A Flawed Fragility: Chapter 27
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...
Chapter 27: Destructive Behaviours
Hey! A 2-in-1! (I.e. 2 chapters in 1) Consider it a belated birthday gift, after all I did say I would try to have the next chapter up before I was 22. Well, I'm 22 now! Not quite a month gone. But working 60-70 hour weeks with 2 jobs does not an easy summer make, hence the delay.
But please, read, review, share your thoughts. Lift me out of my corporate intern doldrums and into some colourful inspired state of fanfic writing instead of copywriting - I beg of you :)
Even though she had a pile of work on her desk that would take her two solid weeks to complete, Andy made sure she was home by nine o'clock, hoping Miranda would keep her promise and not be home later than 9:15.
At ten past, a cold lump of nerves had firmly settled in her stomach, and by nine forty-five, having sent multiple texts as she waited in the front entryway in one of the vastly uncomfortable chairs, she was positive Miranda was still giving her the cold shoulder. She knew the older woman was angry and hurt, and Andy had had every intention of apologizing again when Miranda had come home. But she hadn't, and any ideas Andy had had about apologizing ebbed away with every movement of the clock's hand as it ticked closer to ten o'clock, and then midnight. If Miranda wanted to lead Andrea's thoughts back to her words on the plane as she'd compared their relationship to her last, her actions now were certainly driving the point home.
"Fuck," Andy swore around 10:30, running her fingers through her hair harshly before rising from the seat stiffly. Catching her reflection in the mirror, and realizing how pathetic she looked, waiting for someone who obviously wasn't going to come, or call, Andy kicked the leg of the chair she'd been sitting in.
Starving, but too tired to think of making food only for herself, Andy grabbed the bottle of wine from the fridge and poured herself a glass as she continued waiting.
Fine, Miranda wanted to play it like that? She thought as she poured herself a second and then a third glass as the hands of the clock continued to mock her. She knew she was in the wrong and that she shouldn't have brought up Stephen. But for Miranda to react and to retaliate like this? It was complete bullshit! She was endangering not only her own health, but that of the babies as well. Andy slugged back another gulp of Merlot.
The bottle that had been nearly full was long gone by the time the clocks hands were nearing midnight, and Andy finally gave in to the fact that Miranda wasn't coming home anytime soon. Glancing at the multiple flights of stairs, Andy decided in her inebriated state that they looked like a little too much effort, but not wanting Miranda to think she had 'won' now by finding her like this, she made her way upstairs - only staggering slightly on the steps.
Not having the energy to change out of her work clothes or remove her makeup, Andy turned into one of the guestrooms and flopped down on top of the bedcovers- her mind now only thinking of sleep and how it was more than likely Miranda would turn her out of her bed anyway.
Just after midnight, the front door lock clicked and opened, the flash of headlights as a car drove past illuminating the hunched figure in the doorway. Locking the door once again behind her, Miranda paused for a moment, listening for any signs of life in the house or that Andrea was somewhere waiting for her. But there was nothing, nothing except a chair in the hallway that was out of place, and bending down slightly to adjust it, she saw the wine bottle rolled partly underneath the vanity, clearly empty. A twinge in her back reminded her that this probably wasn't a good position and she straightened slowly, leaning heavily on the dresser as she counter-balanced with a hand beneath her belly.
A low grumble could be heard echoing down the empty entryway, and Miranda's hand moved from supportive to soothing as she returned to an upright position. "Alright, my darlings, mommy will eat something"; guilt tinged her voice as she slipped off her heels. It was halfway between pain and bliss as her swollen feet touched the cold tile floor of the kitchen. What she wanted more than anything was to be in bed with Andrea while the younger woman worked out the aches and pains that suddenly seemed to flare in every joint. The low throbbing that beat at her temples didn't help either, and Miranda found herself sitting in the dark alone at the kitchen table as she finished the container of yogurt she was eating and began to sip at one of the awful nutritional supplement drinks - too tired to think of making any sort of true meal for herself.
Seeing the door to the guest bedroom ajar, Miranda crossed the hallway to investigate. Pushing the door further in, she saw a mass of brown hair and long limbs spread out over the bed. Why was Andrea in the guest room? Was she that angry with her? The younger woman had made it patently clear in their earlier conversations that she wasn't like the others - that she wouldn't let Miranda push her away or leave again if things got bad. There had to be another explanation as to why the young woman wasn't in their bedroom.
Moving closer to brush back the thick brown locks that covered her face, Miranda was hit with the alcoholic fumes on Andrea's breath and body, and noticed for the first time that she was still clothed and her boots still on her feet.
Finding a lover passed out drunk, having chosen to sleep in a guest bedroom rather than share a bed with her was all too familiar a scenario to walk in on and Miranda's stomach rolled.
Escaping the truth that seemingly lay in front of her Miranda turned and left the room, leaving the door ajar as it was before. Walking past the twins' empty bedrooms sent another wave of despondency through her. As if sensing their mother's inner turmoil and being disrupted by it, the babies began to kick vigorously, so vigorously in fact that you could see the tiny rolls and movements from underneath Miranda's skin as she undressed for bed. Where other nights she would have been eager for the movements to quieten so she could rest, tonight they comforted her.
Now Miranda Priestly had spent many a night alone in this house before, even preferring to wake to an empty bed. But somehow, Andrea's presence, or lack thereof seemed so much more poignant a loss.
"At least you're here with me" she murmured. The agitated movements didn't stop however, and instead of lying down to the sleep her mind and body was so desperate for, with some difficulty she found herself propped up against the headboard, essentially navel-gazing as it were, and attempting to quieten her restless offspring. Her hands obviously didn't contain the same magic as Andrea's, and she began to hum softly for a while until she was singing quietly, realizing after several minutes that her voice had seemingly lulled the babies to sleep, the movements having slowed gradually until all she could feel was the occasional shift. She continued for several minutes longer though to be sure.
