Fic: Shafted -- Miranda/Andy (6/?)
+ Title: Shafted
+ Fandom: The Devil Wears Prada
+ Pairing: Andy/Miranda
+ Summary: Andy accompanied Miranda to Paris, but she didn't leave then. They're back in New York, and it's business as usual. Sort of.
+ Rating: PG to R. Currently back to PG.
+ Archiving: Ralst, if she wants it, I guess. All others email me first, hellomuchbetter(at)gmail(dot)com.
+ Thanks: Thank you oh-so-very-much to Heather, aka mirandyscrow, for being my sounding board and telling me that she's sure I'm not schizophrenic, even when I'm doing a damn good job of making it sound like I am.
+ A/N: This is my first-ever attempt at an Andy/Miranda fic, and it's also my first real attempt at femslash. Constructive criticism and reviews are helpful and always welcome. Oh, and bonus points to anyone who can figure out the relevance of the fic's title.
xposted to passion_perfect
When Miranda had successfully tucked Cassidy back into bed, she thought back to the eye-roll she’d earned upon mentioning the Book. She slipped out of the bedroom as quietly as possible and made her way down the stairs, stopping briefly on the second floor to examine a photograph on her desk. It was of a much-younger Miranda; her hair was still chestnut brown, though her now-signature silver was obvious at her temples. In her arms were two pink bundles, indistinguishable to anyone but Miranda, who knew that Caroline was on the left and Cassidy was on the right. Miranda picked up the framed photo to examine it more closely and found exactly what she was looking for. Just behind Caroline’s head, Miranda could see a spiral-bound copy of Runway-the Book. Besides Miranda, the Book and Runway had been the one constant in Caroline and Cassidy’s lives. The brief moment of sentimentality ended when Miranda heard movement downstairs. She quickly replaced the photo and hurried back to Andrea.
Patience had never been one of Andy’s strong suits. It seemed to have taken Miranda an eternity to finally return to the first floor. It wasn’t until she earned the signature Miranda eyebrow raise that Andy realized that she was still topless. “Orange juice and potting soil,” Andy blushed, lamely pointing towards her blouse on the floor. There was no need to mention the vodka. “I think I’ll be going now. You, uh, have an 8:00 with Irv. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier, but, uh, he insisted on seeing you, and-“
“For someone who aspires to be a journalist, you vocabulary is remarkably lacking,” Miranda commented. Andy couldn’t do more than nod and blush even more furiously as she hastily shoved herself into her hip-length Michael Kors pea-coat before picking up the ruined blouse. Miranda said nothing as Andy brushed past her on her way to the door. Andy had reached the door and her fingers were on the knob before she looked back. Miranda hadn’t moved from her spot in the doorframe. Andy stifled a sigh as she turned back around.
“G’night,” she muttered as she opened the door and stepped into the foyer.
“Andrea…” Miranda very nearly flew across the entry hall and into the foyer and Andy was surprised to find a hand cupping her cheek. Andy swallowed hard as Miranda leaned in. The kiss was brief and only left Andy wanting more. She took the slight tilt of Miranda’s head as her signal to go, and she stepped out into the cold. The snow had really started to stick, and there was a good inch covering everything, the townhouse’s front steps included. As she her foot landed on the second step, Andy felt herself slipping and she grabbed wildly for the railing but found nothing but air. She landed on her back on the steps and slid down, her coat riding up, which left her bare back exposed to the freezing snow and the hard bricks beneath it. Andy could feel every brick scraping down the length of her spine until she finally came to a stop on the sidewalk.
Andrea’s spill had happened so quickly after her exit that Miranda hadn’t yet closed the door, and she’d seen everything. Horrified, she carefully descended the front steps to where Andrea sat on the sidewalk. “Come now, come back inside,” she said, moving to help the brunette stand.
“What? No, I’ll be fine,” Andrea winced as she rose. The girl was clearly in pain.
“Nonsense. You’re in no shape to ride the subway or to take a cab or whatever other dreadful journey you were about to embark on.” Miranda stood carefully at the bottom of the steps as she watched Andrea re-enter the townhouse. At least Andrea had realized that arguing was useless; Miranda always got what she wanted.
