Fic: Shafted (7/?)
+ Title: Shafted (7/?)
+ Author: silentrevyrie
+ 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.
+ Disclaimer: None of the stuff you recognize belongs to me. Anyone you don't recognize is mine.
+ Archiving: Ralst, if she wants it, I guess. All others email me first, hellomuchbetter(at)gmail(dot)com.
+ Thanks: To my 10th grade Social Studies teacher for teaching me about a certain historical event mentioned in this chapter.
+ A/N: So after neglecting this one for more than a month, I'm back in action! With all of my exchange fics done it's high time I posted something for this fic! Oh, and before you all think I'm dumb and haven't paid close enough attention to all those episodes of ER, House, and Private Practice, I know it's "subdural hematoma."
The thread count of these sheets is more than I make in a year, Andy thought. She went to drop her purse from her shoulder and realized she didn’t have it. That meant that she’d left it downstairs. Fan-freaking-tastic. Andy dreaded leaving the security of the guest bedroom but she knew she needed, at the very least, her phone, if not her whole purse. After all, it was entirely possible that Andy would receive a 4am phone call from Miranda, regardless of the fact that it was 4am and it would have been far more efficient to ask her in person, seeing as Andy would be just across the hall. Andy slipped off her Jimmy Choos and made her way towards the door, pausing only briefly before stepping into the hallway. The townhouse was quiet, almost disconcertingly so. Andy was sure something was going to jump out of nowhere and attack her.
Andy descended one flight of stairs before noticing that there was light coming from the first floor. She wasn’t sure what this meant and so she proceeded with caution. She crept down the remaining flight of stairs and realized that the light was coming from the sitting room. This was surprising, since Andy was fairly certain the only lamp in the room was now in pieces on the floor and there was no built-in lighting. Her confusion quickly disappeared when she noted a work-light clipped to the doorjamb. Or, at least she thought it was clipped to the doorjamb, because that could have been a hallucination. That was the only explanation for the sight in front of her.
Miranda, wearing lounge pants and a designer tee-shirt, was on her knees on the floor cleaning up the mess they’d made earlier. “Really, Andrea,” she mused, “would it have killed you to have knocked everything onto the area rug? At least then we could have burned it and been done with clean-up.”
“But, Esperanza…” Andy trailed off, wondering why Miranda didn’t just leave the mess for her housekeeper.
“…comes Wednesdays and Saturdays. It’s Monday, Andrea,” Miranda finished. “Did you smack your pretty little head on the pavement?” She took a moment to consider what she’d just asked. Sarcasm and annoyance could wait for a moment.
“No, really, did you?” She rose, her rubber gloves snapping as she hastily rolled them off.
Andrea hesitated. “Not hard,” she winced.
Miranda tried not to panic. What if Andrea had a concussion, or…whatever? How long would that incapacitate her for? Miranda might have to kill someone if faced with losing the only competent member of her staff.
“Okay,” Miranda tried to think rationally. “I’m going to call…” Who was she going to a call? Would an ambulance be overkill?
“Miranda, really, I’m okay. It’s nothing,” Andrea reasoned.
“Yes, and when you suddenly keel over because of a-“ What was it they said on that doctor show? Runway had just run a feature on the characters’ wardrobes in last month’s issue. “A sub-whatever hema-toad? What do you think Page Six will have to say about that? Not to mention what that dreadful pink blog will spin it into: ‘Dragon Lady Slays Assistant,’ or maybe they’ll use my name this time. Imagine that: ‘Miranda Priestly Blamed for Death of Assistant Andrea Sachs.’”
Andy was trying desperately not to laugh. She thought perhaps Miranda’s little diatribe was out of genuine concern for her wellbeing, but by the end Miranda’s true colors had bled through and it was all about her and her public image.
“I’ll call a cab and go to Presbyterian’s ER if it’ll make you feel better,” Andy sighed. “But I’ve hit my head harder than that before and I was totally fine then, too.”
“So you’ve made a habit of accidental personal injury, Andrea?” Miranda smirked. Andy could tell she was starting to relax and back down.
