THE WHITE QUEEN FALLS (MIRANDA/ANDREA); CHAPTER 3

[writtensword]

Pairing: Miranda/Andrea

Rating: NC-17/Mature at some point

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Fluff

Betas: My darlings Susi and Jiggles.

Summary: What if Miranda hadn't known?

Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to "The Devil Wears Prada". I only want to play around with our two favourite ladies. I make absolutely zero profit of this.

A/N: Chapter three. Enjoy! :)

Previous: [  Chapter 1 |  Chapter 2 ]


Chapter 3

The next day, Andy carefully manoeuvred the car down the slope of the cabin driveway and parked beneath a tall Douglas-fir. She turned off the engine but remained in her seat, fingers drumming against the steering wheel in contemplation. Rain fell heavily through the canopy above and splattered onto the car roof not unlike the spray from an old shower head.

Sleep had not come easily the previous night. No longer accustomed to the ocean crushing against the rocky shore and the wind whipping through the trees in constant whispers, Andy had tossed and turned. Wide awake, she had listened to the night, imagining the source of every rustle and peep, every flutter and drip, until she had picked up a faint sobbing from the neighbouring bedroom.

Like a log, Andy had lain on the bed, stiff, and rooted to the mattress by shock and disbelief. Of course she had noticed Miranda's red-rimmed eyes since Paris. Hearing the queen of fashion weep, however, had suddenly confronted Andy with the depth of Miranda's humanity. It had caused a burning in her chest. An ache in her stomach. And somehow she had found herself unprepared.

With a sigh, Andy leaned over and grabbed the grocery bags from the passenger seat. It was still early, and the morning struggled against a thick layer of mist, achieving only a diffuse, eerie light that did nothing to lift Andy's spirits. The wind had died down during the night, but the air was cold when she opened the car door and stepped into the rain.

Andy was glad she had ignored Miranda's disapproving glare the previous day, and had bought a rain jacket before they had left the country market. This wasn't a climate for woollen Chanel coats and knitted ponchos. Since most of Andy's possessions were in storage she hadn't been able to pack weather-appropriately, so when faced with winter at the Northern Pacific, she didn't mind risking a scowl or two from Miranda.

She hurried along the gravel path that wound around the building, and she had to pull up her shoulders against the rain drops that managed to sneak past the collar of her jacket. Andy was so eager to get inside that she didn't notice Miranda until she was halfway up the veranda steps. She hadn't expected the older woman to be awake yet and the sudden confrontation caused her to stop in her tracks.

"Oh."

It wasn't the most eloquent greeting, but at that moment Andy couldn't find proper words. Miranda sat curled-up in a cushioned wicker chair, a steaming cup cradled between her fingers and the porcelain pressed to her lips. She regarded Andy with tired eyes, and the younger woman felt her chest contract in response. Compassion came so naturally to her, and yet in this situation she knew it was not welcome. It took a lot out of her to plaster on a neutral smile and pretend she wasn't affected.

"Good morning, Miranda."

With more or less steady legs she took the final steps and moved to the double doors that led inside.

"I got us some breakfast," she held up the bags for emphasis, but Miranda looked away.

"I'm not hungry."

Her voice was even softer than usual, and without make-up hiding the dark lines under her eyes Miranda looked almost like a different person. The sight reminded Andy of the night in Paris when Stephen had filed for divorce. There had still been a spark in Miranda then. She had at least talked and ordered Andy around. Then again, the divorce had turned out to be only the tip of the iceberg, and not even in her craziest dreams had Andy imagined that just a week later Miranda would have lost the three most important things in her life.

Andy studied the woman. She had never seen Miranda in something as common as a pair of jeans, but here she was, legs folded beneath herself, the sleeves of her over-sized sweater reaching as far as her knuckles, and the tip of her nose reddened from the cold, making her look fragile and... real.

That was it, wasn't it? Andy swallowed.

In the past seven days Miranda had transformed from the almost deity-like queen of fashion, to a human being. She had been pushed from the pedestal that Andy had placed her on almost a year ago, and the woman who had landed on the ground was broken, lonely and defeated.

Taking a deep breath, Andy looked down at the groceries.

"I'm going to make some scrambled eggs with cottage cheese and avocado." It felt strange to say something so domestic to Miranda. "I'll keep your eggs warm in case you feel hungry later."

The older woman didn't respond and merely stared out into the mist, lips rhythmically brushing against the cup. Andy didn't take it personally. How could she?

Her chest felt heavy as she took a moment to observe Miranda, and she realised it bothered her that she couldn't actually help. In a sense she was utterly useless to the person she wanted to please the most.

She turned and stepped inside, closing the doors behind her to keep out the chill. The cabin had barely warmed up since she had turned on the heating the previous evening. The ceiling was too high for the two small radiators, and Andy nervously eyed the large central fireplace. She would have to get over her fear of open fire at some point today.

But first: Breakfast!

She placed the bags on the dining table, unzipped her jacket and hung it over a chair. The kitchen area was part of the living room, and as she began to peel and cut the avocado, Andy kept glancing at Miranda's head through the window. She worried that the older woman would catch a cold if she stayed outside for too long. However, asking her to come inside was completely out of the question.

When she stirred the eggs, Andy's thoughts deviated to Nate. One night he had enthusiastically raved to her about a hundred different ways to make scrambled eggs. Andy hadn't really listened, but she had smiled and nodded nonetheless. That was what it meant to be supportive, something Nate had not even attempted being for her.