Miranda thought back to the last time she had been this tired - how Andrea had led her up the stairs, taking off her clothes and removing her makeup before putting her nearly unconscious body to bed. The last faint memories she had of that night were of being wrapped in young, strong arms, words of love whispered in her ear as she rubbed lazy circles on Miranda's belly.
Had she lost all that now? Her heart rate sped up with her racing mind, the babies woke again in response and Miranda resumed her song. Slowly shifting her swollen, almost 6 months pregnant body down the bed, she pulled a pillow between her knees and another one underneath her well-established bump. Suddenly angry, Miranda flipped over awkwardly to face away from Andrea's space in the bed. This moping was ridiculous, she told herself. Miranda Priestly didn't 'miss' anything, didn't allow herself that luxury of self-pity or show that weakness.
The next morning, she woke aching all over, her back twinging painfully as she shifted position to get out of bed. But as she did so she recognized the rising feeling of nausea as the mattress bounced up and down in her attempts to get out of it. But the pillows she had been using to support her awkward shape in lieu of Andrea caught in the linens and in her attempt to get out of them, had entangled her legs in the sheets. Her stomach rolled threateningly and let out a half sob as she lurched over to Andrea's side of the bed just in time for her to empty her stomach in painful heaves into the wastebasket by Andrea's side of the bed. She had fought her on this, calling the idea ridiculous and distasteful - asking the young woman why she would want to bring refuse into the place where they slept instead of keeping one in the bathroom. Now, as she lay there, breathing heavily from exertion and the strain of lying partially on her stomach, Miranda realized the validity of her argument. Newspaper pages with notes scrawled on them and snack food wrappers conveniently hidden underneath them looked back at her as head hanging over the bucket, she felt her stomach clench, this time in regret as she looked at things that once annoyed her, and realized that she missed them… So much for her insistence last night that she didn't miss anything.
Slowly, carefully, she untangled her legs from the sheets and got ready for the day. It felt as though she had to drag herself through her morning routine; and the sharp pounding pressure that had started after the vomiting did nothing to drive through the fog that had permeated her brain, making her unsteady on her feet as, determined to prove she wasn't an infirm who couldn't take care of herself, she stepped into the 3 inch pumps, the creamy Vittorio Aggliano leather straps cool against her heated skin.
Closing the door to the master bedroom, Miranda turned only to be startled by the long lean form leaning against the banister. Despite the deep purple circles under her eyesesgg
"You think that I could turn off what has essentially become my entire being? You are EVERYTHING to me, Miranda, do you understand that? For as long as I have known you, you have been at the centre of everything I do, and you know how I know that it's different than the hero worship of 'Miranda Priestly'? Because I can be angry and hurt and scared - and I am Miranda, I am so angry at you. But I can be all those things and still love you, and miss you and hold you at night sleeping in the same damn bed."
Now Miranda interjected, "that was YOUR decision. It wasn't me who threw you out, to remove yourself was your decision, YOU are the one who left." Her voice cracked on the last word and her chest ached from the effort of holding back her tears. "I-instead I come home, exhausted, and the house is dark and there's a wine bottle on the floor and our room is empty." She paused to take a shuddering breath before continuing, "and I find you in the guest room still in your clothes and shoes, passed out drunk…" Her voice turned icy on the last word.
Andy's stomach, already fragile from the night before, roiled at the thought of becoming anything like Stephen, and she barely caught back the rush of bile that issued up from the back of her throat, tasting only of acid and sour wine given her empty stomach.
"You said you were different…" Miranda's voice was chillingly vacant as she avoided looking at Andrea by turning her head and studying the seams of the comforter as if it were vital to existence that there wasn't a thread out of place and giving the effect that her mind had been made up on the matter.
"No, no no no, Mira…" Andy opened her mouth to explain, but shut it quickly - clapping her hand over it as she sprinted into the bathroom.
It was her own stubborn pride that kept Miranda from going to Andy and holding back her hair, rubbing her back and staying with her until the vomiting had stopped as the young woman had done countless times in the past.
Miranda made her way towards the kitchen, until a hard kick had her stop in her tracks, bent over the banister and breathing deeply until she was able to straighten. "Oh my loves…do you miss your mama?" The babies seemed to answer as the question was met with a Braxton Hicks contraction.
The uncomfortable tightness in her belly only grew worse as she passed by the vacant kitchen, dark and silent where it had been filled with laughter, and fights, and family. Her babies had been at her ex-husband's for more than a week now, and she wouldn't see them for another two. Three weeks. It was the longest she had ever been away from her babies, and with the new babies coming and her constant anxiety, she wanted to keep everyone close.
Deciding she couldn't bear the awful silence, Miranda decided to forgo breakfast, and therefore any contact with Andrea - and a quick call to whatever her name was, the new girl, was all it took for Miranda to be on her way to Elias Clarke at quarter after six.
Meanwhile, in the Runway offices, the head assistant, could be heard jabbering like an idiot as she panicked about the early arrival. Rolling her eyes as she listened to the awful caterwauling, Emily strode into the outer office and grabbed the arm of the new 'her'.
"Right, listen… You need to stop this nonsense and follow routine. Improvise if you have to, but get it done and get it done right, otherwise there will be nothing anyone can do to reverse the situation. You!" She snapped her fingers at the second assistant, "Coffee. Now!"
