New fic: Mixed Signals
Title: Mixed Signals
Author: ficburd
Rating: NC-17 (somewhere down the line)
Pairing: Miranda/Andy
Summary: It’s a Mirandy fic. What more do I need to say?
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in the movie the Devil Wears Prada; sadly, they belong to someone else. I make no money out of writing this story and therefore there's absolutely no reason to sue me.
A/N: Not beta-ed. Feedback much appreciated.
Prologue
”Andy? What--”
”Oh Daddy!” Andy wailed and threw herself into her father's arms.
Dazed by the rather sudden appearance of his youngest daughter, Richard Sachs stood still in the doorway of his own house, trying to get to grips with the fact that a hysterical Andy was clinging to his neck with a near death grip. Unable to form a single coherent word at first, he settled for hugging the young woman back and making soothing noises to calm her down. Finally finding his voice again, he asked the questions that were circling on the surface of his mind. ”Uh, Andy, what's the matter, baby? Why are you here? I thought you were supposed to be in Paris.”
”I-I was,” Andy managed to gasp out through uncontrollable sobbing.
”Oh honey,” Richard Sachs said helplessly. ”Let's get you inside. C'mon.”
Needing no further encouragement, Andy meekly followed her father into her childhood home. Not much had changed inside the house since her last visit almost a year ago. Familiar scents lingered in the air reminding her of summer mornings spent making pancakes in the kitchen with her mom and her sister, and of nights of playing Scrabble with her dad in the family room whilst her grandfather sat smoking his pipe near the fireplace. The slight smell of tobacco near an old barcalounger that looked like it didn't belong there in the midst of a fairly modern sofa croup made of soft Italian leather was the sure give-away; sometime during the last twenty-four hours Grandpa Sachs had, indeed, been sitting in his favorite seat, enjoying his one and only -but still no less deathly- vice.
Slowly but surely navigating the house, guiding his seemingly distraught daughter gently by the elbow, Richard managed to get her to the plush sofa in the living room. Once there, not much more needed to be said to cajole Andy to lay down on it. In fact, she'd practically flung herself down, and was now reclining on top of it with her feet up and her right arm slung over her tear-streaked face.
Not knowing what to do in a situation like this, Richard Sachs found himself totally lost and in desperate need of advice. Where are the womenfolk when you need them? After a few silent moments of looking in all directions hoping that maybe by some miracle his wife would appear out of thin air and help him through this new and, quite frankly, terrifying territory, he finally came to the conclusion that no one would, unfortunately, come to his aide. Okay, bull by the horns it is, then, he resolutely concluded.
Crouching down next to the sofa, he put his hand on the crying girl's shoulder in what he hoped was a calming gesture, and despite dreading the answer, went ahead and asked,”Andy, honey, please tell me what's wrong. Are you in pain? Should I go get some Tylenol or something?”
Receiving only more frantic crying as reply, he started to get up on his feet to go fetch whatever chemical substance it would take to resolve this crisis. ”Let me just go get you some--”
”No!” Andy wailed loudly, gripping his hand in hers. ”Don't go, Daddy. I'm okay. Honestly, I am. I just need you to--” a hiccup escaped her, causing her to pause briefly. ”I just want you to stay w-with me here. Can you stay with me, p-please? Just for a little while.”
Feeling his heart twitch in his chest, Richard Sachs looked down into his daughter's big, dark eyes, the exact copy of her mother's, and felt moisture begin to gather in his own eyes as well. In that moment he hated whatever or whoever it was that had unsettled his child, his little baby, in such a bad way. Hatred so big he'd never known existed swelled inside of him, making him want to throttle whatever the it or the who was that was responsible for his Andy's sadness. But most of all, he felt helpless. Helpless because he didn't know what the invisible enemy here was and how to shield his daughter from it. Furthermore, he felt helpless due to his own lack of ability to handle the situation in the appropriate way. Whatever that was.
”Of course I'll stay with you,” he croaked out, fighting against the tears. ”You must be exhausted, honey. Why don't you close your eyes and rest a bit. I'll still be here when you wake up and so will your mom.”
”O-okay,” Andy said without resisting. She was feeling exhausted from all the crying and the fact that she hadn't slept for 32 hours. It didn't take many minutes of her dad gently stroking her hair for her to move into the Land of Nod.
But even in her sleep Andy was haunted by images of what could've, well, more accurately what she'd hoped for there to have been, and what would, most definitely, never be. A person's unconscious can be a cruel thing. Sometimes during wakening hours you can fool yourself into believing something is not what it seems but then when you go to sleep there's always that annoying little voice that forces you to face the truth - no hiding allowed. Andy's truth, the one she was desperately trying to run away from, was always wearing beautiful, expensive clothing - even in her dreams. Just as well, for in this occasion the phrase 'naked truth' truly would've been quite inappropriate.