Chapter 59: When the Bough Breaks

[theladyholl]

Author: TheLadyHoll
Pairing: Andy/Miranda
Rating: M
Disclaimer: Yes, they are mine. I own them. Come to me my pretties and dance, DANCE I SAY. Or, more truthfully, not...



Really hope you like this update. I promise there are going to be some conflict resolutions soon, but be warned they come at a cost. I'm working on piecing together the next fragments into something reasonable, and my hope is to update sooner rather than later (but then again it always is). I start a new job on Tuesday and I negotiated (a la Miranda Priestly) a better title for myself. Now I'm just hoping I can live up to it. Lots of love xoxo

It was becoming more and more evident that Miranda was absolutely and completely shattered by the birth. The toll of the difficult pregnancy and the long labour, when added to her age was more than evident and she was understandably weak, at least physically. She would recover, and recover fully, but it would take time, the doctors warned her.

Miranda was a tactile being, sensorial to a fault. Surrounded by textures and fabrics of all kinds, Miranda easily dismissed the inferior choices, her nimble fingers easily searching out the fabric of the finest quality. Andy had long thought Miranda must have designed somewhere in her career, but the older woman had never shared that part of her history with the brunette, but she knew that wasn’t really important. The way those fingers pressed into warm. young flesh, turned on, aroused by the simple feel of the younger woman, assured her that all was right in their relationship - and that the Miranda who worshipped her body with her hands and mouth, was the only thing that mattered. Being able to keep this, her, was paramount to anything else. Miranda was paramount to anything else. Always had been and always would be.

Those same fingers trailed across the baby’s skin, with so much love in her touch, Andy knew, as she watched the older woman reunite with their son, apologizing without words for her absence and recommitting every detail of the little body to memory, as if it had ever faded.

Miranda did the same with the tiny girl in the adjacent bassinet, not taking her out and disturbing the breathing tube, but cupping the sweet little head in one hand and trailing the back of her hand gently over each downy cheek, over features that mirrored her own.

“Mon coeurs,” Miranda murmured to herself as her gaze moved between infants. Even though they were too young to truly focus, Andrea swore the babies turned their heads towards Miranda and their movements became just that much more excited.

Miranda stiffened, trying furiously to suppress her emotions so that the tears that had so quickly sprung to her eyes upon seeing her children, feeling - no, she told herself - knowing, that in a way she had ‘abandoned’ them for a short time, would heed her command to cease instantly. She prayed this last week would be erased, the memory lost as they made new ones and those 6 days would become less and less significant a period in their short lives that please God would be long lives. Andy let it be ‘overheard’ that Miranda had suffered a ‘relapse’ and had been home recovering, and knowing what Miranda’s condition had been, the nurses were quick to accept this and take back their prior judgements and vilifications. Besides, it wasn’t altogether untrue.

Even though Miranda was not an overly emotional person by nature, if you watched the subtle changes in her face and the tint of her eyes as they changed hues to as many different shades of blue as Miranda had names for them, you could see the love. It was apparent in the way she touched them, content to watch them simply breathe as though she could will them to thrive. She didn’t coo incessantly or debase the English language in using baby talk, but the near silent murmurs as the babies fed and her patience, her patience to sit with them skin against skin spoke volumes.

Although softened, somewhat, by motherhood, Miranda managed to be as highly demanding as when she was at full power behind her desk knowing herself as the conduit for millions of dollars and countless jobs.

Her focus had switched, or divided now, but the intensity remained. She wanted to know every detail of the thin breathing tube that was helping Cora inflate her lungs while they matured enough to take in air more easily. She demanded an in depth explanation of every wire connected to Christopher’s chest from the heart surgeon who’d just come out of a 29 hour surgery. Unsympathetic when this was pointed out, Miranda’s only remark was that the only muscle she required him to use was his lips.

