. The twins, certainly. Being a good mother to those girls was the single most important and gratifying part of her life. If her soon-to-be ex-husband had given her anything worthwhile, it was that, her family. Adding his earnings to her own had allowed them to live luxuriously, but she would still be able to provide a very comfortable life for herself and the children on her own earnings. The home they currently lived in had belonged to him long before they had married and it would most likely become solely his once again. She could provide another home for herself and her girls, though, one even better than the small townhouse they seemed to be outgrowing more and more each year. She could do this without him, would be better off without him.
With the knowledge that she didn't need to rely on anyone else in a practical sense came the realization that the same was true in an emotional sense. Not once had she lamented the loss of her husband's love for her. "Love is a want, not a necessity," she murmured to herself, finding truth and strength in those words. Here gaze slid to where her wedding ring had landed at the far end of the counter. The only promise it represented now was a broken one. And the only thing it symbolized was what she felt was her greatest mistake, one she silently vowed not to make again.
Miranda took a deep breath and tilted her chin up, angrily swiped away the remnants of her tears before leveling a steely gaze at herself. "I swear I will never again sacrifice success for love." It was a promise that, if broken, would cost her everything she had left, everything she held dear. It was a promise she couldn't afford not to keep.
The mirror in front of her wavered, set to motion as if the glass had turned to water, and the young woman reflected in its surface disappeared. Miranda squeezed her eyes closed and rubbed at them with shaking fingers. When she opened them again, she realized she was looking out through a sheen of tears. She blinked them away and studied her reflection, devil costume and all. The woman she saw now was no less heartbroken than her younger self, but had grown to be much stronger. She would have liked to be able to say that she'd grown to be much smarter too, if not for the fact that she'd just spent the last several weeks pushing away something- someone -she couldn't afford to lose.
All those years ago, she had thought that allowing herself to love had been her greatest mistake, but she knew now that she had been so very wrong. Andrea's love hadn't cost her anything, it had become her everything.
Miranda had to get Andrea back.
By: mercurial_muse
Fandom: The Devil Wears Prada (film)
Pairing: Miranda/Andy
Archive: Please ask first.
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: These characters are owned by Lauren Weisberger and 20th-century Fox, not me. Please don't sue me. Seriously... I'm too poor for it to be worth your while.
Summary: Miranda Priestly has become the most successful woman in the fashion industry, but at what cost?
Previous Parts:
Part 1 Located: http://mercurial-muse.livejournal.com/2535.html
Part 2 Located: http://mercurial-muse.livejournal.com/2585.html
Part 3 Located: http://mercurial-muse.livejournal.com/3006.html
Part 4 Located: http://mercurial-muse.livejournal.com/3110.html
Part 5 Located: http://mercurial-muse.livejournal.com/3421.html
Author’s Note: Before I start doling out thanks, I have a couple of notes. The portion of the story that appears in italics is a flashback. To all of you who have been hanging in there through the angst, hoping for a happy ending, here's your light at the end of the tunnel. And now I'd like to thank everyone who is still reading this thing. I would have taken this journey with or without readers, but it's really cool to know that someone else has decided to come along for the ride.
----------------------------------------
As Miranda fixed her hair, she found her gaze returning once again to the far end of the counter, where the devil horns had landed after she'd thrown them in a rather undignified fit of anger. She had been endlessly debating whether to wear the stupid things with what she currently had on, or to make a call down to Runway and get the designers scrambling for another costume. "A devil... really," she scoffed and rolled her eyes. Whoever had come up with that idea would soon be discovering what hell on earth felt like.
Reluctantly, she reached for the horns and settled them onto her head. Miranda studied the figure in the mirror critically for a moment, noting how the addition of the horns- that one small accessory -really completed the outfit, tied the whole thing together. From a design aspect alone, she decided she liked the costume, but then emotion edged in over logic.
"They'll all laugh at you," she said quietly to her reflection. And given the public persona she'd created for herself, along with the costume serving as a great visual representation of it, why wouldn't people enjoy the irony? Why shouldn't they laugh... and why shouldn't she as well? After all, it was having a sense of humor- albeit a carefully hidden one -that had always kept the whispered insults and name-calling from hurting her in the past. Seeing as everyone would be talking about her anyway, why not give them something to talk about?
