There's No Such Thing (As a Beautiful Goodbye) (Fanfiction)
Title: There's No Such Thing (As a Beautiful Goodbye) {Pt. 4/?}
Fandom: DWP
Pairing: Miranda Priestly/Andrea Sachs
Rating: PG-13/Hedging toward R
Summary: Andy has a strange feeling about what's going on, and Miranda is acting oddly - the journalist in her drives her to try to get to the bottom of things, but she isn't prepared for or expecting what she finds.
Author's Note: I'm veritably notorious for stalling when writing a series. That's more a warning than a note, but it needed to be said. There isn't much left to this story, but the muse is being a little fickle, so bear with me! Thank you all for the encouraging comments. I'm not worthy.
Miranda’s den was deceptively inviting, a fact that had never struck Andy as anything less than intentional. It was always kept warmly lit, but gently so, the effect something like firelight. And with the walls being a light, smooth wood, reflecting and absorbing that light, the feeling of a cocoon, of safety, was easily mistaken. It looked so homey, what with the pictures of Miranda’s beautiful twins adorning the walls, the throw pillows (though Miranda probably never called them that - it was surely too Martha Stewart for her), and the comfortable-looking chair in the corner, where Miranda always sat when Andy would deliver the book. Andy had relished delivering the book once Miranda had begun calling her in to give it to her by hand. Not for the extra notes and work Miranda inevitably gave her before she left, but for the chance to see Miranda curled up in a more casual sweater, looser pants, her hair and makeup considerably softened near the end of her day. She always looked so much more real to Andy like that.
Andy felt the warmth of the inner room immediately as she strode into the den, her head swimming softly from the heat and her overloaded nerves. The carpet sank slightly with her heavy, slow steps, and she felt like she was sinking, too, right through the floor. The warmth and the sinking feeling made her feel she might faint, but somehow her feet continued to carry her into the room. The moment she saw Miranda, she wished she would sink through the floor.
With her legs tucked beneath her, Miranda was sitting, gently poised between comfort and good posture, on her soft cream-colored couch. Andrea knew from sitting on it herself that it was extremely plush, and she entertained the idea of sitting right next to Miranda, perhaps to make a point (more to herself than to Miranda) about how her status had changed, but Miranda’s legs were spread over part of the other side of the couch, her pale, pale legs…
“Eh hem.”
Andy, startled, blinked rapidly and tore her eyes away from Miranda’s calves. Miranda was staring at her, delicate hand outstretched, but Andy could only blink, confused. Miranda swept a lock of hair aside with one hand, and Andy noted how perfectly coifed her hair was, how well-put together her outfit seemed, how very nice she looked. Why was Miranda so polished at that time of night? She didn’t look like the real, human Miranda Andy usually got to see when she would drop off the book.
When Andrea didn’t immediately react, Miranda nodded impatiently toward the bundle in Andy’s arms.
“Oh!” Andy exclaimed, clumsily pulling the book and handing it to Miranda.
Miranda took it, sighed, set it on the table in front of her, and, valiantly trying to contain her frustration, extended her hand again.
Andy faltered.
“Oh, uh, right, the article,” she mumbled, fumbling with the box and article in her arms. “Right, more important - well, not more important,” she corrected, “but more urgent - well--”
“Apparently I was wrong - there is some one more hopeless than my latest assistant.”
Andy sputtered, opened and closed her mouth, but said nothing. Miranda rolled her wrist and inclined her head once more towards the article, lock of glossy white hair bouncing against her forehead.
Andy swallowed, then handed Miranda the article bluntly, without another word.
So much for contributing editor, Andy thought dejectedly, waving away the fantasy like dust in her mind.
When her fit of minor petulance had passed, Andy risked looking up at Miranda, to watch her read the article and gauge her reaction.
Miranda had put her glasses on, those beautiful, rectangular frames making Miranda look stern and intelligent, and was reading very quickly, her eyes racing over the page. She turned the first two pages in quick succession, but stopped abruptly at the third. She blinked, restarted a paragraph. Andy thought she saw her brow furrow slightly, a facial gesture so infinitesimal it would have been invisible to anyone but Andy.
It made Andy nervous. What was interesting her? What was on page three that Miranda could find fault with? Andy wracked her brain, worried about what it could be that she disliked so much, and - Oh god there were still two more pages left, and if she already hated it…
Miranda had to have re-read the same sentences five times. Andy bit her bottom lip to keep from interrupting, trying to explain, excuse herself. She waited, her lack of patience shown only in the slight fidgeting of her hands and feet that she could not tamp down completely.
Miranda suddenly glanced at Andrea; she seemed to be considering something. Andy fought tooth and nail to keep her facial expression utterly neutral while she had a good old-fashioned freak-out inside.
After an agonizingly long moment in which Andy thought she’d die if Miranda didn’t stop looking at her, Miranda finally pursed her lips, then returned to reading.
Oh GOD. She HATES it!
Andy felt herself die inside. She had thought, at worst, Miranda would dislike it, would think it amateur - the very, very worst she wouldn’t use the article at all, but if she hated it enough to purse her lips!
My career is over. Andy was filled with a weighty dread. My life is over.
Andy turned her head slowly to Miranda, who was on what looked to be the last page. Andy watched in numbness as Miranda’s eyes traced the last words Andy would probably ever write, and Andy wanted to cry. Out of those thin, harsh lips would come the end. Andy just sat still, frozen, unable to do anything but await the inevitable.
Oddly enough, Andy felt surreally calm. If it had to come to an end, at least Miranda would be quick about it, she rationalized. There would be, at least, a definitive decision about Andy’s life. No beating around the bush - just straight to the guillotine.
Miranda, finished, finally, closed the article and pressed the pages down smoothly.
Andy took a slow, deep breath, and prepared for the worst.
Miranda, too, breathed in slowly, contemplatively, appearing to be gathering her thoughts. Andy could only wonder at what marvel of wit and insult Miranda was mulling over.
