New Fic: The Right Thing (5A/6), Miranda/Andy
Title: The Right Thing (part 5A/6)
Author: damelola
Rating: PG this part, NC17 eventually
Pairing: Miranda/Andy
Word Count: ~5000
Disclaimer: I don't own anything, these characters remain the property of Lauren Weisberger and 20th Century Fox. No profit is being made, and no harm is intended (except the fun kind!) This story borrows from real-life events in cases such as Martha Stewart's, but I promise to keep it light on boring corporate stuff as much as possible.
Summary: Set after the movie!verse of DWP. Andy is working at the Mirror and receives an unexpected phone call. Miranda needs her, again. It seems Miranda has run into a little legal trouble, and who better to help get her side of the story out, right?
With a million thanks to shesgottaread for a sterling beta a job :) She really goes above and beyond, and this story wouldn't be in any kind of shape without her!
Part 4
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The weeks slipped past almost without Andy noticing. She was busier than ever in the newsroom, and apart from the occasional press release regarding the investigation into Wisteria (and by extension, Miranda) she was occupied with the rest of New York life, from the sensational to the mundane.
News of the indictment, when it came down on a Friday morning, was crackling around the city like an electric current, lighting up malicious smiles wherever it went. Schadenfreude was alive and thriving in Manhattan as ever. Everyone wanted to speculate on whether Miranda would end up with her own Camp Cupcake stay, and within minutes the email forwards with cruel jokes and suggestions were flying. Andy would have been more impressed if they weren’t all simply recycled jokes about Martha Stewart--she’d come to respect a little originality in her cruelty.
Oh, not that Miranda deserved endless sympathy. The enemies she’d created could band together and form a
decent-sized army, not to mention the thousands of people who held the fashion industry in complete contempt. Still, Andy felt the old arguments rising up again: that Miranda wouldn’t be publicly ridiculed this way if she were a man; that people were jealous of her success.
Not that Miranda would lose any sleep about public opinion being against her, since there was usually a minimum of three bitchy articles about her circulating at any given time. She wouldn’t suffer professionally because she’d pissed a lot of people off, since she also had so many more willing to ask ‘how high’ every time she whispered ‘jump’.
Andy had mentioned in her profile for the Mirror website that Miranda did business in a very traditional New York way--like an old ward boss, she lent her influence and granted favors, leaving hundreds of grateful people in her debt, people who subsequently became powerful in their own right.
Which was all too relevant to Miranda’s current situation, since the recently indicted CEO of Wisteria was one such person. Charged with fraud, conspiracy and a multitude of other charges that had become a little too familiar to most Americans since the turn of the century, Katherine Hoffman was facing a lengthy prison sentence and financial ruin.
She had once asked Miranda for a favor in starting up her first business. Twenty years later, Miranda had invested in Katherine’s latest venture, a new drug to treat depression specifically in women. Had the investment been made public at the time, Andy found herself making the (bad) joke that an anti-psychotic might be more what Miranda ought to throw her money behind.
So, of course, it was assumed that Miranda ducking out just before the share price plummeted was the result of one more favor from Katherine. The reports about Miranda avoiding appointments with the FBI and the US Attorney’s office hadn’t really improved public perception (though it was more likely to be Emily policing anyone but the glitterati from reaching Miranda by phone). Web polls everywhere from the Post to TMZ were gleefully proclaiming their assumption of Miranda’s guilt.
Andy still had her doubts, but the same gut feeling that had told her to turn around and say “I don’t fit in here” in Miranda’s office two years ago, was telling her that Miranda was innocent. Though admittedly, any innocence on Miranda’s part was probably a relative concept at best.
The more that Andy investigated, the surer she became. Miranda hadn’t done any of the things that would be expected of someone trying to perpetrate a fraud, and she’d confirmed as much with a reluctant Doug. He’d helped her out, but not without a serious telling off for dumping Simon at the drop of a hat, and a warning not to become Miranda’s ‘bitch’ again. Not the most pleasant evening of her life, Andy mused, but he’d been warming up over email again so the storm seemed to have passed.
Arranging a lunch date with Irv’s assistant, Marjorie, had been a necessary evil, and one Andy wanted to get out of the way as soon as possible. Andy almost felt guilty for praying that Irv was as demanding a boss as Miranda, and thus be likely to interrupt at some point. For her part, she had Lily primed to call after thirty minutes with a fake emergency, like they did for the worst possible blind dates.
Andy’s silent prayer had been answered just as the salads arrived at the table, with Irv barking loudly enough over the cell phone connection for half the small restaurant to hear. Marjorie had scurried off into the midtown lunch hour crush, but not before leaving Andy with some valuable information.
Irv had been the one to rat Miranda out. Marjorie assumed, like just about everyone else, that to work for Miranda was to hate her and so she thought her indiscretion would be a reward of sorts for Andy. Little did Marjorie know that it left Andy with a strong urge to punch Irv right in his unconvincing hair plugs.
So, when Irv had lost out by not selling when Miranda did, a day before the company announced that the FDA wasn’t going to approve its flagship drug, and that they were being sued for patent infringement into the bargain, Irv hadn’t looked very far for someone to take his half a million dollar loss out on. He hadn’t even been discreet enough to do it himself--he’d had Marjorie contact the US Attorney and the SEC to have them add Miranda as a person of interest in their investigation into the public failure of Katherine Hoffman’s company.
Andy was lost in thought when her phone finally did ring, picking idly at her chef's salad as Lily began to regale her with the most ridiculous fake emergency she could think of. In hopeless laughter by the time Lily got to “and the elephants have escaped,” Andy was overwhelmed with gratitude for her friends. She was definitely not going to throw all this away to be at Miranda’s beck and call again, though the woman herself hadn’t been in touch except for a couple of pointed emails regarding the Mirror’s coverage.
