New fic: Sick Day
Title: Sick Day
Pairing: sort of Andy/Miranda
Rating: G
Notes: the prompt came courtesy of pin_drop--laryngitis. This isn’t quite that, but it’s close enough to count. Thanks, pin_drop !
This may or may not be the first of a few random scenes that will not be a part of a larger story. I just need something to get my brain back into gear. Thanks to xander, who took a gander at this puppy right quick.
---
Andy has to lean close to Miranda to hear what she’s saying. She doesn’t ask what’s wrong, and she doesn’t ask Miranda to repeat herself even though she’s not sure what that last request was.
Miranda seems to sense her uncertainty. “No Starbucks,” Miranda says more clearly, her voice rough and strange. She looks as if she’s in pain.
Andy frowns. “Oh,” she says, instead of what she wants to say, which is, “What’s wrong?”
“No calls. No meetings either,” Miranda says, swallowing slowly, and now Andy is certain she’s in pain. “None, is that clear?” What follows is a fit of coughing that makes Andy incredibly nervous. Miranda’s face turns red as her body convulses. When she is finally able to catch her breath, Andy realizes that hidden beneath Miranda’s typically flawless makeup are signs of exhaustion. Her eyes are glassy.
“You’re sick,” Andy blurts, and this time, she doesn’t regret her loose tongue.
Miranda glares, but there’s no bite to it. “I am not.”
“You should go home, Miranda. Today’s quiet. We’ll be okay without you. Otherwise you’ll just make it worse for yourself, and who knows, I could pick it up, or Emily, or Nigel-“
Miranda makes a wild motion with her arm, and Andy interprets its meaning as, “Shut up immediately.” Andy does. Then Miranda waves her hand in a flutter, as if to brush Andy out of the room.
Andy lifts an eyebrow. “Telling me to go away isn’t going to make you feel better.”
“I beg to differ,” Miranda says. Now that Andy knows what’s up, she can see how hard it is for Miranda to speak. Her throat is clearly sore, and the very edges of her nose are red. Andy sympathizes, but she’s still irritated. Miranda should know better than anyone that coming to work sick is a mistake. If Andy gets sick, she’s staying home no matter how much Emily complains, no matter how many times Miranda calls her and bitches her out.
“Whatever,” Andy mutters, and just before she turns to go, she catches Miranda’s faint expression of surprise.
---
An hour goes by. Miranda keeps her coughing to a minimum, but eventually Andy makes a decision. When Emily returns from Hermes, Andy explains Miranda’s “no meetings” decree. Though Emily is confused, she does not question it.
“I’ll be back in half an hour. Need a bathroom break?” Andy asks.
“Oh please, as though you care.” Andy waits for the real answer, which arrives a few seconds later. “No.”
“You’re welcome,” Andy says, and she sails down the hall toward the elevator.
Thirty minutes later, she returns carrying a rumpled brown bag. It contains almonds, honey, Egyptian licorice tea, cider vinegar, Tylenol, lemons, cough drops, and best of all, salt. If she knows Miranda, she hasn’t taken anything at all to help soothe her sickness. She’d rather suffer through it, unlike other lowly human beings who have to rely on pharmaceuticals or homeopathic remedies to ease symptoms.
Andy will have none of that. She breezes past Emily, bag in hand. “So, hi,” Andy says, kicking the office door closed. “We’ve got lots of choices, but I think we should hit the bathroom first. A little salt water’s going to do wonders for your throat. Ready?”
“Excuse me?” Miranda says. She winces.
Andy rolls her eyes. “Nobody likes a whiner, but nobody likes a martyr, either. Come on.” Against the instincts that have kept her employed for more than a year, she leans down and takes hold of Miranda’s arm, pulling her up and out of her chair. Miranda sputters in protest, but Andy ignores her. “Come on,” Andy repeats, leading Miranda past a wide-eyed Emily toward the executive washroom.
No one is inside, thankfully, and Andy removes the most important purchase from the bag. “The best thing is salt, definitely. I want you to gargle. Warm water, not hot.” Andy runs the water in the sink, pretending Miranda isn’t mortified by the thought of drinking New York’s finest straight from the tap. “Don’t worry, you’re not going to swallow it.” Andy makes up her concoction of water and good old Morton’s salt. After a quick stir, she hands it over. “Now gargle.”
Miranda purses her lips.