As the blonde scuttled out of the office, the pretty brunette just continued to stare dumbly at Emily, who snapped her fingers in front of her several times. "Snap out of it!" Rolling her eyes again at the dumbstruck silence Emily snapped her fingers again until the dark eyes darted back to focus on Emily. "Look, you stay here, go over her schedule and make sure everything is in order for the day and get the water and magazines etc. ready. I'll go and tell Nigel and the rest of the creative team that there is a 99.9% chance the run through will be pushed up.
Since Andy and Miranda had been together, the older woman had noticeably softened her demeanor towards the Brit, especially since she had moved over partway into the Art Dept. where she was making great success. But this morning, there was no one, it seemed, that was free from her wrath.
Seeing the outer office empty of both assistants, Miranda simply switched her anger to Emily as the only available target. She felt a momentary flicker of guilt at the look of hurt that flashed across the redhead's face as she began to speak.
"Call La Perla regarding the change in location for Saturday's shoot and tell Nigel I want to see him, and the advertising options for Lungha Chi. Then call Dalton and schedule a meeting with Ms. Heron, the principal to discuss the security issue the paparazzi's presence is proving at the gates in the morning and afternoon. Reschedule my 1 o'clock call with Phillip Lim, rebook later in the week. Finally, inform the Art Dept. it will be a working lunch in the meeting room as they obviously need to be supervised. What I was shown in the primaries for that issue were simply awful."
"Yes, Miranda." Emily's attention was immediately diverted to her phone, texting Nigel and sending out a mass email warning staff about the pushed up run-through. Just as her finger was on the dial button for La Perla, the phone buzzed with an incoming email from Bethany - Irv's secretary, informing her of Irv's imminent arrival.
Miranda actually let her exhaustion show for a fleeting second as her shoulders slumped and she dipped her head, rubbing the bridge of her nose irritably. "Not today..." she growled, straightening once more as 'Miranda Priestly'.
Moments later, Irv strode in arrogantly, not bothering to recognize the other two people in the office and taking it upon himself to enter Miranda's office without notification or permission.
Miranda eased herself down onto the chair with one hand on the armrest, the other supporting the considerable burgeoning swell.
Nigel watched as his friend and boss elegantly took her seat across from the vile form of the CEO that watched her with equal contempt and lascivious glances.
"My early trip back proved to be immensely gratifying. You see, it was an emergency meeting of the board that called me back so suddenly…
Miranda sat, stone still, a look of feigned indifference "It is my great pleasure, Miranda, to announce to you that the board has decided to review your contract at the end of the current term following a careful analysis of quarterly projections."
Equal parts of bile and fear rose in Miranda's throat, but her bearing and expression remained unchanged on the surface, seeming to coolly assess the situation in front of her with a diffidence and a detachment that belied her true feelings.
"Is that so, Irv? Any why should this be of any concern to me, moreso than it has any other time you have tried to turn the board against me?" Irv grinned, the soft lighting of the office seeming to take on a gleaming fluorescence as it reflected off sharp, bonded teeth that Miranda knew were stained yellow underneath the veneers from a lifetime's habit of cocaine.
"Because this time, Miranda, the numbers back me up. Shares are down, the stockholder's and investors' confidence in their 'Queen' has been shaken and it's showing in the E-C profits."
In the outer office, Emily and Nigel watched with growing horror as one by one, Andy's list of warning signs were manifesting in their leader. Her face was colourless and pale except for the outer shell of the one ear that was visible that appeared to glow a bright red in stark contrast to the lifeless white of the surrounding skin. The editor's tense shoulders moved up and down too quickly in keeping with the small sips of air she was taking in as she attempted to control her breathing.
"It looks like that wedding will be happening sooner than planned. If I remember correctly, you said to call when the ratings needed a boost. Perhaps it's best, you know," Irv's voice actually softened slightly. "This is coming at a time where you can step down without losing face. You'll be able to actually watch your children grow up. You can make this easy or not, Miranda, but make no mistake, Runway is about to become somebody else's baby."
As soon as he was gone, Miranda bent forward at the waist, taking great big gulps of air as she pressed a palm to her burning chest and bid her vision to unblur at the corners.
Emily hurried in with a glass of Pellegrino that she handed to the editor, crouching in front of the hunched older woman where she was quickly joined by Nigel, who entwined his hands with hers as to keep her grounded.
"Em…Emily, get me the latest financial reports. I want to see the last five quarterly reports and projections."
"No, Miranda."
"What?" the older woman hissed, drawing herself back up and letting go of the art director's hands as she narrowed her gaze.
To her credit, Emily only faltered for a second before she straightened her shoulders and repeated herself, though not unkindly.
"I will get you the reports, Miranda, but I won't give them to you until you're calmer and its less likely your blood pressure is going to spike."
"How dare you!"
"How dare I? Come off it, Miranda," Emily snapped, shocking everyone, including herself into silence for a moment.
"We care for you, dammit. And much as we are your employees we are also your friends, like it or not. And I care a great deal more for my friend, Miranda than I do about my boss or my position here, despite what I have sacrificed over the years to keep it."
"Friends? We are no friends. You are my employee and you will do what I ask as your employer and the editor of this magazine." Miranda hissed dangerously.
Emily nearly crumbled then, but it was a testimony to what she had learned under the editor's guidance that she was able to keep her composure and continue. "Fine, you're right. We're not friends, and nothing I have done for you, and no secrets I have kept have been above what you would ask of an employee. But Andy is my friend, and it is my duty to her that I make sure to protect what is most important to her. The magazine will run itself, and continue regardless of what happens to you, Miranda. It may not flourish, but it would survive."