When she arrived back at the office, John was hovering by her desk. Andy panicked, almost out of habit, before remembering that she had actually been working and that lunches longer than fifteen minutes were not a hanging offense at the Mirror.
Josh was working away with his earphones plugged in, but he shot her a curious glance as she approached which meant he was favoring eavesdropping over actual music. Andy couldn’t pretend that she’d be any different.
Andy barely had time to drop her bag on her desk before John was off and running with questions about Miranda’s indictment. In between interviews that day, Andy had fleshed out a new piece on it, but was wary of presuming she’d be asked. John was explaining, in his droll but animated way, that he wanted her to work with the court reporters and start pulling together something for the morning edition.
“And Andy, if you were to take advantage of your sources again, well, it wouldn’t hurt to leave the Times quoting us again, you understand?”
She respected her editor tremendously, Andy thought. Apart from his generally fair running of the paper, and his willingness to take a chance on a new reporter, he still had that gleam in his eye over the big stories. She wondered how much John missed the writing side of things, and tried not to compare his occasional unease in the position with Miranda’s reveling in her complete control. Miranda, who had impossibly soft hands but who ruled three floors and most of an industry with an iron fist. Miranda, who hadn’t called since Andy grabbed her hand, and from whom Andy now needed more information.
She put her thoughts about Irv to one side for now, smiling at John as he departed for the relative sanctuary of his own office. Andy pulled out her cell and paused for a moment over which number to dial. She had Miranda’s cell and private lines, of course, but as far as she could tell the arrangement to go through Emily still stood.
Punching in the numbers from memory, without need for her contacts list, Andy waited the scant two rings before Emily’s abrupt voice uttered its familiar “Miranda Priestly’s office.” Andy had once heard that every night in her dreams, and it didn’t seem so very long ago.
“Hi Em, it’s Andy again. I wanted to see if I could get some time with Miranda, to discuss the uh, recent developments?”
Andy cursed her nerves again, her palms were sweating as though she was asking someone to take her to prom.
“Oh yes, Andrea. Miranda left instructions for when you called. Check your email in a moment or two.”
No explanation, and then hanging up without goodbye. Emily was getting more like Miranda by the day.
Not that the rejection didn’t sting a little, and it only got worse when Andy opened her email to find nothing more than a standard press release in which Miranda expressed hope that she would be cleared of all charges, etc. So much for Andy’s inside track.
Disheartened, she began typing up the copious notes she’d made during her interviews, cultivating the parts that would form her new article on the indictment. There was a good chance of another front page here, and Andy couldn’t let Miranda’s sudden reticence pull her off course.
Sure enough, she had a few as yet unused quotes that she could fold in to an explanation of what exactly Miranda could expect at the hands of a federal judge. Andy’s zeal to clear Miranda’s name had dimmed somewhat, but as she lost herself in the story, lining up words for selection and the countless other choices needed to make the piece sing, she forgot most of her bad mood.
Filing just before the first deadline, Andy was ready to leave when Josh came back from wherever he had wandered off to late in the afternoon. She almost considered asking him out for a drink, but exhaustion was already clouding her head, and honestly her life was complicated enough. He asked to read her story, without any apparent jealousy, and Andy called it back onto the screen for him.
“This is pretty good, Woodward.”
A lame joke, they’d taken to calling themselves the Woodward and Bernstein of the Mirror, having honed their investigative skills on finding the best $1 hotdogs and the least crowded Starbucks within walking distance of their building. Only now, Andy didn’t feel as though she was ‘playing’ at being a journalist anymore, even as she worried about exactly how compromised this damn story was making her.
“You need any help on this?”
It was the first time someone had expressed an interest in anything other than ripping Miranda to shreds, and Andy was grateful for it. She was ready to say thanks but no thanks, when a thought occurred to her.
“Maybe. You still hooking up with that crazy girl in IT?”
Josh feigned offense at that, clutching his chest in mock outrage.
“How dare you discuss my future wife that way? And yeah, we see each other sometimes, when she’s not you know, performing ritual sacrifices or whatever.”
Andy tapped her lips with her index finger, wondering whether or not to bring anyone else in. No going back if she did.
“Okay, cool. Well, I might need you to ask her a favor. I’ll know for sure in a couple of days.”
With a shrug, Josh ran his fingers through his floppy blond hair and leaned back in Andy’s chair.
“I’ll be holding my breath.”
Andy punched him affectionately on the arm and grabbed her bag, ready to call an end to this particularly trying day. She supposed that, at 26, the highlight of her week shouldn’t be a chance to flop out with pizza in front of reality TV, but damned if she had the energy for anything else.
Wednesday came around too quickly for Andy’s liking, though she’d had a great talk with her parents over the weekend and had gathered up a bunch of copies of the weekend edition with her front page to send to them. Normally a Saturday front page was nothing to get excited about, but circulation was through the roof, and John had requested a fuller version to run on Monday when everyone read the paper.
Still, Wednesday meant a court date for Miranda, and thus a court date for Andy. She hadn’t been to the US District Court before, and hadn’t wanted to ask her slightly disgruntled colleagues for help. Josh was her only real work friend, but he’d never covered this big a story before either. However, John had offered the challenge, and Andy wasn’t about to turn it down.
The press pack in Foley Square was like nothing Andy had ever experienced before. Louder and more frantic than even the wildest concerts she’d been dragged to in college, she found herself being jostled and shoved over and over again. She had gotten there early, and was now pressed up against the makeshift metal barrier which seemed too flimsy to hold back the assembled throng of reporters who were surging en masse behind and on both sides of Andy.