“You have had a sore throat before, right?” Miranda doesn’t say a word. “You have two kids. You have to know that this is the best remedy, at least in the short term.” Andy waits a little longer. “Seriously, you’re going to gargle this even if I have to force you, Miranda.”
Andy neglects to mention that knowing Miranda is in pain is tearing her up inside, so this is going to be good for the both of them. Miranda is notorious for not taking care of herself, and Andy will combat that bull-headedness no matter what the consequences.
“Force me?” Miranda says. There is an element of menace to her tone.
Andy narrows her gaze. She’s been practicing this look in the mirror at home, mostly to use against Emily, but it comes in handy now. “That’s a nice shirt you’re wearing. Wouldn’t want to have to get it all wet.”
The tension is strung tight between them. Andy won’t back down, and ultimately, Miranda relents. She sticks out her hand to take the cup. “Go outside and wait.”
Andy smiles, and shakes her head. “Not a chance.”
“Gargling is disgusting enough in private. I won’t have an audience.”
“I won’t tell a soul, Miranda. Now go ahead. At least fifteen seconds before you spit it out.”
Miranda shakes her head as if in disbelief. She does it again, and looks at herself in the mirror. Andy watches her tilt her head back, lifting the cup to her mouth. As she gargles, Andy feels vindicated. It is, as Miranda described, disgusting, but it’s kind of awesome too. Andy hides her smile.
Miranda spits out the water, breathing heavily as she hangs her face over the sink. She groans softly, putting a hand to her throat. “Oh,” she says on a sigh. “It works.”
Andy holds back a cheer. She says, “Once more.”
Miranda listens this time, and gargles again, longer. Now that she has a taste of relief, she’s completely open to Andy’s remedy. She spits, and without thinking, Andy puts a hand on her back. Her body is very warm, and though Miranda stills for a moment, she doesn’t shake Andy off. It’s marvelous to offer this gentle comfort, and Andy rubs in circles. “You have a fever,” she says, feeling the heat coming off Miranda in waves. “You’re contagious. Please think about going home.”
Andy feels her heave a big breath. “I need to stay.”
“You set the example here, Miranda. Do you really want your employees to believe they have to suffer at their desks instead of at home, where they can rest and get better? Other than Emily, that is, who wouldn’t go home even if she was at death’s door.” She chuckles at her own bad joke.
Miranda lifts her head and meets Andy’s eyes in the mirror. She looks beaten. “Don’t think that thought hasn’t already occurred to me.”
Andy tilts her head. “You’re brilliant, Miranda, but you Type As don’t always accept help when people offer it.” She thinks for a moment before saying, “Nobody knows you’re sick. If you leave now, I’ll tell everyone you had to call an emergency meeting with, let’s say… Georgina and Keren.”
“What if-“
“Nobody will ask, Miranda.” Nobody ever does, and they both know it. “I’ll take the hit if I have to. Besides, Georgina’s assistant owes me a favor. I’ll give her a call.”
Miranda’s eyes go soft. She’s tired, and it shows. With a sigh, she stands up. “Fine. What else do you have in there?” she asks, eyeing Andy’s brown bag.
“Finish gargling and I’ll show you.”
---
By 11, Andy has ferried Miranda out of the office, managing to avoid Emily’s questioning gaze for the most part. She leaves a voicemail on Emily’s phone about the fake meeting and has a quick chat with Nathalie at Georgina’s office. Nathalie agrees to a little white lie in case anyone asks about the meeting that they aren’t having.
“Won’t say a word, Andy. Miranda’s lucky to have you,” Nathalie tells her, and Andy smiles.
“Thanks, Nathalie. I really appreciate it. I owe you.”
“Nah, we’re even. Let’s get a coffee at the tents in a few weeks. If either of us have the time, that is,” Nathalie says.
“You got it. Talk to you soon.”
Andy decides to accompany Miranda home; they are both silent during the ride. Once in the townhouse, Andy carries her supplies and her laptop into the kitchen. She sets up the computer while the kettle is heating up, and after a few minutes, Miranda joins her. She is in the bathrobe that Andy remembers from Paris; it makes her head a little fuzzy to see it again.
“Take these,” Andy says, holding out two white pills. “You can take two more in four hours. They should help your throat. Have you eaten today?”
When Miranda shakes her head, Andy doesn’t even bother consulting her. She finds wheat bread in an old-fashioned breadbox on the counter and drops a slice into the toaster. By the time the toast is ready, so is the tea. The scent of licorice wafts up, and she dips a tablespoon of honey into the cup. Despite a soft sound of complaint from Miranda, Andy spreads a lot of butter on the toast, mainly to soften it up. “Here,” Andy says, pushing the plate across the counter.