Figuring she was well and truly fucked, Emily threw aside the last of her carefully cultivated British reticence and placed a pale hand on the Proenza Schouler clad swell of the editor's belly, starting inwardly as faint movement from beneath tickled her palms.
"They are who need you right now. They are the ones who can't survive without your care, and I know you care Miranda."
Miranda's nostrils flared dangerously and she turned her office chair around to face the window. "That's all, Emily."
The young woman gulped nervously, nodding once firmly to ground herself despite her shaking knees and turned on her heel to leave.
Long moments of silence followed her departure until Miranda's shoulders slumped ever so slightly, although she still didn't turn her chair around to face the remaining individual in the office who stood silently in front of the door, his silence speaking louder than any words could.
"I am well aware she is right, Nigel. Why do you think I had her leave?"
Andy had only been at the office two hours when she caved and grabbed her phone to make her usual post-lunch call to see how Miranda's day was going. But it wasn't Miranda's number that she called.
"She's been ill at least once…I thought she was over that?"
"Crap." Back at her desk across town, Andy pinched the top of her nose trying to get rid of the sudden headache she had developed. "No, not completely." Another shot of pain through her temples, "and stress makes it worse."
"But she did watch the run through sitting on the couch and directing what changes she wanted made rather than doing them herself".
"Right," Andy wiped her eyes quickly, "that's something at least."
"There's one other thing," the man on the other line began tentatively, looking around him to make sure no one else was listening. "Not that anyone else would especially notice other than Emily, who she's all but banished for the day - she's changed her shoes twice since she got in, and her ankles are swollen and getting worse."
Has she eaten anything since she got in?"
"What do you think, Six? And if she has it's long gone, But I'll tell ya, the rest of the team loved the Smith & Wollensky you had sent over. They'd all be singing your praises still if the first person who'd mentioned your name wasn't practically demoted."
"Damn. I hoped by sending enough for the team, she'd feel pressured to eat something."
"Oh Six, come on...pressured? Miranda?
"And she's probably feeling horrible because her blood sugar is low" Andy continued "- which would be fixed if she actually ate something…" Andy ranted half-heartedly, toying miserably with the cord of the ancient landline that sat on every rookie reporter's desk.
"What's all this about, anyway?"
"God, Nigel, it was just a stupid fight and I had to open my mouth and call her out on her and Stephen's relationship."
Nigel whistled through his teeth, "Oh my Six…". His tone wasn't wry or joking anymore and he sighed heavily; Andy could imagine the older man running his hand over his head as he always did when he was stressed or pondering a response. "So now she's hurt, and it sounds like she has the right to feel that way. So just let her steam herself out, she'll cool off eventually."
"I have to do something, I have to fix this."
"Andy!" His voice was firm now. "You can't. You can't fix it. All you can do is try and prove to her that you aren't like the others. She believed you weren't, SHE proposed to YOU for God's sake. If you're right and you've proven her fears to be true so that right now she believes she's facing another possible divorce and raising four children alone…I don't see how anything you could do right now that wouldn't come off as trite or insulting to what you put her through, even if by lying by omission she started the argument. She's used to having her orders followed. She's not used to being taken care of - there's a big difference, Andy…"
There was a long pause before Andy spoke again. "You think I don't know that?" A hollow laugh came through the line, twisting into something unsettling and manic before ending with the beginnings of a sob before a click and the flat drone of the dial tone.
Staring dumbly at the phone she had just hung up, Andy's gaze flicked over to the small desk calendar that sat beside it. 'Shit!' she exclaimed internally, 'Shit, shit, shit, oh damn!' Tonight was the night she and Miranda were supposed to meet Doug for dinner. As Andy's best friend now that Lily and Nate had clearly washed their hands of her it seemed impossible that Miranda had yet to meet him and he Miranda. Andy doubted now if she could even get the older woman to talk to her, nevertheless make small talk with a relative stranger.
Taking the coward's way out, Andy opened her email calendar and scheduled it to send an automatic reminder to Miranda , but an hour later when the editor still hadn't replied she reluctantly picked up her cell phone to send a text.
A: Should I change the reservations for tonight to two?
Another long moment and her cell phone buzzed with a reply.
M: Have I indicated that I would not attend an engagement I previously agreed to? I'll be at Prix D'Or for 6 o'clock.
Hoping this reply meant that Miranda was willing to open the lines of communication once again, Andy tried her luck.
A: Can we please sit down tonight and talk?
But there was no chime to indicate a response, just a dead silence on the other end.
Miranda set her phone down on the desk, looking down at it for a long moment before moving a slender hand to pick it up once more. Her hand hovered over the shiny, glass surface before dropping again as she saw how her hand trembled in the reflection.
Dammit, Andrea. Miranda thought as she breathed through her nose, her chest too tight with emotion and the overwhelming pressure in her ribcage not to cry. Pushing down the anxiety, Miranda took a deep breath. She couldn't answer, not because she was angry at Andrea, but if she were truthful with herself it was the thought that she wouldn't like what the other woman would have to say, or what she would say to ruin it as she always did. Keeping her distance meant keeping Andrea for now, and that wasn't something Miranda wanted to lose. And it wasn't, she hoped, despite what she had begun to fear when she'd found the young woman passed out drunk in the guest room. It was too familiar, too painful a reminder of what she, Miranda, turned relationships into, what she turned the people she loved into.
Her stomach cramped and her mouth was dry as the destructive thoughts swirled around in her head; but then a series of kicks bumped against her hand and she opened her eyes against the dizziness. "I don't want to lose her…" Miranda whispered, voicing the one thought that kept beating a tattoo in her heart. Her hand slipped beneath the waistband of the classic tweed Chanel skirt to smooth her hand over where she had felt the kicks. "I want your mama back too."