Miranda sighed and removed her glasses smoothly. She stared at the cover of the article for a long moment. Andy thought she might have been having trouble deciding between beheading and hanging.
“Andrea…”
Here is comes. Andy couldn’t even think of the point in trying to defend herself. Miranda’s opinion was final - what Miranda thought was all that mattered. And no matter what Andy said, Miranda was still just going to say:
“I’m impressed.”
“Wait - what?”
Miranda rolled her eyes. Andy swallowed - Miranda could still twist it. She could still turn the sunshine into a downpour.
“It’s not terrible,” Miranda said, shrugging gently as though it was all very simple. “It needs some…grace, but…” she brushed the article cover slowly with her fingertips. Miranda folded her glasses and set them on the table, swept her legs out from under her and sat up straight.
“It looks as though you weren’t…” she searched for the words, “A complete loss of an investment after all.”
In Miranda’s hands, the most back-handed insult was veiled praise of the highest order.
“Thank you, Miranda,” Andy was finally able to say, her mouth grasping at the flickers of coherent thought amongst the mess of feeling and images dashing through her brain. “I was a little worried,” Andy admitted, “when I started, I mean, with the unfinished work you gave me, it was a bit of a mess…” Miranda was starting to look bored or nearing irritated. “But you trained me pretty well to handle a catastrophe,” Andy said quickly. She immediately looked away sheepishly, not wanting to see the look on Miranda’s face. She hadn’t meant to sound so much like she was kissing up (she knew Miranda hated that) or trying to flatter her purposefully, but it was true. Andy realized, right then and there, that she could never have even hoped to write that article in the first place if she hadn’t worked for Miranda. Not only would she not have had the opportunity, that wasn’t the point, but she could not have been able to handle it. Everything came more quickly to Andy than her colleagues, because of the fly-or-fall nature of her work at Runway, and it had really helped her get head. After Miranda… everything else was child’s play.
“Too be honest Miranda,” Andy began, tentatively, “I owe you.” She finally brought herself to look at Miranda, whose expression read as something between shock and annoyance, but Andy went on anyway. She didn’t know when she’d have the same opportunity and so willing (or stunned speechless) an audience again.
“And I know that you know that, and you’d probably just say ‘I told you so’ if you said things like that, but I really never could have written that if it hadn’t been for you.”
Andy chanced a glance directly into Miranda’s eyes. In her sharp blue gaze there was something shrouded and indecipherable. Andy wondered if Miranda was thinking about Paris, if she was remembering when Andy had told her she didn’t want to be like her, after Miranda had told her she saw something of herself in Andy. She wondered, too, if Miranda could ever come to realize what that actually meant to Andy now, how much her heart hurt to think she’d ever made Miranda feel like she didn’t like that she had part of such a powerful, magnificent woman inside of her. She even briefly considered saying so, but that look of distance and of limit in Miranda’s eyes made her think it inappropriate. Another time, maybe.
“Thank you,” Andy said simply, and gave Miranda a small, soft smile.
Miranda seemed to come back to herself then, and she shifted in her seat, looking uncomfortable. She looked to her feet and toyed with the hem of her skirt distractedly.
“You’re… welcome,” she said at length, drawing the words from her mouth, as though each syllable and sound were rather complicated. Miranda quirked her eyebrow slightly, still looking down and away from Andrea.
“Was the writing for the article really all that bad?” Miranda asked, in a voice a bit softer than Andy was used to. The slight variation in tone might have seemed small coming from anyone else, but it was huge for Miranda. Andy wondered what it signified, but tried to respond while she considered the possibilities.
“It wasn’t… really… bad,” she began, treading lightly. She didn’t want to excuse the person, but she didn’t want to be cruel, either.
“It was passionate,” Andy explained, going for honesty, “but I don’t know if this person has a ton of experience in journalism. Maybe fiction,” she offered, trying to be generous. She rubbed her palms together, watching Miranda, who was still not looking at her. It was starting to seem odd.
“Miranda, who was the writer?” Andy asked, letting curiosity and natural instinct lead her. When Miranda looked up a little too quickly, a suddenly vulnerable glint in her eye, Andy knew she was going in the right direction.
“You don’t have to tell me, of course,” Andy said, easing in to the game as well as if she’d never stopped playing. She knew how to get a little bit of what she wanted to know out of Miranda. It might only be a little, but she could get her foot in the door with even a little.
“I am aware of what I do and do not have to do, Andrea,” Miranda said tartly, but her bite was forced and Andy knew it. Something was up - and like the good little journalist she was, Andy was going to get to the bottom of it.
“Of course. I’m sorry Miranda.”
Miranda was pursing her lips and chewing on the inside of her cheek. Andy threw the ball back into her court.
“I just thought I’d return the research to her - or him.” Miranda did not react but to raise her eyebrow a little higher for a second.
“They don’t need it anymore,” Miranda said simply, almost gravely. Andy felt a very uncomfortable sensation in her stomach. Miranda really sounded like a mob boss sometimes.
“The research was really good, Miranda,” Andy said firmly, feeling responsible, somehow, for how Miranda treated this person after all was said and done. “It helped me write a really great article, and I just hope you aren’t…”
Andy stopped. She wasn’t exactly sure what she meant to say.
“I am not going to end someone’s career because you carelessly called the work of someone you don’t know a ‘mess’.” Miranda was looking right at Andy, but only for a second, then she looked away again. “Don’t delude yourself into thinking your opinion matters that much.” Andy felt a violent thrill through her body at the sharp but utterly familiar and true tone in Miranda’s voice.
Play the game, Miranda, Andy thought, willing her to.
“Of course not, Miranda. You’re smarter than that.”
Miranda looked up, eyes slightly narrowed. Andy swallowed, tried to feel brave. Play the game. Play the game.