Miranda led Andrea back to the first floor study, where there was a chaise lounge. She motioned toward it, and the girl obediently sat. “Take off your coat,” Miranda instructed. “I’ll be back in a moment.” Without waiting to see if the girl would follow directions, Miranda hurried to the first-aid drawer in the kitchen. She gathered Neosporin, gauze, and medical tape and collected a large metal mixing bowl from a well-organized cabinet. Miranda dropped off the first-aid supplies in the study, not noticing whether or not Andrea had indeed taken off her coat before gathering a washcloth and a few hand-towels from the linen closet in the powder room. She quickly filled the mixing bowl with a few inches of warm water before making her way back to the study.
Upon arriving in the study, Miranda found that Andrea had, in fact, followed orders and she had removed her coat. The brunette sat on the chaise in just her bra, and her entire body seemed to blush as Miranda entered the room. “Lay on your stomach,” Miranda ordered. Andrea looked shocked. Miranda rolled her eyes. “Would you like a raging infection along with your bruised dignity? I thought not. Lay down.” Andrea did as she was told. Miranda situated herself on the edge of the chaise and quickly looked over the scrape that followed the length of Andrea’s spine. Andrea winced as Miranda unhooked her bra, careful not to touch the broken skin around it.
“Miranda, this really isn’t…” Andrea didn’t finish the thought.
Miranda tried to be as efficient as possible. She dropped the washcloth in the bowl of warm water and waited as it soaked. “You qualify for workers’ comp; this is, after all, a work-related injury. You were leaving my home after dropping off the Book, which is part of the job. However, I hope this incident doesn’t find you incapacitated; it is imperative that you find a replacement for yourself now that you’ve been promoted.” Andrea nodded. Miranda reached for the washcloth and wrung it out before returning her attentions to Andrea’s back. Bruises were already blossoming on fair skin; Miranda couldn’t imagine how terribly tending to Andrea’s wounds was going to hurt and almost wanted to apologize in advance. Instead, she took the washcloth and dabbed at Andrea’s back.
Andy’s entire body stiffened as the warm washcloth made contact with her stinging flesh. She felt Miranda place a hand on the small of her back, bracing herself as she moved the washcloth down Andy’s back. Andy clenched her fists; this was far more painful that she’d anticipated. “Miranda, how do you…why are you…what…?” she couldn’t seem to put together a coherent though, yet Miranda seemed to know what she meant to ask.
“The girls never, ever manage to injure themselves when Cara is on duty. It’s always a scraped shin or a skinned elbow as they run up those very steps when returning from visiting their father,” Miranda replied. “And it would be terribly inconvenient if you came down with gangrene or something equally debilitating, which you surely would if I’d have let you go home without doing-something about this.” And with the addition of the personal motive, Andy once again saw the Miranda with whom she was familiar. Andy was thankful to have been given a momentary reprieve from what felt like an assault on her already bruised back. Only seconds later she felt as though her spine was about to snap in two when she felt gentle pressure on her wounds; Miranda was carefully arranging gauze to cover the scrape, which she then held in place with tape.
Miranda stood. “Sit up. Don’t slouch, though, you’ll pull at the tape,” she muttered as she collected her supplies before leaving Andy alone in the study. Andy did as she was told. Her back stung, but not enough to distract her from the fact that her bra was hanging at her elbows. She quickly slid it back up her arms and Andy’s arms bent at an awkward angle as she hurried to fasten the bra over the gauze. Only moments later, Miranda returned with a royal blue tee-shirt, which she held out to Andy. Andy took it and examined it only briefly before donning it. The front was emblazoned with “The Dalton School” and the back with “God’s Love We Deliver -VOLUNTEER.” Andy understood immediately that the shirt must’ve been given to one of the twins by their school, but was able to mask her surprise that Miranda would have allowed it to stay in the house.
“Up two flights of stairs, last door on the left,” Miranda pointed towards the stairs. Andy was confused.
“Excuse me?” Miranda couldn’t possibly be saying what Andy thought she was saying.
“You’re in no shape to go home via some form of public transportation, and it’s after 11:00, so I can’t in good conscience ask Roy to come fetch you.” Miranda had a conscience? Andy was vaguely surprised. “You’ll stay in the guest bedroom for tonight. Call Roy and arrange for him to pick you up tomorrow morning so that you can return to your own apartment to get ready. That’s all.”
Dumbfounded, Andy made her way up the stairs and down the hall without protesting. She heard footsteps behind her and saw Miranda approaching the door across the hall. Andy quickly disappeared into the guest bedroom. She closed her eyes and tried to think. Who was this, and what the hell had they done with her boss?!