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...
Chapter 27: Destructive Behaviours
Hey! A 2-in-1! (I.e. 2 chapters in 1) Consider it a belated birthday gift, after all I did say I would try to have the next chapter up before I was 22. Well, I'm 22 now! Not quite a month gone. But working 60-70 hour weeks with 2 jobs does not an easy summer make, hence the delay.
But please, read, review, share your thoughts. Lift me out of my corporate intern doldrums and into some colourful inspired state of fanfic writing instead of copywriting - I beg of you :)
Even though she had a pile of work on her desk that would take her two solid weeks to complete, Andy made sure she was home by nine o'clock, hoping Miranda would keep her promise and not be home later than 9:15.
At ten past, a cold lump of nerves had firmly settled in her stomach, and by nine forty-five, having sent multiple texts as she waited in the front entryway in one of the vastly uncomfortable chairs, she was positive Miranda was still giving her the cold shoulder. She knew the older woman was angry and hurt, and Andy had had every intention of apologizing again when Miranda had come home. But she hadn't, and any ideas Andy had had about apologizing ebbed away with every movement of the clock's hand as it ticked closer to ten o'clock, and then midnight. If Miranda wanted to lead Andrea's thoughts back to her words on the plane as she'd compared their relationship to her last, her actions now were certainly driving the point home.
"Fuck," Andy swore around 10:30, running her fingers through her hair harshly before rising from the seat stiffly. Catching her reflection in the mirror, and realizing how pathetic she looked, waiting for someone who obviously wasn't going to come, or call, Andy kicked the leg of the chair she'd been sitting in.
Starving, but too tired to think of making food only for herself, Andy grabbed the bottle of wine from the fridge and poured herself a glass as she continued waiting.
Fine, Miranda wanted to play it like that? She thought as she poured herself a second and then a third glass as the hands of the clock continued to mock her. She knew she was in the wrong and that she shouldn't have brought up Stephen. But for Miranda to react and to retaliate like this? It was complete bullshit! She was endangering not only her own health, but that of the babies as well. Andy slugged back another gulp of Merlot.
The bottle that had been nearly full was long gone by the time the clocks hands were nearing midnight, and Andy finally gave in to the fact that Miranda wasn't coming home anytime soon. Glancing at the multiple flights of stairs, Andy decided in her inebriated state that they looked like a little too much effort, but not wanting Miranda to think she had 'won' now by finding her like this, she made her way upstairs - only staggering slightly on the steps.
Not having the energy to change out of her work clothes or remove her makeup, Andy turned into one of the guestrooms and flopped down on top of the bedcovers- her mind now only thinking of sleep and how it was more than likely Miranda would turn her out of her bed anyway.
Just after midnight, the front door lock clicked and opened, the flash of headlights as a car drove past illuminating the hunched figure in the doorway. Locking the door once again behind her, Miranda paused for a moment, listening for any signs of life in the house or that Andrea was somewhere waiting for her. But there was nothing, nothing except a chair in the hallway that was out of place, and bending down slightly to adjust it, she saw the wine bottle rolled partly underneath the vanity, clearly empty. A twinge in her back reminded her that this probably wasn't a good position and she straightened slowly, leaning heavily on the dresser as she counter-balanced with a hand beneath her belly.
A low grumble could be heard echoing down the empty entryway, and Miranda's hand moved from supportive to soothing as she returned to an upright position. "Alright, my darlings, mommy will eat something"; guilt tinged her voice as she slipped off her heels. It was halfway between pain and bliss as her swollen feet touched the cold tile floor of the kitchen. What she wanted more than anything was to be in bed with Andrea while the younger woman worked out the aches and pains that suddenly seemed to flare in every joint. The low throbbing that beat at her temples didn't help either, and Miranda found herself sitting in the dark alone at the kitchen table as she finished the container of yogurt she was eating and began to sip at one of the awful nutritional supplement drinks - too tired to think of making any sort of true meal for herself.
Seeing the door to the guest bedroom ajar, Miranda crossed the hallway to investigate. Pushing the door further in, she saw a mass of brown hair and long limbs spread out over the bed. Why was Andrea in the guest room? Was she that angry with her? The younger woman had made it patently clear in their earlier conversations that she wasn't like the others - that she wouldn't let Miranda push her away or leave again if things got bad. There had to be another explanation as to why the young woman wasn't in their bedroom.
Moving closer to brush back the thick brown locks that covered her face, Miranda was hit with the alcoholic fumes on Andrea's breath and body, and noticed for the first time that she was still clothed and her boots still on her feet.
Finding a lover passed out drunk, having chosen to sleep in a guest bedroom rather than share a bed with her was all too familiar a scenario to walk in on and Miranda's stomach rolled.
Escaping the truth that seemingly lay in front of her Miranda turned and left the room, leaving the door ajar as it was before. Walking past the twins' empty bedrooms sent another wave of despondency through her. As if sensing their mother's inner turmoil and being disrupted by it, the babies began to kick vigorously, so vigorously in fact that you could see the tiny rolls and movements from underneath Miranda's skin as she undressed for bed. Where other nights she would have been eager for the movements to quieten so she could rest, tonight they comforted her.
Now Miranda Priestly had spent many a night alone in this house before, even preferring to wake to an empty bed. But somehow, Andrea's presence, or lack thereof seemed so much more poignant a loss.
"At least you're here with me" she murmured. The agitated movements didn't stop however, and instead of lying down to the sleep her mind and body was so desperate for, with some difficulty she found herself propped up against the headboard, essentially navel-gazing as it were, and attempting to quieten her restless offspring. Her hands obviously didn't contain the same magic as Andrea's, and she began to hum softly for a while until she was singing quietly, realizing after several minutes that her voice had seemingly lulled the babies to sleep, the movements having slowed gradually until all she could feel was the occasional shift. She continued for several minutes longer though to be sure.