Cameras and boom mics were swinging wildly with no regard for the bodies packed around them, and Andy found herself wondering how someone as petite as Miranda could withstand this kind of onslaught to get into the damn building. Andy had been hit in the head by flailing elbows and digital recorders three times already, and was beginning to lose patience for the front line when Miranda’s trademark Mercedes appeared at the curb outside the courthouse.
In that moment, Andy forgot about her bruised ribs and compromised breathing, about the glares she’d received from the Mirror’s usual court reporters when John had announced she’d be taking their place on the steps, leaving room for only one of them inside, in the court pool. All that mattered was seeing Miranda, and she did not disappoint. Stepping from the car with her usual brisk grace, she was a vision in neat Armani pinstripes and Prada heels red enough to be the exact shade of blood. He hair was coiffed a little more severely, with the regulation single curl falling over her ever-present sunglasses.
Any difficulty Andy had breathing was absolutely not related to the pressure on her torso.
Miranda made her way efficiently through the surging bodies and up the steps, never hesitating or faltering, flanked by a gang of lawyers in expensive suits, and what had to be bodyguards parting the crowd as though it were water. For the briefest of seconds, Miranda’s eyes roved the gaggle of reporters, her lips twitching slightly as she caught sight of Andy. Being acknowledged in that way left Andy feeling light-headed, but she settled in for the wait, knowing a simple arraignment wouldn’t take too much of the court’s time.
Sure enough, in less than half an hour Miranda and her entourage were streaming out of the courthouse doors. The crowd that had backed off temporarily surged around Andy once more, and this time she was seriously worried about cracking a rib or two.
Questions were being screamed across the limited space between the steps and Miranda’s waiting car, but she didn’t seem to hear a single one. Her face looked as though it had been delicately sculpted from marble, with not even a flash of emotion crossing it. But for the chaos surrounding her, Miranda looked as though she could just as easily have been having a pedicure, such was her level of disinterest. Whether it was the Inappropriate Crush (which should really shut up) speaking or not, Andy had to give her ex-boss some major kudos for that.
The crowd began to dissipate, reporters yelling into their phones as they conferred with colleagues inside, while Miranda slipped into the car with Stephanie, the men in her entourage forming a guard around the closed door until the engine revved into life and pulled away from the curb. It had been necessary too, the more persistent reporters had been crushing closer to Miranda with every step she had taken. But for the suits, they’d have been pressed up against the windows and banging on the roof. Andy had heard all about the pressures of making any kind of living as a photographer, but at times she couldn’t help but hate the paparazzi.
Andy extricated herself from the remaining crowd, pushing and shoving as roughly as she’d been subjected to all morning. Just as she broke free, a strong hand grabbed her upper arm. Tensing automatically, she was ready to unleash her best self-defense moves when she realized that she knew the man who had grabbed her: Brad.
He looked worn out, seeming to have aged ten years in a few weeks, and his long, black hair was mussed from the ruckus. Andy found herself wondering how much of a bonus he was being paid to go from swiping passes in the lobby to running interference for Miranda these past few weeks. Probably not anywhere near enough, knowing Miranda’s approach to paying her staff.
“Hey Andy. Miranda told me to make sure you get out of that mess. And she’ll pick you up at the corner of Mulberry and Bayard in five.”
Oh, so now Miranda felt like talking? There was no friendliness in his face as he imparted the message, and Andy couldn’t blame Brad if he resented the role of errand boy, but then nobody would be all smiles after dealing with a crazed pack of journalists. Thankfully she knew the streets around there pretty well, and so she gave him the brightest smile she could muster and took off towards Columbus Park.
Even at not-quite-a-run, Andy didn’t make it to the appointed meeting place as quickly as she would have liked. Miranda’s Mercedes was already idling as she crossed the street. Andy tried not to dwell on what Brad had said first, that Miranda had wanted her out of that clusterfuck by the courthouse steps. Was that simply because Miranda wanted Andy ready to be collected, like yesterday’s dry cleaning? Or had there been a note of concern in the request?
Andy shook her head at the very thought, trying to remember if she’d suffered any head trauma that would cause such idiotic notions. She wasn’t some wide-eyed gopher anymore, trying to get the boss to see how special she was. This was business, pure and simple, and it didn’t matter one tiny bit if occasionally she dreamt about her current business ‘partner’ in varying states of undress. That probably happened all the time on Wall Street, Andy told herself, not at all convincingly.
Then there wasn’t any more time to think about the Miranda who showed up in restless dreams, because the door handle was under her fingers, presenting her with the living, breathing Miranda who was somehow every bit as ethereal.
Stephanie had been relegated to the front seat, next to a driver Andy didn’t recognize. Not every chauffeur met Miranda’s exacting standards after all, and Roy couldn’t be forced to work twenty-four hours a day. So a new face or two was inevitable. At Miranda’s impatient nod, Andy slid into the backseat and closed the door firmly. Her nervousness made it more like a slam, but Miranda said nothing beyond a split-second wince at the noise.
The young guy at the wheel pulled the car sharply out into traffic, and Andy grimaced, because he probably wouldn’t last long. Sudden moves like that could jolt a cup of Starbucks all over Miranda’s papers, or cause a slight disturbance in artfully styled hair, and when that did happen, Miranda would dismiss him without a second thought.
Offering a weak smile over her shoulder, Stephanie busied herself with the papers in her briefcase, typing frantically into her Blackberry as she slipped back into a world where Andy didn’t exist.
Before the silence could cross from uncomfortable straight into oppressive, Andy decided to risk breaking it.
“Was it as bad as you expected?”
Miranda sighed almost inaudibly, her fingers playing idly with the pearl necklace that hung around her neck. Her sunglasses had already been discarded, lying on the expanse of gray leather seat between her and Andy.
“It was as I expected, yes. Did you enjoy being part of the baying mob?”