“More like the middle child sandwiched between two brothers,” Andy snorted. “I spent a lot of time playing with them, and you know what brothers are like. Wait, no you don’t. What am I saying?”
“Actually,” Miranda started. Andy could hear the hesitancy in her voice and she was suddenly unsure.
“I grew up with two older brothers myself,” she shrugged. Andy was shocked.
“But you never…where--?” Andy was beginning to think that Miranda had been correct about her vocabulary.
“Vietnam,” Miranda said quietly, looking anywhere but at Andy. “1972. Adam was 19, Isaac barely 18. Rachel was 16, and I was 14.”
Andy had gathered that Adam and Isaac were Miranda’s brothers, but Rachel? Miranda had an older sister, too?
“And barely a month after that Rachel and my mother were killed in a car accident.” Miranda stopped abruptly.
Andy was stunned. She’d learned more about the real Miranda Priestly in the past 90 seconds than she had in the past two years combined. She realized Miranda was speaking again and quickly returned her attention to the woman in front of her.
“Cassidy and Caroline are named for my mother and sister, you know. Cassidy Rachel and Caroline Sarah. I don’t know why; such sentimentalities seem stupid, but when it came time to name them, I just…it happened.”
Andy leaned against the doorjamb, careful to avoid the work-light as she listened. Miranda settled into a chair and gazed out the window, out into the darkness.
Before she could stop herself, Miranda was speaking again. “I changed my name the day I turned 18. I don’t know why I chose ‘Miranda Priestly’ out of the infinite number of options out there. I guess something in me wanted to keep my initials.
“We all had Hebraic names, all four of us. Adam, Isaac, Rachel, and me, Miriam. Miriam. What a terrible name. And my last name…Princhek. Miriam Princhek,” Miranda shook her head in disgust. She couldn’t tell what she was more disgusted by: the recollection of her former self or the fact that she was revealing it all to Andrea. There were only two people that knew about Miranda’s past, and they were the judge who had granted her petition for name change, and her first husband, Greg.
And now Andrea, Miranda thought, is the third.
Previous Parts:
(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6)
+ Author: silentrevyrie
+ 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.
+ Disclaimer: None of the stuff you recognize belongs to me. Anyone you don't recognize is mine.
+ Archiving: Ralst, if she wants it, I guess. All others email me first, hellomuchbetter(at)gmail(dot)com.
+ Thanks: To my 10th grade Social Studies teacher for teaching me about a certain historical event mentioned in this chapter.
+ A/N: So after neglecting this one for more than a month, I'm back in action! With all of my exchange fics done it's high time I posted something for this fic! Oh, and before you all think I'm dumb and haven't paid close enough attention to all those episodes of ER, House, and Private Practice, I know it's "subdural hematoma."
The thread count of these sheets is more than I make in a year, Andy thought. She went to drop her purse from her shoulder and realized she didn’t have it. That meant that she’d left it downstairs. Fan-freaking-tastic. Andy dreaded leaving the security of the guest bedroom but she knew she needed, at the very least, her phone, if not her whole purse. After all, it was entirely possible that Andy would receive a 4am phone call from Miranda, regardless of the fact that it was 4am and it would have been far more efficient to ask her in person, seeing as Andy would be just across the hall. Andy slipped off her Jimmy Choos and made her way towards the door, pausing only briefly before stepping into the hallway. The townhouse was quiet, almost disconcertingly so. Andy was sure something was going to jump out of nowhere and attack her.
Andy descended one flight of stairs before noticing that there was light coming from the first floor. She wasn’t sure what this meant and so she proceeded with caution. She crept down the remaining flight of stairs and realized that the light was coming from the sitting room. This was surprising, since Andy was fairly certain the only lamp in the room was now in pieces on the floor and there was no built-in lighting. Her confusion quickly disappeared when she noted a work-light clipped to the doorjamb. Or, at least she thought it was clipped to the doorjamb, because that could have been a hallucination. That was the only explanation for the sight in front of her.