“You’d know that this person has some real potential as a writer, a real passion… just like you saw the potential for that article in me. And you’ll know just what to do with them, what to push them to do to nurture their talent, and in a year… they’ll be reviewing the latest book by this person in Runway.” Andy paused, waited to be interrupted, but Miranda seemed to be taken aback a bit. “You always know what to do with a little bit of talent,” Andy said, “I guess that’s your… talent.” Then Andy shut her mouth before she could say anything more cliché that might cause Miranda to once more write her off as a sentimental fool.
Miranda, for her part, simply stared at Andy as though she were an interesting but bizarre specimen on exhibit. Andy tried to meet her gaze, but Miranda was looking everywhere but into Andy’s eyes.
Miranda eventually let her line of vision lower until she was looking toward the floor, though she looked like she was seeing something very far away, in her mind’s eyes. She closed her eyes very gently, and breathed out softly.
“You think you know me that well, Andrea,” Miranda said, very softly. Andy leaned forward, drawn in by the quietness and the mystery hanging lightly over Miranda like a mist. Miranda sighed, shook her head almost imperceptibly. “There’s so much you don’t see.”
Miranda grabbed the book, the article, and the box very swiftly, and stood up, making to leave. Andy, startled, jumped up, feeling somehow cheated, like she had come very close to having something revealed to her, only to have the box slammed shut before she could see what was inside.
“Miranda, I’m sorry,” she blurted out, “You’re right, I don’t know you, and that’s the problem, because I want to and I don’t know why.”
Miranda froze, halfway across the room, her back to Andy. Andy was shocked by her own boldness, but also realized this was her last chance to get in, to make Miranda realize that she didn’t have to shut out everyone, that people could be more than employees, that they could know her and still work hard for her and respect her.
“I might not know you half as well as I think I do, but I know that’s still more than anyone else does.” Andy breathed out hard, frustrated. She didn’t know why she was doing this, why she cared, but for some reason letting Miranda go like this was intolerable a thought to her. “I know to you I’m just… some girl who was your assistant for almost a year, who started out terrible but got it together and turned out to be really good at it, but even with all that, I just can’t help thinking that maybe… you wish…. it was… more?”
Miranda’s back was a solid wall against which Andy’s voice echoed. Andy sighed heavily, all of the air leaving her. She didn’t know what she was saying, it didn’t make any sense. What did she even want from Miranda? Respect? Acknowledgment? Friendship? None of those things were going to happen. All of it was ridiculous - she just wanted what she couldn’t have, what everyone else wanted. Miranda wasn’t going to be nice to her, she wasn’t going to be her pal. As much as Andy wanted to delude herself into thinking the article had meant that she meant more to Miranda than she had thought, Andy realized now it was a ridiculous fantasy, just like Paris. She was making a fool of herself; she didn’t want to do that anymore.
“I’ll go,” she said. “I’m sorry Miranda. I’ll… I’ll just go.”
Andy took three, quick strides, her body tingling as she came next to Miranda, but she was intent to leave and tried to block the confusion and feeling whirling inside of her as she went past.
Everything that happened immediately after she passed Miranda occurred rather quickly.
Andy felt a firm hand on her shoulder - another hand pressing on her waist - she was spun around - a hand went into her hair - Miranda’s face, very close, her eyes half-lidded - a body pressed against hers - lips pressed against hers…
A hot, dry sound pushed itself out of Andy’s chest as she realized she was being kissed. Her mouth opened reflexively to allow a warm, long tongue to sweep through her lips and into her mouth, grazing her own tongue and making her entire body burst with sparks. As stars danced inside of her shut eyes, forceful fingers massaged the nape of her neck and another hand traced small, firm circles at the small of her back. Her own hands blindly searched, finding purchase in silky, pillow-soft hair. She held on for dear life as her insides melted and burned. The feeling as at once painful and red-hot pleasure, terrifying and wonderful - exquisite.
She’d never been kissed like this in her life.
“Mmm… Miranda,” she gasped, as though just realizing who it was that was kissing her, and pulled back slightly to stare into lazy, lust-filled eyes, looking hungrily at her open mouth.
“Muh… Miranda, what are you doing,” she panted, unsure why she was speaking when she could be being kissed again. Those lips that seconds ago had looked so cold and thin now looked full, warm, beckoning…
“I’m helping you to know me better, Andrea,” Miranda said, her voice a low growl the likes of which Andy had never, ever heard before, so pure and clear did the lust ring in Miranda’s voice. It was like a verbal caress, and as Miranda pressed her hand firmly against Andy’s back, forcing them more forcefully against each other, Andy felt her entire body rumble from the vibration of Miranda’s words.
Before Andy could object, Miranda’s mouth was on hers again, sending sparkling, crackling sensations through her lips. She took deep, steadying breaths through her nose, the heady floral aroma of Miranda’s perfume and the deeper, lush scent of her skin intoxicating and warm like the smoke from a campfire. Their noses brushed against each other and traced their cheeks, chins pressing softly as they kissed deeply, languidly. Andy could feel Miranda’s breath, puffing delicately through her mouth and nose, caressing her skin as Miranda traced the outline of her face with soft, electric fingertips that left her skin tingling.
All feeling was concentrated in Andy’s mouth, and everything save the gentle caress of Miranda’s hand on the side of her face fell aside to make room for the enormous feeling of being kissed by Miranda Priestly. It occurred to Andy, as she began to moan and sigh softly, that she had never, ever, in her wildest dreams considered or hoped that this would be the outcome of Miranda’s and her relationship - and she was glad for it. No fantasy ever could have compared to the passion with which Miranda probed Andy’s mouth with her tongue, the gentleness that channeled through her dexterous fingers as she touched Andy’s face, her back, the back of her neck, no dream could have portended the want that Miranda’s pressing hips spoke of.