Andy watched Miranda’s face carefully, but still not a shred of emotion had flickered across it. Conscious that
she was staring, Andy floundered for something to say.
“Well, I’ve been in better. No flaming torches, for a start.”
Stephanie’s spine went rigid at that, and Andy could have sworn the attorney was holding her breath in anticipation of Miranda’s response. Even the driver seemed suddenly tense.
Instead Miranda seemed to bite back whichever sarcastic remark she’d been preparing, and Andy recognized the grudging respect that showing a little backbone had earned. Would wonders never cease?
Andy chewed at her lip for a moment, wondering why she was being drive through Manhattan in Miranda’s car when she could be filing an initial report at the Mirror. Fortunately, Miranda was still as efficient as ever, and came to the point almost right away.
“You’ll need a pen, I assume? That is, if you want my reaction to all of this? Since every other hack is busy making something up right about now.”
Was Miranda really giving her another exclusive so easily? Andy hadn’t seen her in person since drunkenly storming her house about a misunderstanding. The emails about stories that had appeared in the paper had simply been corrections or expressions of Miranda’s continual displeasure at anything that wasn’t entirely under her control.
Fumbling for her notebook and pen, Andy made a quick heading and began marshaling the questions in her head.
“So, do you want to start with the charges?”
Miranda pursed her lips at the bluntness, but she could hardly complain when it was her own MO reflected back at her.
“Stephanie will give you copies of the charges: securities fraud, obstruction of justice, giving false statements, etc.”
Andy scribbled frantically, her recorder rolling quietly as it sat on her thigh. Securities fraud was pretty serious. Sure, the other charges had been enough to result in jail time and massive fines in previous cases, but if the Feds thought they could actually get Miranda on insider trading, well, damn.
She would let the “etc” go for now, because Stephanie handed a slim black folder to her that no doubt contained the specifics Andy would need. Right now, Andy had to keep Miranda talking. And she also had to try not to look at her for more than a few seconds, because every time she saw the tightness in Miranda’s face, the carefully averted gaze, and the tension in her shoulders, Andy felt a completely ridiculous urge to hug her former boss. A move that would surely get her thrown out into moving traffic.
“Did they make you surrender your passport?”
Paris Fashion week was coming up, Andy knew. An event that had once meant less than nothing to her was somehow imprinted into her brain for the fall. A twisted little anniversary, of sorts, for her and Miranda.
Miranda fixed Andy with a particularly vicious glare, but Andy saw the flutter of panic beneath it.
“No, the judge was sympathetic to the nature of my job. I’m to give 72 hours notice before leaving the country.”
The very idea of asking anyone for permission to do as she wished brought a flush of anger to Miranda’s cheeks, visible even through her flawless makeup. The thought of her not being in Paris in the fall was just unbearable. For the sake of everyone who worked under Miranda, Andy was grateful that the judge hadn’t been too harsh. She could imagine that weasel Irv Ravitz using it as leverage to finally get rid of Miranda, and the fallout from that would be unbelievable.
“Well, it could have been worse?” Andy ventured. An eye-roll was Miranda’s only response, and so Andy decided to soldier on.
“So, what’s your statement, Miranda? Is it finally time for the big ‘I didn’t do it’?”
Stephanie intervened at that point, warning Miranda in harsh tones that she shouldn’t comment on anything but the established facts of the case. Her reprimand veered into a lecture, but the lawyer didn’t seem to register the further cooling of Miranda’s eyes, or the more pronounced pursing of her lips. When Stephanie finally shut up, Andy looked away, staring out of the tinted window in uncomfortable anticipation.
“Stop the car.”
Hardly louder than a murmur, but the other three occupants of the vehicle heard the words as clearly as if they’d been broadcast over speakers. The driver complied immediately, pulling over and narrowly avoiding a bike messenger in the process. Andy contained her gasp as the cyclist sped by, flipping them off for their trouble.
“We’re not far from your office, Stephanie. Why don’t you leave Andréa and I to chat?”
By now, Andy knew New York well enough to estimate that they were at least ten blocks from Stephanie’s firm, and the lawyer looked back at Miranda as though stunned. Was she seriously throwing her out of the car?
Miranda, as ever, did not flinch and so Stephanie resigned herself to her fate. She shot Andy a ‘better you than me’ look before leaving the front seat with a scowl. Andy watched Stephanie hail a cab as Miranda instructed their driver to carry on.
Andy actually felt better for being as good as alone with Miranda. She’d tried so hard not to dismiss people as servants, like Miranda did, but it had become habit to tune out the drivers and nannies and other staff so easily, and Andy found herself picking up exactly where she had left off.
At least venting some of her anger on Stephanie seemed to have calmed Miranda a little. Her shoulders seemed to have slightly less tension in them, and her previously clenched fist now lay slack on her lap. Andy didn’t realize she was staring at Miranda’s extended fingers until a quiet “hmm?” interrupted her.
Shit.
When Miranda was the one to break the sudden silence, Andy feared the worst. It really didn’t help that Miranda simultaneously flicked the button to slide the privacy screen up. The thought of actually being alone with Miranda rendered Andy temporarily deaf, and she missed every word the editor said.
Conscious of her mouth hanging open like a fool, Andy forced herself to snap back to reality, cringing as she quietly asked Miranda to repeat herself. The roaring in her ears had definitely subsided, and Andy watched Miranda’s mouth carefully, anything to avoid meeting her eyes.
“I said, the girls haven’t called.”
Wow, talk about a really crappy thing to make someone say twice. Miranda was looking past Andy in that way she had, not exactly avoiding eye contact, but clearly with her thoughts elsewhere. Miranda’s usually vibrant dark-blue eyes were dimmed and lifeless, almost as gray as her signature eyeshadow. Andy knew she had to think of something, anything, to get some kind of spark back into them.