What was still difficult was finding a way for Miranda to nurse the babies privately, without the gaze of others even if most parents in the NICU were solely occupied with their own children. Miranda didn’t trust the nurses, given her prior experience with medical staff releasing sensitive information. The far right corner in the back of the NICU had several chairs for those parents who spent long hours in the ward, and since the bassinets had wheels, they were able to move Cora and Christopher’s as required into the shadowy corner where Miranda could turn to face the wall, with Andy beside her to block her from view. It wasn’t ideal, but Miranda had vehemently opposed the suggestion of formula and stated she would rather nurse naturally when possible, which secretly surprised Andy but she went along with it, thinking to herself that she would never fully be able to understand the enigma that was her wife to be. Miranda did have to pump however to supply the NICU with breastmilk for feedings that took place outside visiting hours or when she wasn’t able to be there. It being a rather undignified practice at the best of times, this process was anathema to Miranda. But both women were thankful that with the help of a secondary oxygen tube through her nose, Cora was able to be taken off the primary oxygen tube long enough to take a bottle or nurse. The supply of breastmilk was also useful so Andy could feed the babies once in a while and for when Miranda was too tired or not feeling well and of course for when she had been physically unable to leave the room to make the small pilgrimage to the nursery, although a full report had always been demanded upon the younger woman’s return.

“How are they?” a low voice spoke out from the darkness as Andy re-entered their room, her eyes adjusting to the dim light of their inner sanctum as it differed so much from the sterile, bright hospital lights that left you feeling stripped bare. Andy had turned the lights off in the hopes that Miranda could forget where she was and be able to sleep more restfully.

“You,” Andy emphasized the word. “Are supposed to be asleep. You’ve been sleeping in fits and starts ever since we checked into the hospital 4 days ago - and some of that is deep, but I know a lot of it has been restless.”

Miranda sighed, as though loathe to explain herself. “The only…decent sleep I’ve gotten is when you’re with me. Not just physically in the room, but when you lie down with me it’s easier to pretend we’re at home. I just…want to go home.” Miranda’s voice had grown husky with the last sentence, and Andy knew that the exhausted older woman was holding back tears that were so helpfully obscured by the shadows, that she would never show in the light.

Kicking off her shoes, Andy slipped under the standard issue sheets next to the miserable lump of blanket that seemed so small without the fecundity brought to it by the babies who ironically outside of the womb seemed so small.

With only one small exclamation of pain, Miranda curled into Andy’s chest with her head resting just above the younger woman’s heartbeat. It was strong, so strong, unlike their son’s, Miranda’s thoughts continued to torment her. But the beat was still reassuring, almost letting her believe, foolishly, that it was strong enough to bring all of them through this. God, there was so much of ‘this’ that she didn’t know how or if it would ever end. But for now, she would cloak herself in the sound and surrender to the unconsciousness she both desired and feared in equal measure. Soft lips brushed her temple and she felt the ebb and flow of consciousness give way further and further until sleep claimed her just as the arms wrapped around her did.

Satisfied that the older woman was asleep, Andy let her head fall back on the pillow and studied Miranda’s face in sleep. The poor thing was exhausted, Andy mused idly while waiting for sleep to claim her as well. But therein lied another problem. She didn’t want to think of Miranda Priestly, magnificent, majestic and yes, at times almost malevolent, with pity. She wanted to believe in Miranda so that the editor would believe in herself, that she was strong enough to come through this. And she did believe that she did, truly, but everything the older woman had gone through it seemed so unfair life would test her again as the babies that had taken all her strength to bring into the world, still weren’t safe. In her eyes, she had failed although she would never voice it. As for herself, Andy still felt like bouncing off the walls and cheering and telling every single person she met that the two most beautiful babies you could ever imagine were here, they were finally here! And all because of how strong Miranda had been, how strong she was, present tense. If only she could make the older woman believe that, because they needed her, she needed her and perhaps unfairly, more than ever.

Slowly, Andy’s head dropped more and more until her chin rested fully on the snowy head that had long since beat her to slumber.

Upon waking, Andy’s inner monologue regarding the older woman continued as she watched the editor attempt to function at a normal level. Miranda was still pale and weak from the hemorrhage although she insisted there were no lasting effects. But Andy knew better, she could tell even from the way Miranda held herself and moved, what part of her was aching and she did her best to help ‘without helping’ and without the older woman knowing what she was doing.

Not that Miranda expected Andy to do these things. Quite the opposite, Miranda was continually surprised at the younger woman’s thoughtfulness and the care she took with her. It was such an aberration in the pattern of her relationships that she didn’t quite know how to respond. No one had ever cared so much about her before and sometimes it still threw her off balance. Her girls cared of course, but they were too young to understand everything Miranda went through as an adult with adult concerns, and she wouldn’t want them to besides.