Miranda thought back to the last time she had been this tired - how Andrea had led her up the stairs, taking off her clothes and removing her makeup before putting her nearly unconscious body to bed. The last faint memories she had of that night were of being wrapped in young, strong arms, words of love whispered in her ear as she rubbed lazy circles on Miranda's belly.
Had she lost all that now? Her heart rate sped up with her racing mind, the babies woke again in response and Miranda resumed her song. Slowly shifting her swollen, almost 6 months pregnant body down the bed, she pulled a pillow between her knees and another one underneath her well-established bump. Suddenly angry, Miranda flipped over awkwardly to face away from Andrea's space in the bed. This moping was ridiculous, she told herself. Miranda Priestly didn't 'miss' anything, didn't allow herself that luxury of self-pity or show that weakness.
The next morning, she woke aching all over, her back twinging painfully as she shifted position to get out of bed. But as she did so she recognized the rising feeling of nausea as the mattress bounced up and down in her attempts to get out of it. But the pillows she had been using to support her awkward shape in lieu of Andrea caught in the linens and in her attempt to get out of them, had entangled her legs in the sheets. Her stomach rolled threateningly and let out a half sob as she lurched over to Andrea's side of the bed just in time for her to empty her stomach in painful heaves into the wastebasket by Andrea's side of the bed. She had fought her on this, calling the idea ridiculous and distasteful - asking the young woman why she would want to bring refuse into the place where they slept instead of keeping one in the bathroom. Now, as she lay there, breathing heavily from exertion and the strain of lying partially on her stomach, Miranda realized the validity of her argument. Newspaper pages with notes scrawled on them and snack food wrappers conveniently hidden underneath them looked back at her as head hanging over the bucket, she felt her stomach clench, this time in regret as she looked at things that once annoyed her, and realized that she missed them… So much for her insistence last night that she didn't miss anything.
Slowly, carefully, she untangled her legs from the sheets and got ready for the day. It felt as though she had to drag herself through her morning routine; and the sharp pounding pressure that had started after the vomiting did nothing to drive through the fog that had permeated her brain, making her unsteady on her feet as, determined to prove she wasn't an infirm who couldn't take care of herself, she stepped into the 3 inch pumps, the creamy Vittorio Aggliano leather straps cool against her heated skin.
Closing the door to the master bedroom, Miranda turned only to be startled by the long lean form leaning against the banister. Despite the deep purple circles under her eyesesgg
"You think that I could turn off what has essentially become my entire being? You are EVERYTHING to me, Miranda, do you understand that? For as long as I have known you, you have been at the centre of everything I do, and you know how I know that it's different than the hero worship of 'Miranda Priestly'? Because I can be angry and hurt and scared - and I am Miranda, I am so angry at you. But I can be all those things and still love you, and miss you and hold you at night sleeping in the same damn bed."
Now Miranda interjected, "that was YOUR decision. It wasn't me who threw you out, to remove yourself was your decision, YOU are the one who left." Her voice cracked on the last word and her chest ached from the effort of holding back her tears. "I-instead I come home, exhausted, and the house is dark and there's a wine bottle on the floor and our room is empty." She paused to take a shuddering breath before continuing, "and I find you in the guest room still in your clothes and shoes, passed out drunk…" Her voice turned icy on the last word.
Andy's stomach, already fragile from the night before, roiled at the thought of becoming anything like Stephen, and she barely caught back the rush of bile that issued up from the back of her throat, tasting only of acid and sour wine given her empty stomach.
"You said you were different…" Miranda's voice was chillingly vacant as she avoided looking at Andrea by turning her head and studying the seams of the comforter as if it were vital to existence that there wasn't a thread out of place and giving the effect that her mind had been made up on the matter.
"No, no no no, Mira…" Andy opened her mouth to explain, but shut it quickly - clapping her hand over it as she sprinted into the bathroom.
It was her own stubborn pride that kept Miranda from going to Andy and holding back her hair, rubbing her back and staying with her until the vomiting had stopped as the young woman had done countless times in the past.
Miranda made her way towards the kitchen, until a hard kick had her stop in her tracks, bent over the banister and breathing deeply until she was able to straighten. "Oh my loves…do you miss your mama?" The babies seemed to answer as the question was met with a Braxton Hicks contraction.
The uncomfortable tightness in her belly only grew worse as she passed by the vacant kitchen, dark and silent where it had been filled with laughter, and fights, and family. Her babies had been at her ex-husband's for more than a week now, and she wouldn't see them for another two. Three weeks. It was the longest she had ever been away from her babies, and with the new babies coming and her constant anxiety, she wanted to keep everyone close.
Deciding she couldn't bear the awful silence, Miranda decided to forgo breakfast, and therefore any contact with Andrea - and a quick call to whatever her name was, the new girl, was all it took for Miranda to be on her way to Elias Clarke at quarter after six.
Meanwhile, in the Runway offices, the head assistant, could be heard jabbering like an idiot as she panicked about the early arrival. Rolling her eyes as she listened to the awful caterwauling, Emily strode into the outer office and grabbed the arm of the new 'her'.
"Right, listen… You need to stop this nonsense and follow routine. Improvise if you have to, but get it done and get it done right, otherwise there will be nothing anyone can do to reverse the situation. You!" She snapped her fingers at the second assistant, "Coffee. Now!"