Miranda, wearing lounge pants and a designer tee-shirt, was on her knees on the floor cleaning up the mess they’d made earlier. “Really, Andrea,” she mused, “would it have killed you to have knocked everything onto the area rug? At least then we could have burned it and been done with clean-up.”
“But, Esperanza…” Andy trailed off, wondering why Miranda didn’t just leave the mess for her housekeeper.
“…comes Wednesdays and Saturdays. It’s Monday, Andrea,” Miranda finished. “Did you smack your pretty little head on the pavement?” She took a moment to consider what she’d just asked. Sarcasm and annoyance could wait for a moment.
“No, really, did you?” She rose, her rubber gloves snapping as she hastily rolled them off.
Andrea hesitated. “Not hard,” she winced.
Miranda tried not to panic. What if Andrea had a concussion, or…whatever? How long would that incapacitate her for? Miranda might have to kill someone if faced with losing the only competent member of her staff.
“Okay,” Miranda tried to think rationally. “I’m going to call…” Who was she going to a call? Would an ambulance be overkill?
“Miranda, really, I’m okay. It’s nothing,” Andrea reasoned.
“Yes, and when you suddenly keel over because of a-“ What was it they said on that doctor show? Runway had just run a feature on the characters’ wardrobes in last month’s issue. “A sub-whatever hema-toad? What do you think Page Six will have to say about that? Not to mention what that dreadful pink blog will spin it into: ‘Dragon Lady Slays Assistant,’ or maybe they’ll use my name this time. Imagine that: ‘Miranda Priestly Blamed for Death of Assistant Andrea Sachs.’”
Andy was trying desperately not to laugh. She thought perhaps Miranda’s little diatribe was out of genuine concern for her wellbeing, but by the end Miranda’s true colors had bled through and it was all about her and her public image.
“I’ll call a cab and go to Presbyterian’s ER if it’ll make you feel better,” Andy sighed. “But I’ve hit my head harder than that before and I was totally fine then, too.”
“So you’ve made a habit of accidental personal injury, Andrea?” Miranda smirked. Andy could tell she was starting to relax and back down.
“More like the middle child sandwiched between two brothers,” Andy snorted. “I spent a lot of time playing with them, and you know what brothers are like. Wait, no you don’t. What am I saying?”
“Actually,” Miranda started. Andy could hear the hesitancy in her voice and she was suddenly unsure.
“I grew up with two older brothers myself,” she shrugged. Andy was shocked.
“But you never…where--?” Andy was beginning to think that Miranda had been correct about her vocabulary.
“Vietnam,” Miranda said quietly, looking anywhere but at Andy. “1972. Adam was 19, Isaac barely 18. Rachel was 16, and I was 14.”
Andy had gathered that Adam and Isaac were Miranda’s brothers, but Rachel? Miranda had an older sister, too?
“And barely a month after that Rachel and my mother were killed in a car accident.” Miranda stopped abruptly.
Andy was stunned. She’d learned more about the real Miranda Priestly in the past 90 seconds than she had in the past two years combined. She realized Miranda was speaking again and quickly returned her attention to the woman in front of her.
“Cassidy and Caroline are named for my mother and sister, you know. Cassidy Rachel and Caroline Sarah. I don’t know why; such sentimentalities seem stupid, but when it came time to name them, I just…it happened.”
Andy leaned against the doorjamb, careful to avoid the work-light as she listened. Miranda settled into a chair and gazed out the window, out into the darkness.
Before she could stop herself, Miranda was speaking again. “I changed my name the day I turned 18. I don’t know why I chose ‘Miranda Priestly’ out of the infinite number of options out there. I guess something in me wanted to keep my initials.
“We all had Hebraic names, all four of us. Adam, Isaac, Rachel, and me, Miriam. Miriam. What a terrible name. And my last name…Princhek. Miriam Princhek,” Miranda shook her head in disgust. She couldn’t tell what she was more disgusted by: the recollection of her former self or the fact that she was revealing it all to Andrea. There were only two people that knew about Miranda’s past, and they were the judge who had granted her petition for name change, and her first husband, Greg.
And now Andrea, Miranda thought, is the third.
Previous Parts:
(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6)