Those concerns were piling up, thought Andy as she gently came out of her recollection, only to fall into another almost immediately as her mind searched for an answer to their problems.

Going through her email on the fifth day in hospital, mostly out of habit, a certain name jumped out at her, and her face, already unhealthily pale since before the birth had taken place and still so, paled further before returning to it’s previous pallid hue. But as sleep deprived as Andy was, she still saw it. The faintest tell that something was wrong in an otherwise poker face.

Miranda was the first to speak however, knowing she was caught. She sighed.

“Irving,” she began, and Andy’s stomach did a peremptory roll. “Has taken it upon himself to put renewed efforts into the investigation and audit of the years I have spent at Runway in the position of Editor in Chief. As soon as I am out of hospital, as Chairman of the Board he will call a meeting of all Chairs to present his findings, and as he pre-emptively suggests, decide on the level of disciplinary action warranted by those findings in addition to my immediate dismissal.”

Andy felt like she had been punched in the stomach and all the air pushed out of her lungs. She didn’t know what to think or how to process this. Her attention had been solely on getting Miranda through the delivery and getting the babies through this rough first stage of their life. Irving Ravitz and his witch-hunt had been so far pushed out of her mind that he had all but disappeared, that snide, insignificant man who should have zero say in anything to do with the day to day running of Runway. And to strike now? The pervading mist of shock in Andy’s brain was quickly disapparated by the flames that seemed to lick the inside of her skull now. How dare he, how dare this small, insignificant piece of sh** come at Miranda now, when she was perhaps more vulnerable than she had ever been. A threat to Miranda was a threat to her family, and everything in Andy wanted to confront him immediately, make him confess to whatever it was he had done to secure information about Miranda that he could then manipulate to suit his own needs.

Andy drove her fingers through her hair so violently that Miranda could see the copious strands of hair that had been pulled between her fingers as the young woman paced the still relatively small space of their private room.

“Of course. Of course he planned for it to happen this way. That’s why he didn’t strike before now. He couldn’t attack you for a second time while you were still pregnant. He’d lose any support he’d manage to garner while you could still play that sympathy card. But now the babies have been born, and he knows you would never display any outward sign of weakness if you weren’t forced to out of absolute necessity, even though you’re still not well, at all.”

“I’m well enough.”

Andy didn’t argue. What was the point? What she wanted to know, what she needed to know, was what exactly Irv had gotten his greasy little hands on regarding Miranda, and how and who from. The 5 W’s all journalists learn by rote swirled in her head as she tried to piece together a story that made sense. But she couldn’t, and she was still too angry to be able to see clearly what she probably needed to.

Her fight or flight instinct didn’t know which way to swing. Oh God, if only she could get them out of here. Away from all of this where they could figure out a plan together, with some distance to the mess that was blowing up in their faces at the worst possible moment.

But that was unrealistic, stupid she told herself. The babies weren’t even stable enough to leave the NICU, the girls were in school, and Miranda, well Miranda was Miranda and had her own opinions on her current strength and capabilities. But Andy saw every tightening, twitch and quiver, heard every soft gasp and muffled groan, and knew how tightly Miranda gripped her arm when they walked the long hallway to the NICU. Nope, they weren’t going anywhere. But what was Plan B?

Andy blinked back to the present, but her dilemma still remained. What was Plan B? There had been no additional clues in the letter that inferred exactly what misdoings Miranda was being accused of, so they couldn’t even prepare any sort of defense. They didn’t even know when this alleged hearing by the board was taking place.

Miranda was nowhere near healed and was still moving slowly, so it was Andy who answered the phone at exactly 1:37 AM as the bedside clock displayed in red bars that blurred and lost all meaning as Andy listened to the person on the other end of the phone.

“Hullo?” Andy croaked, shaking herself out of a dead sleep the likes of which are only known by new parents. But then she sat bolt upright and taking a page out of Miranda’s book, her voice was instantly crisp and authoritative as she questioned whoever was on the other end with a quickly awakening Miranda next to her.

“When?” A sharp nod.

That was all that was needed for Miranda to wrench back towards her side of the bed for the phone on her bedside table and press the receiver against her ear. Andy was too focused on her end of the conversation to hear the two swift inhalations opposite her. One due to physical pain when Miranda had turned over violently despite a still healing body, and one in a worse kind of pain, the kind of pain that can only come from receiving a phone call in the middle of the night.