As the blonde scuttled out of the office, the pretty brunette just continued to stare dumbly at Emily, who snapped her fingers in front of her several times. "Snap out of it!" Rolling her eyes again at the dumbstruck silence Emily snapped her fingers again until the dark eyes darted back to focus on Emily. "Look, you stay here, go over her schedule and make sure everything is in order for the day and get the water and magazines etc. ready. I'll go and tell Nigel and the rest of the creative team that there is a 99.9% chance the run through will be pushed up.
Since Andy and Miranda had been together, the older woman had noticeably softened her demeanor towards the Brit, especially since she had moved over partway into the Art Dept. where she was making great success. But this morning, there was no one, it seemed, that was free from her wrath.
Seeing the outer office empty of both assistants, Miranda simply switched her anger to Emily as the only available target. She felt a momentary flicker of guilt at the look of hurt that flashed across the redhead's face as she began to speak.
"Call La Perla regarding the change in location for Saturday's shoot and tell Nigel I want to see him, and the advertising options for Lungha Chi. Then call Dalton and schedule a meeting with Ms. Heron, the principal to discuss the security issue the paparazzi's presence is proving at the gates in the morning and afternoon. Reschedule my 1 o'clock call with Phillip Lim, rebook later in the week. Finally, inform the Art Dept. it will be a working lunch in the meeting room as they obviously need to be supervised. What I was shown in the primaries for that issue were simply awful."
"Yes, Miranda." Emily's attention was immediately diverted to her phone, texting Nigel and sending out a mass email warning staff about the pushed up run-through. Just as her finger was on the dial button for La Perla, the phone buzzed with an incoming email from Bethany - Irv's secretary, informing her of Irv's imminent arrival.
Miranda actually let her exhaustion show for a fleeting second as her shoulders slumped and she dipped her head, rubbing the bridge of her nose irritably. "Not today..." she growled, straightening once more as 'Miranda Priestly'.
Moments later, Irv strode in arrogantly, not bothering to recognize the other two people in the office and taking it upon himself to enter Miranda's office without notification or permission.
Miranda eased herself down onto the chair with one hand on the armrest, the other supporting the considerable burgeoning swell.
Nigel watched as his friend and boss elegantly took her seat across from the vile form of the CEO that watched her with equal contempt and lascivious glances.
"My early trip back proved to be immensely gratifying. You see, it was an emergency meeting of the board that called me back so suddenly…
Miranda sat, stone still, a look of feigned indifference "It is my great pleasure, Miranda, to announce to you that the board has decided to review your contract at the end of the current term following a careful analysis of quarterly projections."
Equal parts of bile and fear rose in Miranda's throat, but her bearing and expression remained unchanged on the surface, seeming to coolly assess the situation in front of her with a diffidence and a detachment that belied her true feelings.
"Is that so, Irv? Any why should this be of any concern to me, moreso than it has any other time you have tried to turn the board against me?" Irv grinned, the soft lighting of the office seeming to take on a gleaming fluorescence as it reflected off sharp, bonded teeth that Miranda knew were stained yellow underneath the veneers from a lifetime's habit of cocaine.
"Because this time, Miranda, the numbers back me up. Shares are down, the stockholder's and investors' confidence in their 'Queen' has been shaken and it's showing in the E-C profits."
In the outer office, Emily and Nigel watched with growing horror as one by one, Andy's list of warning signs were manifesting in their leader. Her face was colourless and pale except for the outer shell of the one ear that was visible that appeared to glow a bright red in stark contrast to the lifeless white of the surrounding skin. The editor's tense shoulders moved up and down too quickly in keeping with the small sips of air she was taking in as she attempted to control her breathing.
"It looks like that wedding will be happening sooner than planned. If I remember correctly, you said to call when the ratings needed a boost. Perhaps it's best, you know," Irv's voice actually softened slightly. "This is coming at a time where you can step down without losing face. You'll be able to actually watch your children grow up. You can make this easy or not, Miranda, but make no mistake, Runway is about to become somebody else's baby."
As soon as he was gone, Miranda bent forward at the waist, taking great big gulps of air as she pressed a palm to her burning chest and bid her vision to unblur at the corners.
Emily hurried in with a glass of Pellegrino that she handed to the editor, crouching in front of the hunched older woman where she was quickly joined by Nigel, who entwined his hands with hers as to keep her grounded.
"Em…Emily, get me the latest financial reports. I want to see the last five quarterly reports and projections."
"No, Miranda."
"What?" the older woman hissed, drawing herself back up and letting go of the art director's hands as she narrowed her gaze.
To her credit, Emily only faltered for a second before she straightened her shoulders and repeated herself, though not unkindly.
"I will get you the reports, Miranda, but I won't give them to you until you're calmer and its less likely your blood pressure is going to spike."
"How dare you!"
"How dare I? Come off it, Miranda," Emily snapped, shocking everyone, including herself into silence for a moment.
"We care for you, dammit. And much as we are your employees we are also your friends, like it or not. And I care a great deal more for my friend, Miranda than I do about my boss or my position here, despite what I have sacrificed over the years to keep it."
"Friends? We are no friends. You are my employee and you will do what I ask as your employer and the editor of this magazine." Miranda hissed dangerously.
Emily nearly crumbled then, but it was a testimony to what she had learned under the editor's guidance that she was able to keep her composure and continue. "Fine, you're right. We're not friends, and nothing I have done for you, and no secrets I have kept have been above what you would ask of an employee. But Andy is my friend, and it is my duty to her that I make sure to protect what is most important to her. The magazine will run itself, and continue regardless of what happens to you, Miranda. It may not flourish, but it would survive."