“Well, maybe they thought you wouldn’t want to be interrupted? I’m sure their dad told them how busy a day you’d be having. They’ll call later, I’m sure. Or…you could call them.”
It brought a flicker of emotion back into Miranda’s eyes at least, but nothing approaching happiness. The sneer at the idea of needing attention or affection, even from her own children, told Andy that Miranda was in no mood to show weakness. Not that she ever was. And in that moment, even if she had to harass the Priestly twins herself, Andy knew she would find a way to make that call happen. Maybe she could persuade the twins that they really wanted to go home. Which, considering she hadn’t seen them in over a year, and they only knew her as another disposable assistant of ‘Mommy’, was going to be one hell of a challenge.
She’d do it anyway.
Then Miranda’s phone rang, shattering the fresh cloud of quietness between them. Professional mask firmly back on, Miranda began berating Emily, or whoever the new girl was, about exactly why Meisel was not to be canceled and something incredibly detailed about slingbacks that Andy didn’t even pretend to listen to. Instead she took the opportunity to really look at Miranda, something she’d always been too scared to do on the rare occasions they’d shared such a small space before.
She saw the surface glamour, of course. The expensive fabrics draped over Miranda’s slight frame didn’t crease or wrinkle, they just adapted to the seated shape of her body. Her crossed legs were covered in sheer black stockings, a sight Andy forced her eyes away from before she could start wondering about thigh highs versus garter belts. No wedding ring today, in fact Miranda’s left hand was bare as she stroked it aimlessly across her pin-striped skirt. There was a hint of an ornate watch at the edge of her sleeve, but Andy found the superficial wasn’t holding her attention for now.
Instead she drank in the sight of Miranda’s elegant neck, tapering off into the dark flashes of her hairline, which in turn gave way to the world-famous silver strands that looked far too appealing for Andy’s suddenly restless fingers. What would it feel like to run her fingers through Miranda’s hair? To kiss the sometimes cruel, but apparently soft, lips beneath those cool eyes and proud nose?
But all too soon the reprieve was over, and Miranda snapped her phone shut with enough force to break it. When Miranda reached for her sunglasses, Andy was powerless to stop her own hand from shooting out to meet Miranda’s.
“Don’t.”
Miranda’s voice was a steely whisper, but she made no retreat, allowing the warm skin of Andy’s hand to cover hers. Andy risked a gentle squeeze, drunk once more on the sheer sensation of it.
“Please, don’t.”
Then Andy dared to look Miranda in the eye, and was shocked to see the hint of tears shimmering there. She wasn’t sure which she expected least: the tears, or the word ‘please’. Either way, Andy was officially through the damn looking glass.
“I-want to, Miranda.”
But Miranda could look past what people wanted, what people needed, and that included herself. She withdrew her hand at last, cradling it protectively against her stomach as though Andy might snatch it back.
“You want a story, don’t you?”
Which was when Andy pieced it together: Miranda couldn’t allow herself even that moment of comfort. Accepting sympathy from another person was to admit defeat in her strange little world. Or perhaps she was worried that any kindness, something she had all but removed from her life, would finally cause some kind of dam to break.
Shrugging in agreement, Andy readied her pen once more.
<--- Part 4 | Part 5B --->
Author: damelola
Rating: PG this part, NC17 eventually
Pairing: Miranda/Andy
Word Count: ~5000
Disclaimer: I don't own anything, these characters remain the property of Lauren Weisberger and 20th Century Fox. No profit is being made, and no harm is intended (except the fun kind!) This story borrows from real-life events in cases such as Martha Stewart's, but I promise to keep it light on boring corporate stuff as much as possible.
Summary: Set after the movie!verse of DWP. Andy is working at the Mirror and receives an unexpected phone call. Miranda needs her, again. It seems Miranda has run into a little legal trouble, and who better to help get her side of the story out, right?
With a million thanks to shesgottaread for a sterling beta a job :) She really goes above and beyond, and this story wouldn't be in any kind of shape without her!
Part 4
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The weeks slipped past almost without Andy noticing. She was busier than ever in the newsroom, and apart from the occasional press release regarding the investigation into Wisteria (and by extension, Miranda) she was occupied with the rest of New York life, from the sensational to the mundane.
News of the indictment, when it came down on a Friday morning, was crackling around the city like an electric current, lighting up malicious smiles wherever it went. Schadenfreude was alive and thriving in Manhattan as ever. Everyone wanted to speculate on whether Miranda would end up with her own Camp Cupcake stay, and within minutes the email forwards with cruel jokes and suggestions were flying. Andy would have been more impressed if they weren’t all simply recycled jokes about Martha Stewart--she’d come to respect a little originality in her cruelty.
Oh, not that Miranda deserved endless sympathy. The enemies she’d created could band together and form a
decent-sized army, not to mention the thousands of people who held the fashion industry in complete contempt. Still, Andy felt the old arguments rising up again: that Miranda wouldn’t be publicly ridiculed this way if she were a man; that people were jealous of her success.
Not that Miranda would lose any sleep about public opinion being against her, since there was usually a minimum of three bitchy articles about her circulating at any given time. She wouldn’t suffer professionally because she’d pissed a lot of people off, since she also had so many more willing to ask ‘how high’ every time she whispered ‘jump’.
Andy had mentioned in her profile for the Mirror website that Miranda did business in a very traditional New York way--like an old ward boss, she lent her influence and granted favors, leaving hundreds of grateful people in her debt, people who subsequently became powerful in their own right.
Which was all too relevant to Miranda’s current situation, since the recently indicted CEO of Wisteria was one such person. Charged with fraud, conspiracy and a multitude of other charges that had become a little too familiar to most Americans since the turn of the century, Katherine Hoffman was facing a lengthy prison sentence and financial ruin.