And nothing ever could have prepared Andy for herself. Nothing could have told her that her body would respond like a violin played by the virtuoso, and that she would respond in kind. Most mysteriously and wonderfully of all, though also frighteningly and alarmingly, no daydream or hope, no matter how daring or brazen, could have touched on the swell in Andy’s chest when a desperate hope sprang to her brain, that sang so brightly of something she dared not name, even in her heart, for fear that it was not what this was.
Gently, caringly, Miranda pressed herself off of Andy slightly to look up into her eyes. Andy stared down into the hot storm that flashed brilliantly behind Miranda’s cool gaze and was frozen, her body and mind utterly caught by the siren’s song. Andy watched Miranda, breathing softly, staring up at her with such… what was it? She knew what she wanted it to be. She knew now, yes, that was what she wanted to see, had wanted to see for so long in Miranda’s cold, hard eyes. That warmth, that… oh, she couldn’t come to even think it! It was too much to hope for, too much!
Her thoughts skittered like leaves in the wind - what was happening to her? She was in the arms of Miranda Priestly, one of the most powerful women in the world, and her heart was beating as hard as if she were…in love.
And all at once it made sense to Andy. It had been coming all along, since she first set foot in Miranda’s office at Runway. It had never just been about getting through working for Miranda and then moving on. It hadn’t even been about impressing Miranda, or making her respect her. Trying harder as her assistant, going to Paris, writing the article - it had all been about convincing Miranda that she was good enough -- for her. Not for Runway or the fashion or journalism world, but for her!
Even leaving her in Paris, Andy realized, hadn’t been about spite or hate. She had needed to show Miranda that she was strong - strong enough to hold her own against her, something no one else had ever done. It wasn’t about respect or anything like that - Andy had wanted Miranda to see her for what she was: the only person in the world who was strong enough, smart enough, good enough for her.
“What is it?” Miranda asked, concern and hope coloring her voice, and Andy realized her thoughts must have been playing out in her eyes for the world to see. And the world, she realized, was Miranda.
“I…I love you,” Andy said, her voice full of wonder and surprise. She might not have wanted to say it for fear of Miranda’s response, but it was the sole thought that occurred to her, and her entire being told her it was the natural thing to say. “I think I always have… I…”
Andy suddenly smiled, broadly, brilliantly, and looked right into Miranda’s eyes.
“All this time I thought I was trying to prove myself to you so you’d respect me. But it was really because I wanted… I needed… for you to see me for who I am… and love me.”
Andy’s eyes suddenly widened and filled with warm tears that she had to fight back.
“You… you do love me, don’t you? That’s why you… that’s why you didn’t try to stop to me when I left. That’s why you asked me to write the article so that’d I come here and…”
Andy stopped, stunned utterly.
“Oh my god, you fired that writer so you could get me to do the article!”
Miranda shut her eyes softly and started to laugh. Andy’s attention was instantly shifted - she’d… she’d never heard Miranda laugh before. It was so gentle a sound, so warm and luscious… she could listen to it forever…
Miranda smiled gently, her laughter tapering to silence. “Oh Andrea,” she said, her amusement evident in her voice. She leaned forward, let her arms slide down about Andy’s waist. She brought her face as close to Andy’s as she could without touching her.
“There was never any other author. It was mine.”
Miranda leaned in and kissed her tenderly on the mouth, and simultaneously Andy felt soft pleasure, excitement, and utter astonishment. Her mind was a frantic mess, trying to sort everything out. Miranda Priestly had already cared for her - that’s why she had let her go in Paris, gently allowed her career to flourish, and then pulled her back to her when she knew that Andy was ready. Andy couldn’t think straight. It was so highly orchestrated, so perfectly done; she was more impressed and stunned by Miranda than ever. Miranda must have cared very much to do all of that…but she still…
As Miranda gently pulled away again, Andy steeled herself. She had to ask. She had to know. She knew that Miranda could go to great lengths to get what she wanted… but want and love were too very, very different things.
“Miranda, do you--”
“Oh, Andrea, do you really think I’d go through all this trouble for a… shag?”
A mischievous light lit up Miranda’s eyes, but at the same time a sadness colored them. Andy blushed and hastily retraced her steps.
“No, no, of course not, it’s just… well…”
Andy swallowed.
“You’re very good at… manipulation.”
Miranda’s eyes hardened, and visions of Paris passed quickly through them. Andy knew Miranda understood.
Miranda held her very firmly for a moment, looking deep in Andy’s eyes, and Andy felt she might be penetrated to her very soul. The brief moment seemed to last eons, and when Miranda finally loosened her hold on her, Andy thought years had gone by.
Miranda took Andrea by the hand. Her fingers felt smooth and slender in Andy’s larger, youthfully rounded hands.
“Come,” Miranda commanded simply, and didn’t say anything more as she pushed past Andy, and led her out of the den toward, Andy realized, the hall - and the stairs.
“M…Miranda, wait--” Andy protested, but Miranda rounded on her quick as an attack dog.
“Andrea Sachs, if I can’t convince you from everything I’ve done that I love you, then I only know one other way how.”
Miranda’s eyes were aflame, her cheeks red, and she looked a little scared. Andy was instantly eased - if Miranda could look as frightened as Andy felt, then surely, surely she must feel something near to what Andy felt. And though she had said the words “love you”, Andy knew Miranda was better with actions than words, knew she spoke with her body rather than her voice, so what better way for her to explain than…?
Andy blushed. Miranda swallowed nervously, waiting for some sort of response.
Slowly, Andy nodded, making the only decision she could even contemplate. “Yes,” she said with her glittering eyes, a nervous, happy smile pulling at her lips.
The color returned in a rush to Miranda’s face. She nodded in return.
“Yes,” Miranda said quietly, almost to herself. “Well, then.”
After a long moment, she looked up at Andrea, eyes narrowed slightly, and swallowed in a nervous way that Andy had never seen before.
Andy waited as Miranda thought. Her eyes searched Andy slowly, thoroughly.
Eventually Miranda nodded to herself, affirming, deciding.