Previous Parts:
(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5)
+ Fandom: The Devil Wears Prada
+ Pairing: Andy/Miranda
+ Summary: Andy accompanied Miranda to Paris, but she didn't leave then. They're back in New York, and it's business as usual. Sort of.
+ Rating: PG to R. Currently back to PG.
+ Archiving: Ralst, if she wants it, I guess. All others email me first, hellomuchbetter(at)gmail(dot)com.
+ Thanks: Thank you oh-so-very-much to Heather, aka mirandyscrow, for being my sounding board and telling me that she's sure I'm not schizophrenic, even when I'm doing a damn good job of making it sound like I am.
+ A/N: This is my first-ever attempt at an Andy/Miranda fic, and it's also my first real attempt at femslash. Constructive criticism and reviews are helpful and always welcome. Oh, and bonus points to anyone who can figure out the relevance of the fic's title.
xposted to passion_perfect
When Miranda had successfully tucked Cassidy back into bed, she thought back to the eye-roll she’d earned upon mentioning the Book. She slipped out of the bedroom as quietly as possible and made her way down the stairs, stopping briefly on the second floor to examine a photograph on her desk. It was of a much-younger Miranda; her hair was still chestnut brown, though her now-signature silver was obvious at her temples. In her arms were two pink bundles, indistinguishable to anyone but Miranda, who knew that Caroline was on the left and Cassidy was on the right. Miranda picked up the framed photo to examine it more closely and found exactly what she was looking for. Just behind Caroline’s head, Miranda could see a spiral-bound copy of Runway-the Book. Besides Miranda, the Book and Runway had been the one constant in Caroline and Cassidy’s lives. The brief moment of sentimentality ended when Miranda heard movement downstairs. She quickly replaced the photo and hurried back to Andrea.
Patience had never been one of Andy’s strong suits. It seemed to have taken Miranda an eternity to finally return to the first floor. It wasn’t until she earned the signature Miranda eyebrow raise that Andy realized that she was still topless. “Orange juice and potting soil,” Andy blushed, lamely pointing towards her blouse on the floor. There was no need to mention the vodka. “I think I’ll be going now. You, uh, have an 8:00 with Irv. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier, but, uh, he insisted on seeing you, and-“
“For someone who aspires to be a journalist, you vocabulary is remarkably lacking,” Miranda commented. Andy couldn’t do more than nod and blush even more furiously as she hastily shoved herself into her hip-length Michael Kors pea-coat before picking up the ruined blouse. Miranda said nothing as Andy brushed past her on her way to the door. Andy had reached the door and her fingers were on the knob before she looked back. Miranda hadn’t moved from her spot in the doorframe. Andy stifled a sigh as she turned back around.
“G’night,” she muttered as she opened the door and stepped into the foyer.
“Andrea…” Miranda very nearly flew across the entry hall and into the foyer and Andy was surprised to find a hand cupping her cheek. Andy swallowed hard as Miranda leaned in. The kiss was brief and only left Andy wanting more. She took the slight tilt of Miranda’s head as her signal to go, and she stepped out into the cold. The snow had really started to stick, and there was a good inch covering everything, the townhouse’s front steps included. As she her foot landed on the second step, Andy felt herself slipping and she grabbed wildly for the railing but found nothing but air. She landed on her back on the steps and slid down, her coat riding up, which left her bare back exposed to the freezing snow and the hard bricks beneath it. Andy could feel every brick scraping down the length of her spine until she finally came to a stop on the sidewalk.
Andrea’s spill had happened so quickly after her exit that Miranda hadn’t yet closed the door, and she’d seen everything. Horrified, she carefully descended the front steps to where Andrea sat on the sidewalk. “Come now, come back inside,” she said, moving to help the brunette stand.
“What? No, I’ll be fine,” Andrea winced as she rose. The girl was clearly in pain.
“Nonsense. You’re in no shape to ride the subway or to take a cab or whatever other dreadful journey you were about to embark on.” Miranda stood carefully at the bottom of the steps as she watched Andrea re-enter the townhouse. At least Andrea had realized that arguing was useless; Miranda always got what she wanted.