“He’s alright? How long was he…” Miranda was trying to push herself up with one hand as she continued to press the phone into her ear

“Do.not.leave.him.” Miranda’s voice sent a shiver down Andy’s spine even as her mind was now totally preoccupied with what was happening across the city.

“If you value your job. If you value your medical license, if you value your life you will not leave his side or you will find someone more capable of looking after my son than you are apparently able. Do.not.leave.his side and tell one of your staff to do something useful and call Dr. Jansen.”

Wide awake now and infused with adrenaline and the restlessness of being unable to do something, Andy threw on whatever clothes she had worn the day before from the laundry hamper before turning back to Miranda to see if and where she could help. Without speaking or otherwise asking Miranda if she wanted help, Andy reverted back to a kind of assistant mode, except now she could take more liberties as an assistant/fiancée.

Darting over to the closet 10 x faster than Miranda would have been able to, Andy resisted the urge to just grab whatever fabric she could lay her hands on and tried to work smart.

Okay, apparently Miranda wasn’t going to be wearing makeup so that left her with a few options. She could do dress clothes a la typical Miranda Priestly and add on a head scarf or something a la Jackie Kennedy, or they could go total incognito in ‘street clothes’ and hope against hope that no one would recognize them. Shit, her brain was too tired and too wired for this.

Eventually, she settled on the side of comfort with a dash of sparkle. Black Lululemon yoga pants - a recent favourite as Miranda found that the compression waistband actually helped support her post-partum stomach as well as smooth out her figure to an outsider’s eye. Next a custom-designed for her Versace sports jacket suitable for allowing nursing and disguising the remnants of the already disguised post-partum stomach. It was a similar fabric to the yoga pants but cut in the style of a more formal jacket with a draped front and peplum drop waist. Very chic. Dark sunglasses even though it was nighttime completed the look and concealed the fact that Miranda wasn’t wearing makeup, at least as far as to the NICU.

Luckily, not a lot of people were frequenting New York Presbyterian at 2 AM and those who were were likely in too dire a strait and involved in their own troubles to notice the comings and goings of other patients.

There, in the NICU they were greeted by the cardiac surgeon they had previously consulted regarding Christopher’s condition, and who was scheduled to perform the first of five operations in 2 weeks time. Now, in the dim light of morning, he looked more like an Angel of Death than the Angel of Mercy they had previously hoped and prayed for.

“Ms. Priestly, Andy,”

Miranda ignored this and instead kept a hawkish glare on the slightly greying man, admirably doing his best to look at Miranda straight on as he gave her the news that for twenty seconds that evening, their son’s heart had faltered and stopped.

No one really looked Miranda Priestly in the eye, save for family. Truly, it were as though the M in her initials stood for Medusa instead of Miranda. Standing in front of her, diminutive as she was even in heels, grown men turned to stone and shattered. But it was though all the power had drained out of her body just like the blood in her face as her own heart threatened to shatter and give out.

“Christopher’s condition is steadily worsening. More blood is leaking from the valves in his heart so it’s not functioning properly and taking in blood to redistribute to the veins and arteries. The first surgery scheduled is to fix the first of several serious problems, in this case, the hole. Our concern now is that the rest of Christopher’s heart isn’t strong enough to tolerate surgery. We wanted to give him another several weeks to build up strength before the surgery, but as tonight has shown, the longer we wait, the more we risk episodes like tonight or where circulation is so poor other organs begin to be affected. This episode tonight may be the first of many if my suspicions are correct. I’m sorry.”

Miranda’s hand twitched as if to cover her mouth, but other than that there were no outward signs of Miranda’s distress. To look at her you would think she was entirely unaffected. But Andy looked at the woman she loved and her heart ached anew.

Miranda’s reaction, or seeming lack of reaction, had her close to tears, because she knew, she knew what Miranda was feeling in that instant. And it was what Andy had tried to protect her from the minute she had seen the white hair against the tiles of the entryway the night the girls had called her to the house.