She had once asked Miranda for a favor in starting up her first business. Twenty years later, Miranda had invested in Katherine’s latest venture, a new drug to treat depression specifically in women. Had the investment been made public at the time, Andy found herself making the (bad) joke that an anti-psychotic might be more what Miranda ought to throw her money behind.
So, of course, it was assumed that Miranda ducking out just before the share price plummeted was the result of one more favor from Katherine. The reports about Miranda avoiding appointments with the FBI and the US Attorney’s office hadn’t really improved public perception (though it was more likely to be Emily policing anyone but the glitterati from reaching Miranda by phone). Web polls everywhere from the Post to TMZ were gleefully proclaiming their assumption of Miranda’s guilt.
Andy still had her doubts, but the same gut feeling that had told her to turn around and say “I don’t fit in here” in Miranda’s office two years ago, was telling her that Miranda was innocent. Though admittedly, any innocence on Miranda’s part was probably a relative concept at best.
The more that Andy investigated, the surer she became. Miranda hadn’t done any of the things that would be expected of someone trying to perpetrate a fraud, and she’d confirmed as much with a reluctant Doug. He’d helped her out, but not without a serious telling off for dumping Simon at the drop of a hat, and a warning not to become Miranda’s ‘bitch’ again. Not the most pleasant evening of her life, Andy mused, but he’d been warming up over email again so the storm seemed to have passed.
Arranging a lunch date with Irv’s assistant, Marjorie, had been a necessary evil, and one Andy wanted to get out of the way as soon as possible. Andy almost felt guilty for praying that Irv was as demanding a boss as Miranda, and thus be likely to interrupt at some point. For her part, she had Lily primed to call after thirty minutes with a fake emergency, like they did for the worst possible blind dates.
Andy’s silent prayer had been answered just as the salads arrived at the table, with Irv barking loudly enough over the cell phone connection for half the small restaurant to hear. Marjorie had scurried off into the midtown lunch hour crush, but not before leaving Andy with some valuable information.
Irv had been the one to rat Miranda out. Marjorie assumed, like just about everyone else, that to work for Miranda was to hate her and so she thought her indiscretion would be a reward of sorts for Andy. Little did Marjorie know that it left Andy with a strong urge to punch Irv right in his unconvincing hair plugs.
So, when Irv had lost out by not selling when Miranda did, a day before the company announced that the FDA wasn’t going to approve its flagship drug, and that they were being sued for patent infringement into the bargain, Irv hadn’t looked very far for someone to take his half a million dollar loss out on. He hadn’t even been discreet enough to do it himself--he’d had Marjorie contact the US Attorney and the SEC to have them add Miranda as a person of interest in their investigation into the public failure of Katherine Hoffman’s company.
Andy was lost in thought when her phone finally did ring, picking idly at her chef's salad as Lily began to regale her with the most ridiculous fake emergency she could think of. In hopeless laughter by the time Lily got to “and the elephants have escaped,” Andy was overwhelmed with gratitude for her friends. She was definitely not going to throw all this away to be at Miranda’s beck and call again, though the woman herself hadn’t been in touch except for a couple of pointed emails regarding the Mirror’s coverage.
When she arrived back at the office, John was hovering by her desk. Andy panicked, almost out of habit, before remembering that she had actually been working and that lunches longer than fifteen minutes were not a hanging offense at the Mirror.
Josh was working away with his earphones plugged in, but he shot her a curious glance as she approached which meant he was favoring eavesdropping over actual music. Andy couldn’t pretend that she’d be any different.
Andy barely had time to drop her bag on her desk before John was off and running with questions about Miranda’s indictment. In between interviews that day, Andy had fleshed out a new piece on it, but was wary of presuming she’d be asked. John was explaining, in his droll but animated way, that he wanted her to work with the court reporters and start pulling together something for the morning edition.
“And Andy, if you were to take advantage of your sources again, well, it wouldn’t hurt to leave the Times quoting us again, you understand?”
She respected her editor tremendously, Andy thought. Apart from his generally fair running of the paper, and his willingness to take a chance on a new reporter, he still had that gleam in his eye over the big stories. She wondered how much John missed the writing side of things, and tried not to compare his occasional unease in the position with Miranda’s reveling in her complete control. Miranda, who had impossibly soft hands but who ruled three floors and most of an industry with an iron fist. Miranda, who hadn’t called since Andy grabbed her hand, and from whom Andy now needed more information.
She put her thoughts about Irv to one side for now, smiling at John as he departed for the relative sanctuary of his own office. Andy pulled out her cell and paused for a moment over which number to dial. She had Miranda’s cell and private lines, of course, but as far as she could tell the arrangement to go through Emily still stood.
Punching in the numbers from memory, without need for her contacts list, Andy waited the scant two rings before Emily’s abrupt voice uttered its familiar “Miranda Priestly’s office.” Andy had once heard that every night in her dreams, and it didn’t seem so very long ago.
“Hi Em, it’s Andy again. I wanted to see if I could get some time with Miranda, to discuss the uh, recent developments?”
Andy cursed her nerves again, her palms were sweating as though she was asking someone to take her to prom.
“Oh yes, Andrea. Miranda left instructions for when you called. Check your email in a moment or two.”
No explanation, and then hanging up without goodbye. Emily was getting more like Miranda by the day.
Not that the rejection didn’t sting a little, and it only got worse when Andy opened her email to find nothing more than a standard press release in which Miranda expressed hope that she would be cleared of all charges, etc. So much for Andy’s inside track.
Disheartened, she began typing up the copious notes she’d made during her interviews, cultivating the parts that would form her new article on the indictment. There was a good chance of another front page here, and Andy couldn’t let Miranda’s sudden reticence pull her off course.