Then Miranda turned, squeezing Andrea’s hand softly, and began to lead Andy up the stairs.
Fandom: DWP
Pairing: Miranda Priestly/Andrea Sachs
Rating: PG-13/Hedging toward R
Summary: Andy has a strange feeling about what's going on, and Miranda is acting oddly - the journalist in her drives her to try to get to the bottom of things, but she isn't prepared for or expecting what she finds.
Author's Note: I'm veritably notorious for stalling when writing a series. That's more a warning than a note, but it needed to be said. There isn't much left to this story, but the muse is being a little fickle, so bear with me! Thank you all for the encouraging comments. I'm not worthy.
Miranda’s den was deceptively inviting, a fact that had never struck Andy as anything less than intentional. It was always kept warmly lit, but gently so, the effect something like firelight. And with the walls being a light, smooth wood, reflecting and absorbing that light, the feeling of a cocoon, of safety, was easily mistaken. It looked so homey, what with the pictures of Miranda’s beautiful twins adorning the walls, the throw pillows (though Miranda probably never called them that - it was surely too Martha Stewart for her), and the comfortable-looking chair in the corner, where Miranda always sat when Andy would deliver the book. Andy had relished delivering the book once Miranda had begun calling her in to give it to her by hand. Not for the extra notes and work Miranda inevitably gave her before she left, but for the chance to see Miranda curled up in a more casual sweater, looser pants, her hair and makeup considerably softened near the end of her day. She always looked so much more real to Andy like that.
Andy felt the warmth of the inner room immediately as she strode into the den, her head swimming softly from the heat and her overloaded nerves. The carpet sank slightly with her heavy, slow steps, and she felt like she was sinking, too, right through the floor. The warmth and the sinking feeling made her feel she might faint, but somehow her feet continued to carry her into the room. The moment she saw Miranda, she wished she would sink through the floor.
With her legs tucked beneath her, Miranda was sitting, gently poised between comfort and good posture, on her soft cream-colored couch. Andrea knew from sitting on it herself that it was extremely plush, and she entertained the idea of sitting right next to Miranda, perhaps to make a point (more to herself than to Miranda) about how her status had changed, but Miranda’s legs were spread over part of the other side of the couch, her pale, pale legs…
“Eh hem.”
Andy, startled, blinked rapidly and tore her eyes away from Miranda’s calves. Miranda was staring at her, delicate hand outstretched, but Andy could only blink, confused. Miranda swept a lock of hair aside with one hand, and Andy noted how perfectly coifed her hair was, how well-put together her outfit seemed, how very nice she looked. Why was Miranda so polished at that time of night? She didn’t look like the real, human Miranda Andy usually got to see when she would drop off the book.
When Andrea didn’t immediately react, Miranda nodded impatiently toward the bundle in Andy’s arms.
“Oh!” Andy exclaimed, clumsily pulling the book and handing it to Miranda.
Miranda took it, sighed, set it on the table in front of her, and, valiantly trying to contain her frustration, extended her hand again.
Andy faltered.
“Oh, uh, right, the article,” she mumbled, fumbling with the box and article in her arms. “Right, more important - well, not more important,” she corrected, “but more urgent - well--”
“Apparently I was wrong - there is some one more hopeless than my latest assistant.”
Andy sputtered, opened and closed her mouth, but said nothing. Miranda rolled her wrist and inclined her head once more towards the article, lock of glossy white hair bouncing against her forehead.
Andy swallowed, then handed Miranda the article bluntly, without another word.
So much for contributing editor, Andy thought dejectedly, waving away the fantasy like dust in her mind.
When her fit of minor petulance had passed, Andy risked looking up at Miranda, to watch her read the article and gauge her reaction.
Miranda had put her glasses on, those beautiful, rectangular frames making Miranda look stern and intelligent, and was reading very quickly, her eyes racing over the page. She turned the first two pages in quick succession, but stopped abruptly at the third. She blinked, restarted a paragraph. Andy thought she saw her brow furrow slightly, a facial gesture so infinitesimal it would have been invisible to anyone but Andy.
It made Andy nervous. What was interesting her? What was on page three that Miranda could find fault with? Andy wracked her brain, worried about what it could be that she disliked so much, and - Oh god there were still two more pages left, and if she already hated it…
Miranda had to have re-read the same sentences five times. Andy bit her bottom lip to keep from interrupting, trying to explain, excuse herself. She waited, her lack of patience shown only in the slight fidgeting of her hands and feet that she could not tamp down completely.
Miranda suddenly glanced at Andrea; she seemed to be considering something. Andy fought tooth and nail to keep her facial expression utterly neutral while she had a good old-fashioned freak-out inside.
After an agonizingly long moment in which Andy thought she’d die if Miranda didn’t stop looking at her, Miranda finally pursed her lips, then returned to reading.
Oh GOD. She HATES it!
Andy felt herself die inside. She had thought, at worst, Miranda would dislike it, would think it amateur - the very, very worst she wouldn’t use the article at all, but if she hated it enough to purse her lips!
My career is over. Andy was filled with a weighty dread. My life is over.
Andy turned her head slowly to Miranda, who was on what looked to be the last page. Andy watched in numbness as Miranda’s eyes traced the last words Andy would probably ever write, and Andy wanted to cry. Out of those thin, harsh lips would come the end. Andy just sat still, frozen, unable to do anything but await the inevitable.
Oddly enough, Andy felt surreally calm. If it had to come to an end, at least Miranda would be quick about it, she rationalized. There would be, at least, a definitive decision about Andy’s life. No beating around the bush - just straight to the guillotine.
Miranda, finished, finally, closed the article and pressed the pages down smoothly.
Andy took a slow, deep breath, and prepared for the worst.
Miranda, too, breathed in slowly, contemplatively, appearing to be gathering her thoughts. Andy could only wonder at what marvel of wit and insult Miranda was mulling over.