Pain. Sheer, unfiltered, unmanaged, unmanageable pain. If they hadn’t been in public, Andy would already have Miranda in her arms, the flat of her palm over Miranda’s heart as she tried to soothe the fractured beat, like she had so many times before. But this wasn’t like before, and she couldn’t fix it. She could no more take away Miranda’s pain than she could their son’s, not even thinking of her own.

This went further than the flat, dull grey of depression, this was the most primitive, almost animal pain and the most basal reaction of a mother whose child is suffering, threatened by a force far greater than even she. She who feared no man on earth except for the one standing in front of her telling her, in her opinion at least, that she hadn’t been strong enough. Everything she had gone through still wasn’t enough to guarantee safety for her children whom she had proved unable to protect.

Breathing through her own emotions, Andy turned to Miranda, pausing as she struggled to find words. But Miranda beat her to it.

“No.” Blue eyes looked up at her asking her to understand despite her cool tone. “I can’t…not here.”

It showed just how far they had come in their relationship that Andy could see past this apparent dismissal to the hurt that was barely being contained.

A bare faced, jean clad Dr. Jansen came in the doors, not bothering to greet her colleague or Andy and Miranda as she studied the ream of paper steadily being marked by one of the many machines surrounding the baby. Without makeup, the furrows between Dr. Jansen’s eyes were much more pronounced, or perhaps it was just her level of concern as she looked at the printouts.

Speaking briefly to the other doctor, Dr. Jansen turned back to the couple. Andy noticed, and knew Miranda probably did too, that the furrows between her eyes hadn’t disappeared as she began to speak.

“Miranda, Andy, he’ll be given round the clock care. He’ll have a nurse assigned to him at all times.”

“Which nurse? What are their qualifications? I wish to speak to them regarding their charge.”

“Miranda, I have no say in which nurses are going to be looking after Chris. I can only promise you that he will never be alone. His monitors will alert us to anything instantly, but he’ll also have a human watch who will also make him as comfortable as possible.”

“Do not ever,” Miranda’s voice was so quiet even Andy had to lean in to hear it, “refer to my son as though he were terminally ill and dying.”

Andy felt sick as she realized that might actually be closer to the truth than either of them were able to admit. Her stomach rolled and she had to steady her breathing. Luckily, Miranda was too focused on her current prey to notice the brunette’s visceral reaction to her statement.

“Am I allowed to hold my own child?” The voice was cutting, acerbic, but it was also a front.

“Of course, Miranda.” Dr. Jansen picked up the baby who was wide awake and passed him and his monitoring device to Miranda, who promptly strode over to the rocker near their section in the NICU, tucking the baby into the fold of her jacket as she fed him. It was the only act of care she could do for him, and the knowledge of that fact nearly killed her. Calm and content in her arms, it was so easy to pretend he was healthy, but any pretense of that had been felled by the comments from the surgeon whom Miranda was trying her best not to resent knowing he was going to ‘hurt’ her son, even as it needed to be done to save his life.

It was the NICU and full of babies, some crying, but Miranda’s head cocked ever so slightly and she turned immediately on her heel, having gotten herself to her feet, leaving Andy holding the baby and wondering what she had missed. Another second though and she heard it too.

Miranda passed over the featherweight bundle with a kiss on the cheek, moving over now to check on Cora while Andy had a moment with Chris.

“Hi baby boy, did you save some snuggles for mama?” Blue eyes so familiar and trusting they made her want to cry were getting sleepier as the effects of the milk kicked in from Miranda feeding him. She cuddled the swaddled bundle to her chest, wishing she could transfer the strength of her heart to his, even if her heart didn’t feel very strong at the present moment. “Mama and mommy love you, little prince.” Andy’s heart hurt afresh as she realized that sounded as though she were saying goodbye permanently, so she added to the statement. “We’ll see you later, okay buddy? Be good.”

Waiting until he was totally asleep, Andy passed him back over to the waiting nurse, who had already been ‘briefed’ by Miranda about her latest charge while Andy was holding him and was looking appropriately terrified.

Cora had woken up and was crying, which was what Miranda had heard even among all the rest of the infants cries, and she was now leaning into the incubator, murmuring something to the fussing baby.

“Hello, my darling.” The low whisper of Miranda’s voice was velvet soft and Andy knew how the sound could caress you and knew that was what was happening with their daughter who appeared comforted even if only by Miranda’s presence and the gentle brush of her finger against the little cheek.