Miranda gazes forlornly at the toast but takes a bite, which leads Andy to believe she’s feeling even worse than she was a few hours ago. She eats, and sips the tea gingerly. Andy works at the counter on her laptop, typing a reply to an email. The kitchen is quiet as they sit together. It’s strange, but good too.
When the toast is gone, Andy tops up Miranda’s cup with hot water and another shot of honey. “You should try and sleep.”
“You’re very bossy today,” Miranda says. The croak from earlier is gone; she sounds more like herself.
“I’m very bossy every day. Just not to you,” Andy says, sending off her email with a final click. She looks up, and Miranda is watching her carefully. They look at each other for so long than Andy starts to feel unsettled. She can’t stop the heat that floods her cheeks, but manages to keep from looking away. Her heart is beating very hard.
“I see,” Miranda says.
Andy opens her mouth to tell Miranda that she really should go to sleep, but before she can Miranda slides off the stool. “I’m going upstairs. The girls will be home in a few hours.” She glances down at the empty plate.
“I’ll make them a snack,” Andy says, keeping her eyes fastened to Miranda’s clenched jaw. She imagines that there are dozens of words stored up in the back of her throat, just waiting to come out, but Miranda’s will is too strong to allow that.
“Fine.” Miranda carries her plate to the sink. She glances at Andy a last time, and Andy gives her a weak smile in return.
“Sleep well.”
Miranda nods once and leaves. Andy listens intently as she climbs the stairs, hears the creak of the bedroom door closing. She has never seen Miranda’s bedroom. As much as she wants to, she knows she will not get the chance. The thought leaves a streak of melancholy on her heart. It’s odd to pine for someone she spends nearly every waking moment with. It’s sad too, but Andy has accepted that this is the way things will be until she has to move on.
For only a moment, she thinks about climbing up the stairs after Miranda, sliding under the covers with her, stroking her back until she falls asleep. That moment is enough to live on for a while, and Andy enjoys the warm feeling it gives her.
Shaking her head, she returns to the computer and goes to back to work.
~end
Read the sequel, The Righteous Dead.
Pairing: sort of Andy/Miranda
Rating: G
Notes: the prompt came courtesy of pin_drop--laryngitis. This isn’t quite that, but it’s close enough to count. Thanks, pin_drop !
This may or may not be the first of a few random scenes that will not be a part of a larger story. I just need something to get my brain back into gear. Thanks to xander, who took a gander at this puppy right quick.
---
Andy has to lean close to Miranda to hear what she’s saying. She doesn’t ask what’s wrong, and she doesn’t ask Miranda to repeat herself even though she’s not sure what that last request was.
Miranda seems to sense her uncertainty. “No Starbucks,” Miranda says more clearly, her voice rough and strange. She looks as if she’s in pain.
Andy frowns. “Oh,” she says, instead of what she wants to say, which is, “What’s wrong?”
“No calls. No meetings either,” Miranda says, swallowing slowly, and now Andy is certain she’s in pain. “None, is that clear?” What follows is a fit of coughing that makes Andy incredibly nervous. Miranda’s face turns red as her body convulses. When she is finally able to catch her breath, Andy realizes that hidden beneath Miranda’s typically flawless makeup are signs of exhaustion. Her eyes are glassy.
“You’re sick,” Andy blurts, and this time, she doesn’t regret her loose tongue.
Miranda glares, but there’s no bite to it. “I am not.”
“You should go home, Miranda. Today’s quiet. We’ll be okay without you. Otherwise you’ll just make it worse for yourself, and who knows, I could pick it up, or Emily, or Nigel-“
Miranda makes a wild motion with her arm, and Andy interprets its meaning as, “Shut up immediately.” Andy does. Then Miranda waves her hand in a flutter, as if to brush Andy out of the room.
Andy lifts an eyebrow. “Telling me to go away isn’t going to make you feel better.”
“I beg to differ,” Miranda says. Now that Andy knows what’s up, she can see how hard it is for Miranda to speak. Her throat is clearly sore, and the very edges of her nose are red. Andy sympathizes, but she’s still irritated. Miranda should know better than anyone that coming to work sick is a mistake. If Andy gets sick, she’s staying home no matter how much Emily complains, no matter how many times Miranda calls her and bitches her out.