Miranda sighed and removed her glasses smoothly. She stared at the cover of the article for a long moment. Andy thought she might have been having trouble deciding between beheading and hanging.
“Andrea…”
Here is comes. Andy couldn’t even think of the point in trying to defend herself. Miranda’s opinion was final - what Miranda thought was all that mattered. And no matter what Andy said, Miranda was still just going to say:
“I’m impressed.”
“Wait - what?”
Miranda rolled her eyes. Andy swallowed - Miranda could still twist it. She could still turn the sunshine into a downpour.
“It’s not terrible,” Miranda said, shrugging gently as though it was all very simple. “It needs some…grace, but…” she brushed the article cover slowly with her fingertips. Miranda folded her glasses and set them on the table, swept her legs out from under her and sat up straight.
“It looks as though you weren’t…” she searched for the words, “A complete loss of an investment after all.”
In Miranda’s hands, the most back-handed insult was veiled praise of the highest order.
“Thank you, Miranda,” Andy was finally able to say, her mouth grasping at the flickers of coherent thought amongst the mess of feeling and images dashing through her brain. “I was a little worried,” Andy admitted, “when I started, I mean, with the unfinished work you gave me, it was a bit of a mess…” Miranda was starting to look bored or nearing irritated. “But you trained me pretty well to handle a catastrophe,” Andy said quickly. She immediately looked away sheepishly, not wanting to see the look on Miranda’s face. She hadn’t meant to sound so much like she was kissing up (she knew Miranda hated that) or trying to flatter her purposefully, but it was true. Andy realized, right then and there, that she could never have even hoped to write that article in the first place if she hadn’t worked for Miranda. Not only would she not have had the opportunity, that wasn’t the point, but she could not have been able to handle it. Everything came more quickly to Andy than her colleagues, because of the fly-or-fall nature of her work at Runway, and it had really helped her get head. After Miranda… everything else was child’s play.
“Too be honest Miranda,” Andy began, tentatively, “I owe you.” She finally brought herself to look at Miranda, whose expression read as something between shock and annoyance, but Andy went on anyway. She didn’t know when she’d have the same opportunity and so willing (or stunned speechless) an audience again.
“And I know that you know that, and you’d probably just say ‘I told you so’ if you said things like that, but I really never could have written that if it hadn’t been for you.”
Andy chanced a glance directly into Miranda’s eyes. In her sharp blue gaze there was something shrouded and indecipherable. Andy wondered if Miranda was thinking about Paris, if she was remembering when Andy had told her she didn’t want to be like her, after Miranda had told her she saw something of herself in Andy. She wondered, too, if Miranda could ever come to realize what that actually meant to Andy now, how much her heart hurt to think she’d ever made Miranda feel like she didn’t like that she had part of such a powerful, magnificent woman inside of her. She even briefly considered saying so, but that look of distance and of limit in Miranda’s eyes made her think it inappropriate. Another time, maybe.
“Thank you,” Andy said simply, and gave Miranda a small, soft smile.
Miranda seemed to come back to herself then, and she shifted in her seat, looking uncomfortable. She looked to her feet and toyed with the hem of her skirt distractedly.
“You’re… welcome,” she said at length, drawing the words from her mouth, as though each syllable and sound were rather complicated. Miranda quirked her eyebrow slightly, still looking down and away from Andrea.
“Was the writing for the article really all that bad?” Miranda asked, in a voice a bit softer than Andy was used to. The slight variation in tone might have seemed small coming from anyone else, but it was huge for Miranda. Andy wondered what it signified, but tried to respond while she considered the possibilities.
“It wasn’t… really… bad,” she began, treading lightly. She didn’t want to excuse the person, but she didn’t want to be cruel, either.
“It was passionate,” Andy explained, going for honesty, “but I don’t know if this person has a ton of experience in journalism. Maybe fiction,” she offered, trying to be generous. She rubbed her palms together, watching Miranda, who was still not looking at her. It was starting to seem odd.
“Miranda, who was the writer?” Andy asked, letting curiosity and natural instinct lead her. When Miranda looked up a little too quickly, a suddenly vulnerable glint in her eye, Andy knew she was going in the right direction.
“You don’t have to tell me, of course,” Andy said, easing in to the game as well as if she’d never stopped playing. She knew how to get a little bit of what she wanted to know out of Miranda. It might only be a little, but she could get her foot in the door with even a little.
“I am aware of what I do and do not have to do, Andrea,” Miranda said tartly, but her bite was forced and Andy knew it. Something was up - and like the good little journalist she was, Andy was going to get to the bottom of it.
“Of course. I’m sorry Miranda.”
Miranda was pursing her lips and chewing on the inside of her cheek. Andy threw the ball back into her court.
“I just thought I’d return the research to her - or him.” Miranda did not react but to raise her eyebrow a little higher for a second.
“They don’t need it anymore,” Miranda said simply, almost gravely. Andy felt a very uncomfortable sensation in her stomach. Miranda really sounded like a mob boss sometimes.
“The research was really good, Miranda,” Andy said firmly, feeling responsible, somehow, for how Miranda treated this person after all was said and done. “It helped me write a really great article, and I just hope you aren’t…”
Andy stopped. She wasn’t exactly sure what she meant to say.
“I am not going to end someone’s career because you carelessly called the work of someone you don’t know a ‘mess’.” Miranda was looking right at Andy, but only for a second, then she looked away again. “Don’t delude yourself into thinking your opinion matters that much.” Andy felt a violent thrill through her body at the sharp but utterly familiar and true tone in Miranda’s voice.
Play the game, Miranda, Andy thought, willing her to.
“Of course not, Miranda. You’re smarter than that.”
Miranda looked up, eyes slightly narrowed. Andy swallowed, tried to feel brave. Play the game. Play the game.