“Did we wake you up, my love? It’s alright. Mummy will make sure everything is all right.” The older woman murmured as she soothed the baby girl. Andy, on the other hand, didn’t know if Miranda said that to comfort the baby or herself.

Covering the tiny body with one hand, Miranda cupped the baby’s head with the other, speaking softly and gently stroking down the little body until the whimpers had stopped and eyes were closed in sleep once more, soothed back into peaceful slumber.

But Andy knew it wasn’t only Cora that needed comforting. The problem was, how to do it? Unlike her infant offspring, Miranda wouldn’t be soothed with nonsense sounds and words, and she was still sensitive to being touched by Andy, thinking her body ruined by the pregnancy. Which truthfully it was, just not in the ways Miranda thought of consequence.

Both babies were asleep. There was nothing left to do. A last lingering look at the monitors and they were climbing back into the car, Miranda once more at the wheel. It was probably safer that way, Andy thought to herself, given Miranda’s ability to compartmentalize no matter how deep her hurt.

But once they were at home, Andy’s heart sank even further if that was possible as Miranda remained close-lipped. Andy locked the door to the garage before following Miranda into the house, and although it was futile, tried to appeal to Miranda, or at least get her to talk about what had happened.

“Miranda…”

The woman paused, her back still to Andy. “His heart stopped...” Then silence - she shook her head slightly and turned towards the stairs. “Please, Andrea, I do not wish to talk about this right now. Please just let me go to bed.” Now that they were at home, Miranda seemed to be retreating even more into herself and her instinct was telling her to hide and sleep until some solution had come to light that would give her a purpose when she woke. If there was one thing Miranda Priestly was not good at, it was waiting. Doing nothing was infinitely harder than working and pushing herself to some limit or finish line. It took patience and tolerance and she had very little in reserve, especially when her nerves had been stripped raw by the back and forth uncertainty surrounding the babies and their equally precarious condition that wasn’t getting any better.

Now Miranda had said please twice in the same sentence and was basically telling her she couldn’t be conscious anymore and it just about broke Andy’s heart it ached so badly for the older woman, for both of them. But it was both of them who needed to find a way to get through this, and Andy was determined they would find it together. She couldn’t lose Miranda on top of everything else. No, not everything else. She wasn’t going to lose anything, she told herself.

“And sometimes I let you be alone, but that sometime isn’t now. Not tonight. I don’t want to be alone tonight.” Andy pulled the last trick out of her hat, not that it wasn’t true. She needed Miranda tonight as much as she knew the older woman needed her.

Miranda simply inclined her head as if to say ‘very well’ and began up the stairs. Andy knew there was no chance of getting her to eat anything even though she needed to after breastfeeding with more than 8 hours since she’d last eaten, she knew there would be literal knots in the tense muscles of the editor’s abdomen and she just hoped she wouldn’t have to add ulcers to her growing list of concerns about Miranda and the dubious state of her health.

“I’m sorry.” Miranda whispered into the pillow as she faced away from Andy. “I’m trying.” Andy knew she meant that she was trying to ‘stay’ in the way that she had promised Andy she would try to do after the breakdown that had come after Miranda’s boycott of the hospital for the second week after the babies were born. She was telling Andrea as best she could that she was fighting to stay, in the present, with her, instead of slipping away into the abyss of her own mind that continually threatened to swallow her whole. And damned if Andy was going to let her leave. She would fight for Miranda to ‘stay’ too, no matter what she had to do she would keep her family together, the babies, Miranda, and Caroline and Cassidy who Andy knew were hurting from being away so long. They hadn’t even had a chance to meet their brother and sister and already there was a chance they never would. It was only sheer exhaustion that shut Andy’s mind off, but before she gave way completely to sleep, she recognized a weight on her shoulder as Miranda, which meant that the older woman had turned from having her back to Andy, to curling into the younger woman with her head on Andy’s chest. Andy’s last thoughts before the blackness claimed her was a heartfelt ‘thank you, thank you God’ as she felt the steady, warm puffs of air on her stomach. One day, she told herself, soon, she was going to have all of her family piled in this bed, all 6 of them, happy and healthy and finally home. "God, please help us out of this mess." But Andy didn't know how soon the results of her prayer would manifest themself, nor of the pain necessary to fulfill it. And if she knew, would she still have wanted the results?