“Whatever,” Andy mutters, and just before she turns to go, she catches Miranda’s faint expression of surprise.
---
An hour goes by. Miranda keeps her coughing to a minimum, but eventually Andy makes a decision. When Emily returns from Hermes, Andy explains Miranda’s “no meetings” decree. Though Emily is confused, she does not question it.
“I’ll be back in half an hour. Need a bathroom break?” Andy asks.
“Oh please, as though you care.” Andy waits for the real answer, which arrives a few seconds later. “No.”
“You’re welcome,” Andy says, and she sails down the hall toward the elevator.
Thirty minutes later, she returns carrying a rumpled brown bag. It contains almonds, honey, Egyptian licorice tea, cider vinegar, Tylenol, lemons, cough drops, and best of all, salt. If she knows Miranda, she hasn’t taken anything at all to help soothe her sickness. She’d rather suffer through it, unlike other lowly human beings who have to rely on pharmaceuticals or homeopathic remedies to ease symptoms.
Andy will have none of that. She breezes past Emily, bag in hand. “So, hi,” Andy says, kicking the office door closed. “We’ve got lots of choices, but I think we should hit the bathroom first. A little salt water’s going to do wonders for your throat. Ready?”
“Excuse me?” Miranda says. She winces.
Andy rolls her eyes. “Nobody likes a whiner, but nobody likes a martyr, either. Come on.” Against the instincts that have kept her employed for more than a year, she leans down and takes hold of Miranda’s arm, pulling her up and out of her chair. Miranda sputters in protest, but Andy ignores her. “Come on,” Andy repeats, leading Miranda past a wide-eyed Emily toward the executive washroom.
No one is inside, thankfully, and Andy removes the most important purchase from the bag. “The best thing is salt, definitely. I want you to gargle. Warm water, not hot.” Andy runs the water in the sink, pretending Miranda isn’t mortified by the thought of drinking New York’s finest straight from the tap. “Don’t worry, you’re not going to swallow it.” Andy makes up her concoction of water and good old Morton’s salt. After a quick stir, she hands it over. “Now gargle.”
Miranda purses her lips.
“You have had a sore throat before, right?” Miranda doesn’t say a word. “You have two kids. You have to know that this is the best remedy, at least in the short term.” Andy waits a little longer. “Seriously, you’re going to gargle this even if I have to force you, Miranda.”
Andy neglects to mention that knowing Miranda is in pain is tearing her up inside, so this is going to be good for the both of them. Miranda is notorious for not taking care of herself, and Andy will combat that bull-headedness no matter what the consequences.
“Force me?” Miranda says. There is an element of menace to her tone.
Andy narrows her gaze. She’s been practicing this look in the mirror at home, mostly to use against Emily, but it comes in handy now. “That’s a nice shirt you’re wearing. Wouldn’t want to have to get it all wet.”
The tension is strung tight between them. Andy won’t back down, and ultimately, Miranda relents. She sticks out her hand to take the cup. “Go outside and wait.”
Andy smiles, and shakes her head. “Not a chance.”
“Gargling is disgusting enough in private. I won’t have an audience.”
“I won’t tell a soul, Miranda. Now go ahead. At least fifteen seconds before you spit it out.”
Miranda shakes her head as if in disbelief. She does it again, and looks at herself in the mirror. Andy watches her tilt her head back, lifting the cup to her mouth. As she gargles, Andy feels vindicated. It is, as Miranda described, disgusting, but it’s kind of awesome too. Andy hides her smile.
Miranda spits out the water, breathing heavily as she hangs her face over the sink. She groans softly, putting a hand to her throat. “Oh,” she says on a sigh. “It works.”
Andy holds back a cheer. She says, “Once more.”
Miranda listens this time, and gargles again, longer. Now that she has a taste of relief, she’s completely open to Andy’s remedy. She spits, and without thinking, Andy puts a hand on her back. Her body is very warm, and though Miranda stills for a moment, she doesn’t shake Andy off. It’s marvelous to offer this gentle comfort, and Andy rubs in circles. “You have a fever,” she says, feeling the heat coming off Miranda in waves. “You’re contagious. Please think about going home.”
Andy feels her heave a big breath. “I need to stay.”
“You set the example here, Miranda. Do you really want your employees to believe they have to suffer at their desks instead of at home, where they can rest and get better? Other than Emily, that is, who wouldn’t go home even if she was at death’s door.” She chuckles at her own bad joke.