Figuring she was well and truly fucked, Emily threw aside the last of her carefully cultivated British reticence and placed a pale hand on the Proenza Schouler clad swell of the editor's belly, starting inwardly as faint movement from beneath tickled her palms.
"They are who need you right now. They are the ones who can't survive without your care, and I know you care Miranda."
Miranda's nostrils flared dangerously and she turned her office chair around to face the window. "That's all, Emily."
The young woman gulped nervously, nodding once firmly to ground herself despite her shaking knees and turned on her heel to leave.
Long moments of silence followed her departure until Miranda's shoulders slumped ever so slightly, although she still didn't turn her chair around to face the remaining individual in the office who stood silently in front of the door, his silence speaking louder than any words could.
"I am well aware she is right, Nigel. Why do you think I had her leave?"
Andy had only been at the office two hours when she caved and grabbed her phone to make her usual post-lunch call to see how Miranda's day was going. But it wasn't Miranda's number that she called.
"She's been ill at least once…I thought she was over that?"
"Crap." Back at her desk across town, Andy pinched the top of her nose trying to get rid of the sudden headache she had developed. "No, not completely." Another shot of pain through her temples, "and stress makes it worse."
"But she did watch the run through sitting on the couch and directing what changes she wanted made rather than doing them herself".
"Right," Andy wiped her eyes quickly, "that's something at least."
"There's one other thing," the man on the other line began tentatively, looking around him to make sure no one else was listening. "Not that anyone else would especially notice other than Emily, who she's all but banished for the day - she's changed her shoes twice since she got in, and her ankles are swollen and getting worse."
Has she eaten anything since she got in?"
"What do you think, Six? And if she has it's long gone, But I'll tell ya, the rest of the team loved the Smith & Wollensky you had sent over. They'd all be singing your praises still if the first person who'd mentioned your name wasn't practically demoted."
"Damn. I hoped by sending enough for the team, she'd feel pressured to eat something."
"Oh Six, come on...pressured? Miranda?
"And she's probably feeling horrible because her blood sugar is low" Andy continued "- which would be fixed if she actually ate something…" Andy ranted half-heartedly, toying miserably with the cord of the ancient landline that sat on every rookie reporter's desk.
"What's all this about, anyway?"
"God, Nigel, it was just a stupid fight and I had to open my mouth and call her out on her and Stephen's relationship."
Nigel whistled through his teeth, "Oh my Six…". His tone wasn't wry or joking anymore and he sighed heavily; Andy could imagine the older man running his hand over his head as he always did when he was stressed or pondering a response. "So now she's hurt, and it sounds like she has the right to feel that way. So just let her steam herself out, she'll cool off eventually."
"I have to do something, I have to fix this."
"Andy!" His voice was firm now. "You can't. You can't fix it. All you can do is try and prove to her that you aren't like the others. She believed you weren't, SHE proposed to YOU for God's sake. If you're right and you've proven her fears to be true so that right now she believes she's facing another possible divorce and raising four children alone…I don't see how anything you could do right now that wouldn't come off as trite or insulting to what you put her through, even if by lying by omission she started the argument. She's used to having her orders followed. She's not used to being taken care of - there's a big difference, Andy…"
There was a long pause before Andy spoke again. "You think I don't know that?" A hollow laugh came through the line, twisting into something unsettling and manic before ending with the beginnings of a sob before a click and the flat drone of the dial tone.
Staring dumbly at the phone she had just hung up, Andy's gaze flicked over to the small desk calendar that sat beside it. 'Shit!' she exclaimed internally, 'Shit, shit, shit, oh damn!' Tonight was the night she and Miranda were supposed to meet Doug for dinner. As Andy's best friend now that Lily and Nate had clearly washed their hands of her it seemed impossible that Miranda had yet to meet him and he Miranda. Andy doubted now if she could even get the older woman to talk to her, nevertheless make small talk with a relative stranger.
Taking the coward's way out, Andy opened her email calendar and scheduled it to send an automatic reminder to Miranda , but an hour later when the editor still hadn't replied she reluctantly picked up her cell phone to send a text.
A: Should I change the reservations for tonight to two?
Another long moment and her cell phone buzzed with a reply.
M: Have I indicated that I would not attend an engagement I previously agreed to? I'll be at Prix D'Or for 6 o'clock.
Hoping this reply meant that Miranda was willing to open the lines of communication once again, Andy tried her luck.
A: Can we please sit down tonight and talk?
But there was no chime to indicate a response, just a dead silence on the other end.
Miranda set her phone down on the desk, looking down at it for a long moment before moving a slender hand to pick it up once more. Her hand hovered over the shiny, glass surface before dropping again as she saw how her hand trembled in the reflection.
Dammit, Andrea. Miranda thought as she breathed through her nose, her chest too tight with emotion and the overwhelming pressure in her ribcage not to cry. Pushing down the anxiety, Miranda took a deep breath. She couldn't answer, not because she was angry at Andrea, but if she were truthful with herself it was the thought that she wouldn't like what the other woman would have to say, or what she would say to ruin it as she always did. Keeping her distance meant keeping Andrea for now, and that wasn't something Miranda wanted to lose. And it wasn't, she hoped, despite what she had begun to fear when she'd found the young woman passed out drunk in the guest room. It was too familiar, too painful a reminder of what she, Miranda, turned relationships into, what she turned the people she loved into.
Her stomach cramped and her mouth was dry as the destructive thoughts swirled around in her head; but then a series of kicks bumped against her hand and she opened her eyes against the dizziness. "I don't want to lose her…" Miranda whispered, voicing the one thought that kept beating a tattoo in her heart. Her hand slipped beneath the waistband of the classic tweed Chanel skirt to smooth her hand over where she had felt the kicks. "I want your mama back too."