“You’d know that this person has some real potential as a writer, a real passion… just like you saw the potential for that article in me. And you’ll know just what to do with them, what to push them to do to nurture their talent, and in a year… they’ll be reviewing the latest book by this person in Runway.” Andy paused, waited to be interrupted, but Miranda seemed to be taken aback a bit. “You always know what to do with a little bit of talent,” Andy said, “I guess that’s your… talent.” Then Andy shut her mouth before she could say anything more cliché that might cause Miranda to once more write her off as a sentimental fool.
Miranda, for her part, simply stared at Andy as though she were an interesting but bizarre specimen on exhibit. Andy tried to meet her gaze, but Miranda was looking everywhere but into Andy’s eyes.
Miranda eventually let her line of vision lower until she was looking toward the floor, though she looked like she was seeing something very far away, in her mind’s eyes. She closed her eyes very gently, and breathed out softly.
“You think you know me that well, Andrea,” Miranda said, very softly. Andy leaned forward, drawn in by the quietness and the mystery hanging lightly over Miranda like a mist. Miranda sighed, shook her head almost imperceptibly. “There’s so much you don’t see.”
Miranda grabbed the book, the article, and the box very swiftly, and stood up, making to leave. Andy, startled, jumped up, feeling somehow cheated, like she had come very close to having something revealed to her, only to have the box slammed shut before she could see what was inside.
“Miranda, I’m sorry,” she blurted out, “You’re right, I don’t know you, and that’s the problem, because I want to and I don’t know why.”
Miranda froze, halfway across the room, her back to Andy. Andy was shocked by her own boldness, but also realized this was her last chance to get in, to make Miranda realize that she didn’t have to shut out everyone, that people could be more than employees, that they could know her and still work hard for her and respect her.
“I might not know you half as well as I think I do, but I know that’s still more than anyone else does.” Andy breathed out hard, frustrated. She didn’t know why she was doing this, why she cared, but for some reason letting Miranda go like this was intolerable a thought to her. “I know to you I’m just… some girl who was your assistant for almost a year, who started out terrible but got it together and turned out to be really good at it, but even with all that, I just can’t help thinking that maybe… you wish…. it was… more?”
Miranda’s back was a solid wall against which Andy’s voice echoed. Andy sighed heavily, all of the air leaving her. She didn’t know what she was saying, it didn’t make any sense. What did she even want from Miranda? Respect? Acknowledgment? Friendship? None of those things were going to happen. All of it was ridiculous - she just wanted what she couldn’t have, what everyone else wanted. Miranda wasn’t going to be nice to her, she wasn’t going to be her pal. As much as Andy wanted to delude herself into thinking the article had meant that she meant more to Miranda than she had thought, Andy realized now it was a ridiculous fantasy, just like Paris. She was making a fool of herself; she didn’t want to do that anymore.
“I’ll go,” she said. “I’m sorry Miranda. I’ll… I’ll just go.”
Andy took three, quick strides, her body tingling as she came next to Miranda, but she was intent to leave and tried to block the confusion and feeling whirling inside of her as she went past.
Everything that happened immediately after she passed Miranda occurred rather quickly.
Andy felt a firm hand on her shoulder - another hand pressing on her waist - she was spun around - a hand went into her hair - Miranda’s face, very close, her eyes half-lidded - a body pressed against hers - lips pressed against hers…
A hot, dry sound pushed itself out of Andy’s chest as she realized she was being kissed. Her mouth opened reflexively to allow a warm, long tongue to sweep through her lips and into her mouth, grazing her own tongue and making her entire body burst with sparks. As stars danced inside of her shut eyes, forceful fingers massaged the nape of her neck and another hand traced small, firm circles at the small of her back. Her own hands blindly searched, finding purchase in silky, pillow-soft hair. She held on for dear life as her insides melted and burned. The feeling as at once painful and red-hot pleasure, terrifying and wonderful - exquisite.
She’d never been kissed like this in her life.
“Mmm… Miranda,” she gasped, as though just realizing who it was that was kissing her, and pulled back slightly to stare into lazy, lust-filled eyes, looking hungrily at her open mouth.
“Muh… Miranda, what are you doing,” she panted, unsure why she was speaking when she could be being kissed again. Those lips that seconds ago had looked so cold and thin now looked full, warm, beckoning…
“I’m helping you to know me better, Andrea,” Miranda said, her voice a low growl the likes of which Andy had never, ever heard before, so pure and clear did the lust ring in Miranda’s voice. It was like a verbal caress, and as Miranda pressed her hand firmly against Andy’s back, forcing them more forcefully against each other, Andy felt her entire body rumble from the vibration of Miranda’s words.
Before Andy could object, Miranda’s mouth was on hers again, sending sparkling, crackling sensations through her lips. She took deep, steadying breaths through her nose, the heady floral aroma of Miranda’s perfume and the deeper, lush scent of her skin intoxicating and warm like the smoke from a campfire. Their noses brushed against each other and traced their cheeks, chins pressing softly as they kissed deeply, languidly. Andy could feel Miranda’s breath, puffing delicately through her mouth and nose, caressing her skin as Miranda traced the outline of her face with soft, electric fingertips that left her skin tingling.
All feeling was concentrated in Andy’s mouth, and everything save the gentle caress of Miranda’s hand on the side of her face fell aside to make room for the enormous feeling of being kissed by Miranda Priestly. It occurred to Andy, as she began to moan and sigh softly, that she had never, ever, in her wildest dreams considered or hoped that this would be the outcome of Miranda’s and her relationship - and she was glad for it. No fantasy ever could have compared to the passion with which Miranda probed Andy’s mouth with her tongue, the gentleness that channeled through her dexterous fingers as she touched Andy’s face, her back, the back of her neck, no dream could have portended the want that Miranda’s pressing hips spoke of.
And nothing ever could have prepared Andy for herself. Nothing could have told her that her body would respond like a violin played by the virtuoso, and that she would respond in kind. Most mysteriously and wonderfully of all, though also frighteningly and alarmingly, no daydream or hope, no matter how daring or brazen, could have touched on the swell in Andy’s chest when a desperate hope sprang to her brain, that sang so brightly of something she dared not name, even in her heart, for fear that it was not what this was.