Sure enough, she had a few as yet unused quotes that she could fold in to an explanation of what exactly Miranda could expect at the hands of a federal judge. Andy’s zeal to clear Miranda’s name had dimmed somewhat, but as she lost herself in the story, lining up words for selection and the countless other choices needed to make the piece sing, she forgot most of her bad mood.
Filing just before the first deadline, Andy was ready to leave when Josh came back from wherever he had wandered off to late in the afternoon. She almost considered asking him out for a drink, but exhaustion was already clouding her head, and honestly her life was complicated enough. He asked to read her story, without any apparent jealousy, and Andy called it back onto the screen for him.
“This is pretty good, Woodward.”
A lame joke, they’d taken to calling themselves the Woodward and Bernstein of the Mirror, having honed their investigative skills on finding the best $1 hotdogs and the least crowded Starbucks within walking distance of their building. Only now, Andy didn’t feel as though she was ‘playing’ at being a journalist anymore, even as she worried about exactly how compromised this damn story was making her.
“You need any help on this?”
It was the first time someone had expressed an interest in anything other than ripping Miranda to shreds, and Andy was grateful for it. She was ready to say thanks but no thanks, when a thought occurred to her.
“Maybe. You still hooking up with that crazy girl in IT?”
Josh feigned offense at that, clutching his chest in mock outrage.
“How dare you discuss my future wife that way? And yeah, we see each other sometimes, when she’s not you know, performing ritual sacrifices or whatever.”
Andy tapped her lips with her index finger, wondering whether or not to bring anyone else in. No going back if she did.
“Okay, cool. Well, I might need you to ask her a favor. I’ll know for sure in a couple of days.”
With a shrug, Josh ran his fingers through his floppy blond hair and leaned back in Andy’s chair.
“I’ll be holding my breath.”
Andy punched him affectionately on the arm and grabbed her bag, ready to call an end to this particularly trying day. She supposed that, at 26, the highlight of her week shouldn’t be a chance to flop out with pizza in front of reality TV, but damned if she had the energy for anything else.
Wednesday came around too quickly for Andy’s liking, though she’d had a great talk with her parents over the weekend and had gathered up a bunch of copies of the weekend edition with her front page to send to them. Normally a Saturday front page was nothing to get excited about, but circulation was through the roof, and John had requested a fuller version to run on Monday when everyone read the paper.
Still, Wednesday meant a court date for Miranda, and thus a court date for Andy. She hadn’t been to the US District Court before, and hadn’t wanted to ask her slightly disgruntled colleagues for help. Josh was her only real work friend, but he’d never covered this big a story before either. However, John had offered the challenge, and Andy wasn’t about to turn it down.
The press pack in Foley Square was like nothing Andy had ever experienced before. Louder and more frantic than even the wildest concerts she’d been dragged to in college, she found herself being jostled and shoved over and over again. She had gotten there early, and was now pressed up against the makeshift metal barrier which seemed too flimsy to hold back the assembled throng of reporters who were surging en masse behind and on both sides of Andy.
Cameras and boom mics were swinging wildly with no regard for the bodies packed around them, and Andy found herself wondering how someone as petite as Miranda could withstand this kind of onslaught to get into the damn building. Andy had been hit in the head by flailing elbows and digital recorders three times already, and was beginning to lose patience for the front line when Miranda’s trademark Mercedes appeared at the curb outside the courthouse.
In that moment, Andy forgot about her bruised ribs and compromised breathing, about the glares she’d received from the Mirror’s usual court reporters when John had announced she’d be taking their place on the steps, leaving room for only one of them inside, in the court pool. All that mattered was seeing Miranda, and she did not disappoint. Stepping from the car with her usual brisk grace, she was a vision in neat Armani pinstripes and Prada heels red enough to be the exact shade of blood. He hair was coiffed a little more severely, with the regulation single curl falling over her ever-present sunglasses.
Any difficulty Andy had breathing was absolutely not related to the pressure on her torso.
Miranda made her way efficiently through the surging bodies and up the steps, never hesitating or faltering, flanked by a gang of lawyers in expensive suits, and what had to be bodyguards parting the crowd as though it were water. For the briefest of seconds, Miranda’s eyes roved the gaggle of reporters, her lips twitching slightly as she caught sight of Andy. Being acknowledged in that way left Andy feeling light-headed, but she settled in for the wait, knowing a simple arraignment wouldn’t take too much of the court’s time.
Sure enough, in less than half an hour Miranda and her entourage were streaming out of the courthouse doors. The crowd that had backed off temporarily surged around Andy once more, and this time she was seriously worried about cracking a rib or two.
Questions were being screamed across the limited space between the steps and Miranda’s waiting car, but she didn’t seem to hear a single one. Her face looked as though it had been delicately sculpted from marble, with not even a flash of emotion crossing it. But for the chaos surrounding her, Miranda looked as though she could just as easily have been having a pedicure, such was her level of disinterest. Whether it was the Inappropriate Crush (which should really shut up) speaking or not, Andy had to give her ex-boss some major kudos for that.
The crowd began to dissipate, reporters yelling into their phones as they conferred with colleagues inside, while Miranda slipped into the car with Stephanie, the men in her entourage forming a guard around the closed door until the engine revved into life and pulled away from the curb. It had been necessary too, the more persistent reporters had been crushing closer to Miranda with every step she had taken. But for the suits, they’d have been pressed up against the windows and banging on the roof. Andy had heard all about the pressures of making any kind of living as a photographer, but at times she couldn’t help but hate the paparazzi.
Andy extricated herself from the remaining crowd, pushing and shoving as roughly as she’d been subjected to all morning. Just as she broke free, a strong hand grabbed her upper arm. Tensing automatically, she was ready to unleash her best self-defense moves when she realized that she knew the man who had grabbed her: Brad.