Miranda restyled her hair so that it was brushed back sleekly, slightly higher than usual, and with the two crimson horns decorating its sides. She painted her lips mortician's red, so blood-red they were almost black, and her eyes were accentuated with creamy, metallic black shadow in a smudged, smoky halo around her blue irises.
She studied herself in mirror once again and, in an unguarded moment, found herself grinning and wondering what Andrea would think of the costume. Her smile disappeared and tears flooded her eyes when her broken heart sharply and suddenly reminded her that Andrea was gone. Collapsing forward as if she had been slugged in the gut, Miranda braced her hands on the counter top and bowed her head so that it hung between her slumped shoulders. She squeezed her eyes closed and took several deep and measured breaths in an attempt to hold back the tears that were threatening to pour down her cheeks.
'Dammit, Miranda,' she thought to herself. 'You'll ruin your makeup if you don't pull yourself together!'
She was frustrated by the unexpected and unwanted show of weakness and, as indignation was far easier to deal with than pain, she let that anger build as she slowly lifted her head to glare at her reflection in the mirror. Although she'd had managed to hold the tears at bay, they were still welled up in her now red-rimmed eyes. And despite the strength in her expression, she couldn't miss the hints of pain masked behind it. Seeing herself like that sent Miranda's thoughts reeling into the past and she was suddenly looking at another version of herself, a sad and broken woman she thought she had banished a lifetime ago.
Anger flared in her younger self's eyes, burning away the pain that had left her a sobbing mess the night her first husband had left her and the girls. Miranda reached out with her shaking right hand to pull her wedding band off the left. "You don't need him," she snapped, holding the ring up before throwing it down the length of the counter. "All that time wasted on him, only to fail," she sneered at herself.
She didn't think about the fact that her marriage probably wouldn't have failed if she would have invested even more time and attention in it. No, she could only focus on what little time she had given her husband, because it now felt like it had been spent in vain. "All that wasted time..." Miranda repeated, disgusted to hear her voice tremble with emotion.
Miranda thought about her marriage, pondered what good had come from the shambles of it. The twins, certainly. Being a good mother to those girls was the single most important and gratifying part of her life. If her soon-to-be ex-husband had given her anything worthwhile, it was that, her family. Adding his earnings to her own had allowed them to live luxuriously, but she would still be able to provide a very comfortable life for herself and the children on her own earnings. The home they currently lived in had belonged to him long before they had married and it would most likely become solely his once again. She could provide another home for herself and her girls, though, one even better than the small townhouse they seemed to be outgrowing more and more each year. She could do this without him, would be better off without him.
With the knowledge that she didn't need to rely on anyone else in a practical sense came the realization that the same was true in an emotional sense. Not once had she lamented the loss of her husband's love for her. "Love is a want, not a necessity," she murmured to herself, finding truth and strength in those words. Here gaze slid to where her wedding ring had landed at the far end of the counter. The only promise it represented now was a broken one. And the only thing it symbolized was what she felt was her greatest mistake, one she silently vowed not to make again.
Miranda took a deep breath and tilted her chin up, angrily swiped away the remnants of her tears before leveling a steely gaze at herself. "I swear I will never again sacrifice success for love." It was a promise that, if broken, would cost her everything she had left, everything she held dear. It was a promise she couldn't afford not to keep.
The mirror in front of her wavered, set to motion as if the glass had turned to water, and the young woman reflected in its surface disappeared. Miranda squeezed her eyes closed and rubbed at them with shaking fingers. When she opened them again, she realized she was looking out through a sheen of tears. She blinked them away and studied her reflection, devil costume and all. The woman she saw now was no less heartbroken than her younger self, but had grown to be much stronger. She would have liked to be able to say that she'd grown to be much smarter too, if not for the fact that she'd just spent the last several weeks pushing away something- someone -she couldn't afford to lose.
All those years ago, she had thought that allowing herself to love had been her greatest mistake, but she knew now that she had been so very wrong. Andrea's love hadn't cost her anything, it had become her everything.
Miranda had to get Andrea back.