Miranda led Andrea back to the first floor study, where there was a chaise lounge. She motioned toward it, and the girl obediently sat. “Take off your coat,” Miranda instructed. “I’ll be back in a moment.” Without waiting to see if the girl would follow directions, Miranda hurried to the first-aid drawer in the kitchen. She gathered Neosporin, gauze, and medical tape and collected a large metal mixing bowl from a well-organized cabinet. Miranda dropped off the first-aid supplies in the study, not noticing whether or not Andrea had indeed taken off her coat before gathering a washcloth and a few hand-towels from the linen closet in the powder room. She quickly filled the mixing bowl with a few inches of warm water before making her way back to the study.
Upon arriving in the study, Miranda found that Andrea had, in fact, followed orders and she had removed her coat. The brunette sat on the chaise in just her bra, and her entire body seemed to blush as Miranda entered the room. “Lay on your stomach,” Miranda ordered. Andrea looked shocked. Miranda rolled her eyes. “Would you like a raging infection along with your bruised dignity? I thought not. Lay down.” Andrea did as she was told. Miranda situated herself on the edge of the chaise and quickly looked over the scrape that followed the length of Andrea’s spine. Andrea winced as Miranda unhooked her bra, careful not to touch the broken skin around it.
“Miranda, this really isn’t…” Andrea didn’t finish the thought.
Miranda tried to be as efficient as possible. She dropped the washcloth in the bowl of warm water and waited as it soaked. “You qualify for workers’ comp; this is, after all, a work-related injury. You were leaving my home after dropping off the Book, which is part of the job. However, I hope this incident doesn’t find you incapacitated; it is imperative that you find a replacement for yourself now that you’ve been promoted.” Andrea nodded. Miranda reached for the washcloth and wrung it out before returning her attentions to Andrea’s back. Bruises were already blossoming on fair skin; Miranda couldn’t imagine how terribly tending to Andrea’s wounds was going to hurt and almost wanted to apologize in advance. Instead, she took the washcloth and dabbed at Andrea’s back.
Andy’s entire body stiffened as the warm washcloth made contact with her stinging flesh. She felt Miranda place a hand on the small of her back, bracing herself as she moved the washcloth down Andy’s back. Andy clenched her fists; this was far more painful that she’d anticipated. “Miranda, how do you…why are you…what…?” she couldn’t seem to put together a coherent though, yet Miranda seemed to know what she meant to ask.
“The girls never, ever manage to injure themselves when Cara is on duty. It’s always a scraped shin or a skinned elbow as they run up those very steps when returning from visiting their father,” Miranda replied. “And it would be terribly inconvenient if you came down with gangrene or something equally debilitating, which you surely would if I’d have let you go home without doing-something about this.” And with the addition of the personal motive, Andy once again saw the Miranda with whom she was familiar. Andy was thankful to have been given a momentary reprieve from what felt like an assault on her already bruised back. Only seconds later she felt as though her spine was about to snap in two when she felt gentle pressure on her wounds; Miranda was carefully arranging gauze to cover the scrape, which she then held in place with tape.
Miranda stood. “Sit up. Don’t slouch, though, you’ll pull at the tape,” she muttered as she collected her supplies before leaving Andy alone in the study. Andy did as she was told. Her back stung, but not enough to distract her from the fact that her bra was hanging at her elbows. She quickly slid it back up her arms and Andy’s arms bent at an awkward angle as she hurried to fasten the bra over the gauze. Only moments later, Miranda returned with a royal blue tee-shirt, which she held out to Andy. Andy took it and examined it only briefly before donning it. The front was emblazoned with “The Dalton School” and the back with “God’s Love We Deliver -VOLUNTEER.” Andy understood immediately that the shirt must’ve been given to one of the twins by their school, but was able to mask her surprise that Miranda would have allowed it to stay in the house.
“Up two flights of stairs, last door on the left,” Miranda pointed towards the stairs. Andy was confused.
“Excuse me?” Miranda couldn’t possibly be saying what Andy thought she was saying.
“You’re in no shape to go home via some form of public transportation, and it’s after 11:00, so I can’t in good conscience ask Roy to come fetch you.” Miranda had a conscience? Andy was vaguely surprised. “You’ll stay in the guest bedroom for tonight. Call Roy and arrange for him to pick you up tomorrow morning so that you can return to your own apartment to get ready. That’s all.”
Dumbfounded, Andy made her way up the stairs and down the hall without protesting. She heard footsteps behind her and saw Miranda approaching the door across the hall. Andy quickly disappeared into the guest bedroom. She closed her eyes and tried to think. Who was this, and what the hell had they done with her boss?!
Previous Parts:
(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5)