Gently, caringly, Miranda pressed herself off of Andy slightly to look up into her eyes. Andy stared down into the hot storm that flashed brilliantly behind Miranda’s cool gaze and was frozen, her body and mind utterly caught by the siren’s song. Andy watched Miranda, breathing softly, staring up at her with such… what was it? She knew what she wanted it to be. She knew now, yes, that was what she wanted to see, had wanted to see for so long in Miranda’s cold, hard eyes. That warmth, that… oh, she couldn’t come to even think it! It was too much to hope for, too much!
Her thoughts skittered like leaves in the wind - what was happening to her? She was in the arms of Miranda Priestly, one of the most powerful women in the world, and her heart was beating as hard as if she were…in love.
And all at once it made sense to Andy. It had been coming all along, since she first set foot in Miranda’s office at Runway. It had never just been about getting through working for Miranda and then moving on. It hadn’t even been about impressing Miranda, or making her respect her. Trying harder as her assistant, going to Paris, writing the article - it had all been about convincing Miranda that she was good enough -- for her. Not for Runway or the fashion or journalism world, but for her!
Even leaving her in Paris, Andy realized, hadn’t been about spite or hate. She had needed to show Miranda that she was strong - strong enough to hold her own against her, something no one else had ever done. It wasn’t about respect or anything like that - Andy had wanted Miranda to see her for what she was: the only person in the world who was strong enough, smart enough, good enough for her.
“What is it?” Miranda asked, concern and hope coloring her voice, and Andy realized her thoughts must have been playing out in her eyes for the world to see. And the world, she realized, was Miranda.
“I…I love you,” Andy said, her voice full of wonder and surprise. She might not have wanted to say it for fear of Miranda’s response, but it was the sole thought that occurred to her, and her entire being told her it was the natural thing to say. “I think I always have… I…”
Andy suddenly smiled, broadly, brilliantly, and looked right into Miranda’s eyes.
“All this time I thought I was trying to prove myself to you so you’d respect me. But it was really because I wanted… I needed… for you to see me for who I am… and love me.”
Andy’s eyes suddenly widened and filled with warm tears that she had to fight back.
“You… you do love me, don’t you? That’s why you… that’s why you didn’t try to stop to me when I left. That’s why you asked me to write the article so that’d I come here and…”
Andy stopped, stunned utterly.
“Oh my god, you fired that writer so you could get me to do the article!”
Miranda shut her eyes softly and started to laugh. Andy’s attention was instantly shifted - she’d… she’d never heard Miranda laugh before. It was so gentle a sound, so warm and luscious… she could listen to it forever…
Miranda smiled gently, her laughter tapering to silence. “Oh Andrea,” she said, her amusement evident in her voice. She leaned forward, let her arms slide down about Andy’s waist. She brought her face as close to Andy’s as she could without touching her.
“There was never any other author. It was mine.”
Miranda leaned in and kissed her tenderly on the mouth, and simultaneously Andy felt soft pleasure, excitement, and utter astonishment. Her mind was a frantic mess, trying to sort everything out. Miranda Priestly had already cared for her - that’s why she had let her go in Paris, gently allowed her career to flourish, and then pulled her back to her when she knew that Andy was ready. Andy couldn’t think straight. It was so highly orchestrated, so perfectly done; she was more impressed and stunned by Miranda than ever. Miranda must have cared very much to do all of that…but she still…
As Miranda gently pulled away again, Andy steeled herself. She had to ask. She had to know. She knew that Miranda could go to great lengths to get what she wanted… but want and love were too very, very different things.
“Miranda, do you--”
“Oh, Andrea, do you really think I’d go through all this trouble for a… shag?”
A mischievous light lit up Miranda’s eyes, but at the same time a sadness colored them. Andy blushed and hastily retraced her steps.
“No, no, of course not, it’s just… well…”
Andy swallowed.
“You’re very good at… manipulation.”
Miranda’s eyes hardened, and visions of Paris passed quickly through them. Andy knew Miranda understood.
Miranda held her very firmly for a moment, looking deep in Andy’s eyes, and Andy felt she might be penetrated to her very soul. The brief moment seemed to last eons, and when Miranda finally loosened her hold on her, Andy thought years had gone by.
Miranda took Andrea by the hand. Her fingers felt smooth and slender in Andy’s larger, youthfully rounded hands.
“Come,” Miranda commanded simply, and didn’t say anything more as she pushed past Andy, and led her out of the den toward, Andy realized, the hall - and the stairs.
“M…Miranda, wait--” Andy protested, but Miranda rounded on her quick as an attack dog.
“Andrea Sachs, if I can’t convince you from everything I’ve done that I love you, then I only know one other way how.”
Miranda’s eyes were aflame, her cheeks red, and she looked a little scared. Andy was instantly eased - if Miranda could look as frightened as Andy felt, then surely, surely she must feel something near to what Andy felt. And though she had said the words “love you”, Andy knew Miranda was better with actions than words, knew she spoke with her body rather than her voice, so what better way for her to explain than…?
Andy blushed. Miranda swallowed nervously, waiting for some sort of response.
Slowly, Andy nodded, making the only decision she could even contemplate. “Yes,” she said with her glittering eyes, a nervous, happy smile pulling at her lips.
The color returned in a rush to Miranda’s face. She nodded in return.
“Yes,” Miranda said quietly, almost to herself. “Well, then.”
After a long moment, she looked up at Andrea, eyes narrowed slightly, and swallowed in a nervous way that Andy had never seen before.
Andy waited as Miranda thought. Her eyes searched Andy slowly, thoroughly.
Eventually Miranda nodded to herself, affirming, deciding.
Then Miranda turned, squeezing Andrea’s hand softly, and began to lead Andy up the stairs.