Miranda lifts her head and meets Andy’s eyes in the mirror. She looks beaten. “Don’t think that thought hasn’t already occurred to me.”
Andy tilts her head. “You’re brilliant, Miranda, but you Type As don’t always accept help when people offer it.” She thinks for a moment before saying, “Nobody knows you’re sick. If you leave now, I’ll tell everyone you had to call an emergency meeting with, let’s say… Georgina and Keren.”
“What if-“
“Nobody will ask, Miranda.” Nobody ever does, and they both know it. “I’ll take the hit if I have to. Besides, Georgina’s assistant owes me a favor. I’ll give her a call.”
Miranda’s eyes go soft. She’s tired, and it shows. With a sigh, she stands up. “Fine. What else do you have in there?” she asks, eyeing Andy’s brown bag.
“Finish gargling and I’ll show you.”
---
By 11, Andy has ferried Miranda out of the office, managing to avoid Emily’s questioning gaze for the most part. She leaves a voicemail on Emily’s phone about the fake meeting and has a quick chat with Nathalie at Georgina’s office. Nathalie agrees to a little white lie in case anyone asks about the meeting that they aren’t having.
“Won’t say a word, Andy. Miranda’s lucky to have you,” Nathalie tells her, and Andy smiles.
“Thanks, Nathalie. I really appreciate it. I owe you.”
“Nah, we’re even. Let’s get a coffee at the tents in a few weeks. If either of us have the time, that is,” Nathalie says.
“You got it. Talk to you soon.”
Andy decides to accompany Miranda home; they are both silent during the ride. Once in the townhouse, Andy carries her supplies and her laptop into the kitchen. She sets up the computer while the kettle is heating up, and after a few minutes, Miranda joins her. She is in the bathrobe that Andy remembers from Paris; it makes her head a little fuzzy to see it again.
“Take these,” Andy says, holding out two white pills. “You can take two more in four hours. They should help your throat. Have you eaten today?”
When Miranda shakes her head, Andy doesn’t even bother consulting her. She finds wheat bread in an old-fashioned breadbox on the counter and drops a slice into the toaster. By the time the toast is ready, so is the tea. The scent of licorice wafts up, and she dips a tablespoon of honey into the cup. Despite a soft sound of complaint from Miranda, Andy spreads a lot of butter on the toast, mainly to soften it up. “Here,” Andy says, pushing the plate across the counter.
Miranda gazes forlornly at the toast but takes a bite, which leads Andy to believe she’s feeling even worse than she was a few hours ago. She eats, and sips the tea gingerly. Andy works at the counter on her laptop, typing a reply to an email. The kitchen is quiet as they sit together. It’s strange, but good too.
When the toast is gone, Andy tops up Miranda’s cup with hot water and another shot of honey. “You should try and sleep.”
“You’re very bossy today,” Miranda says. The croak from earlier is gone; she sounds more like herself.
“I’m very bossy every day. Just not to you,” Andy says, sending off her email with a final click. She looks up, and Miranda is watching her carefully. They look at each other for so long than Andy starts to feel unsettled. She can’t stop the heat that floods her cheeks, but manages to keep from looking away. Her heart is beating very hard.
“I see,” Miranda says.
Andy opens her mouth to tell Miranda that she really should go to sleep, but before she can Miranda slides off the stool. “I’m going upstairs. The girls will be home in a few hours.” She glances down at the empty plate.
“I’ll make them a snack,” Andy says, keeping her eyes fastened to Miranda’s clenched jaw. She imagines that there are dozens of words stored up in the back of her throat, just waiting to come out, but Miranda’s will is too strong to allow that.
“Fine.” Miranda carries her plate to the sink. She glances at Andy a last time, and Andy gives her a weak smile in return.
“Sleep well.”
Miranda nods once and leaves. Andy listens intently as she climbs the stairs, hears the creak of the bedroom door closing. She has never seen Miranda’s bedroom. As much as she wants to, she knows she will not get the chance. The thought leaves a streak of melancholy on her heart. It’s odd to pine for someone she spends nearly every waking moment with. It’s sad too, but Andy has accepted that this is the way things will be until she has to move on.
For only a moment, she thinks about climbing up the stairs after Miranda, sliding under the covers with her, stroking her back until she falls asleep. That moment is enough to live on for a while, and Andy enjoys the warm feeling it gives her.
Shaking her head, she returns to the computer and goes to back to work.
~end
Read the sequel, The Righteous Dead.