Andy snorted softly and shook her head. Nate would have a heart attack if he knew where she was, and for whom she was cooking breakfast. Or maybe it would make perfect sense to him. Andy chewed on her bottom lip as she recalled Nate's words on the night they had broken up.

It felt odd not missing him more than she did. Picturing his face didn't stir any particular emotion, except maybe a trace of nostalgia. Perhaps it was a reluctance to hate him, because Andy knew that regardless of his recent nasty behaviour they had been drifting apart for months. Their respective careers had taken over their lives, and in the end they had found themselves without anything left in common.

At least she had learned a couple of tricks from living with a cook for two years. Andy smiled as she arranged the avocado and cottage cheese on two plates and added the eggs to one of them. When she bent down to slide the pan with the remaining eggs into the oven she heard the veranda doors close.

Miranda walked across the varnished oak floor and set the cup onto the kitchen island. Her nostrils flared when she eyed Andy's plate, and with lips pursed in defiance, she reached out and pulled the food towards her. Not sparing Andy a glance, she sat down on one of the bar stools and picked up a fork.

Elation welled up in Andy, and she battled to keep a neutral face. She loaded the rest of the scrambled eggs onto the second plate and poured them both a glass of water, before saying in her most matter-of-fact voice, "I hope you like it."

A raised eyebrow was the only response, and Andy briefly experienced a flutter of anxiety. She couldn't help holding her breath when Miranda carefully took some egg onto her fork and lifted it to her mouth. Suddenly Andy understood how fashion designers felt when they awaited Miranda's appraisal. It was nerve-wrecking. And in this case it wasn't even a labour-intensive fall/winter collection but a simple morning meal.

When, after a few chews and a dainty swallow, Miranda didn't verbally lash out, Andy allowed herself to relax. She took a bite herself and felt a bit proud. The food was actually quite good. It wasn't a fancy dish from Pastis, but the organic produce carried a great natural flavour that had required only a little tweaking.

They ate in silence. Occasionally their gazes met, and Andy found herself nervously blinking and looking away. She couldn't put her finger on it, but something felt different. She hadn't really planned as far ahead as breakfast, and these shared, quiet moments without work or the busy New York life to distract them were unnerving.

When she had booked this trip, she had anticipated to simply resume her assistant duties. After all, she was still employed for another full week and she was a good assistant. Being around a Miranda who didn't bark orders or make last minute decisions confused her. It wasn't that she hated this side of Miranda, she just didn't know how she was supposed to behave.

So far her professional attitude had apparently been sufficient. In Paris Miranda had asked her to do her job, and Andy had done nothing else since then. However, sitting together at the breakfast bar and sharing a simple meal felt anything but professional. It was intimate, like something friends would do together. Miranda wasn't her friend, though, and the thought left a bitter taste in Andy's mouth.

As they continued eating, Andy studied the fine lines around Miranda's eyes and lips. She realised that she wished to be closer to Miranda. Maybe not best friends, but at least someone Miranda felt she could trust. The knowledge that after one more week she would likely never see Miranda again filled her with trepidation. After nine months of being around Miranda nearly every day, Andy would somehow need to adjust to no longer having the older woman in her life.

Andy felt her throat close up, and she swallowed her food with a grimace, before setting the fork down on her plate. She was no longer hungry.

Over the past week her sole focus had been Miranda. Andy had been communicating non-stop with lawyers and doing her best to get Miranda the hottest coffee and the freshest steak possible. Emily had been gone by the time they had returned from Paris, and Andy had been forced to deal with everything on her own. Between tending to Miranda's private matters and handling the remaining work-related errands, Andy had not allowed herself the time to imagine what she'd do after.

No longer working for Runway wasn't a big deal. Although she had learned to appreciate fashion, it wasn't her real passion, and the job at the magazine had always been meant as a temporary stepping stone. Andy had ambitions, she had always wanted to be a journalist. A writer. For some reason, though, those dreams about her future had never included this dull ache in her belly. This sense of loss at the reality of being without the woman now sitting across from her.

Breaking up with her boyfriend, becoming estranged from her friends, and fighting with her parents felt insignificant compared to a life where she would no longer be helping Miranda. For a second Andy considered that she might be experiencing the same paradoxical separation anxiety a puppy went through when rescued from an abusive owner. When she looked back up into Miranda's eyes, however, she knew the truth.

She cared.

The face before her was so familiar. Sure, the lips were unpainted and the lashes pale without mascara, but Andy wasn't looking at a stranger. She knew Miranda, and she finally understood that she also liked her. It wasn't mere sympathy or compassion, but real, genuine admiration. Andy had the utmost respect for the editor that had captained the biggest ship of an entire industry for two successful decades. She also held a special fondness for the woman who cried herself to sleep and ate home-made scrambled eggs.

By now Miranda had finished her plate. After she set down the cutlery she took a sip from her water and looked back at Andy.

I'm really going to miss her, Andy thought.

Her heart was pounding and her eyes burned. The unfairness of it all struck her, causing the ache in her belly to roar up and force her from her seat. She quickly reached for their dishes and turned around to drop them into the sink. She opened the tap and watched rain drops roll down the panelled window in front of her. They drew wobbly lines across the glass, and the serene motion calmed her.

Andy inhaled slowly, gripping one of the plates between her fingers and closing her eyes. She would make the best of the time they had left together. She wouldn't worry about her future or her family, and simply be there for Miranda, until her presence was no longer required.

Chapter 4