He looked worn out, seeming to have aged ten years in a few weeks, and his long, black hair was mussed from the ruckus. Andy found herself wondering how much of a bonus he was being paid to go from swiping passes in the lobby to running interference for Miranda these past few weeks. Probably not anywhere near enough, knowing Miranda’s approach to paying her staff.
“Hey Andy. Miranda told me to make sure you get out of that mess. And she’ll pick you up at the corner of Mulberry and Bayard in five.”
Oh, so now Miranda felt like talking? There was no friendliness in his face as he imparted the message, and Andy couldn’t blame Brad if he resented the role of errand boy, but then nobody would be all smiles after dealing with a crazed pack of journalists. Thankfully she knew the streets around there pretty well, and so she gave him the brightest smile she could muster and took off towards Columbus Park.
Even at not-quite-a-run, Andy didn’t make it to the appointed meeting place as quickly as she would have liked. Miranda’s Mercedes was already idling as she crossed the street. Andy tried not to dwell on what Brad had said first, that Miranda had wanted her out of that clusterfuck by the courthouse steps. Was that simply because Miranda wanted Andy ready to be collected, like yesterday’s dry cleaning? Or had there been a note of concern in the request?
Andy shook her head at the very thought, trying to remember if she’d suffered any head trauma that would cause such idiotic notions. She wasn’t some wide-eyed gopher anymore, trying to get the boss to see how special she was. This was business, pure and simple, and it didn’t matter one tiny bit if occasionally she dreamt about her current business ‘partner’ in varying states of undress. That probably happened all the time on Wall Street, Andy told herself, not at all convincingly.
Then there wasn’t any more time to think about the Miranda who showed up in restless dreams, because the door handle was under her fingers, presenting her with the living, breathing Miranda who was somehow every bit as ethereal.
Stephanie had been relegated to the front seat, next to a driver Andy didn’t recognize. Not every chauffeur met Miranda’s exacting standards after all, and Roy couldn’t be forced to work twenty-four hours a day. So a new face or two was inevitable. At Miranda’s impatient nod, Andy slid into the backseat and closed the door firmly. Her nervousness made it more like a slam, but Miranda said nothing beyond a split-second wince at the noise.
The young guy at the wheel pulled the car sharply out into traffic, and Andy grimaced, because he probably wouldn’t last long. Sudden moves like that could jolt a cup of Starbucks all over Miranda’s papers, or cause a slight disturbance in artfully styled hair, and when that did happen, Miranda would dismiss him without a second thought.
Offering a weak smile over her shoulder, Stephanie busied herself with the papers in her briefcase, typing frantically into her Blackberry as she slipped back into a world where Andy didn’t exist.
Before the silence could cross from uncomfortable straight into oppressive, Andy decided to risk breaking it.
“Was it as bad as you expected?”
Miranda sighed almost inaudibly, her fingers playing idly with the pearl necklace that hung around her neck. Her sunglasses had already been discarded, lying on the expanse of gray leather seat between her and Andy.
“It was as I expected, yes. Did you enjoy being part of the baying mob?”
Andy watched Miranda’s face carefully, but still not a shred of emotion had flickered across it. Conscious that
she was staring, Andy floundered for something to say.
“Well, I’ve been in better. No flaming torches, for a start.”
Stephanie’s spine went rigid at that, and Andy could have sworn the attorney was holding her breath in anticipation of Miranda’s response. Even the driver seemed suddenly tense.
Instead Miranda seemed to bite back whichever sarcastic remark she’d been preparing, and Andy recognized the grudging respect that showing a little backbone had earned. Would wonders never cease?
Andy chewed at her lip for a moment, wondering why she was being drive through Manhattan in Miranda’s car when she could be filing an initial report at the Mirror. Fortunately, Miranda was still as efficient as ever, and came to the point almost right away.
“You’ll need a pen, I assume? That is, if you want my reaction to all of this? Since every other hack is busy making something up right about now.”
Was Miranda really giving her another exclusive so easily? Andy hadn’t seen her in person since drunkenly storming her house about a misunderstanding. The emails about stories that had appeared in the paper had simply been corrections or expressions of Miranda’s continual displeasure at anything that wasn’t entirely under her control.
Fumbling for her notebook and pen, Andy made a quick heading and began marshaling the questions in her head.
“So, do you want to start with the charges?”
Miranda pursed her lips at the bluntness, but she could hardly complain when it was her own MO reflected back at her.
“Stephanie will give you copies of the charges: securities fraud, obstruction of justice, giving false statements, etc.”
Andy scribbled frantically, her recorder rolling quietly as it sat on her thigh. Securities fraud was pretty serious. Sure, the other charges had been enough to result in jail time and massive fines in previous cases, but if the Feds thought they could actually get Miranda on insider trading, well, damn.
She would let the “etc” go for now, because Stephanie handed a slim black folder to her that no doubt contained the specifics Andy would need. Right now, Andy had to keep Miranda talking. And she also had to try not to look at her for more than a few seconds, because every time she saw the tightness in Miranda’s face, the carefully averted gaze, and the tension in her shoulders, Andy felt a completely ridiculous urge to hug her former boss. A move that would surely get her thrown out into moving traffic.
“Did they make you surrender your passport?”
Paris Fashion week was coming up, Andy knew. An event that had once meant less than nothing to her was somehow imprinted into her brain for the fall. A twisted little anniversary, of sorts, for her and Miranda.
Miranda fixed Andy with a particularly vicious glare, but Andy saw the flutter of panic beneath it.
“No, the judge was sympathetic to the nature of my job. I’m to give 72 hours notice before leaving the country.”
The very idea of asking anyone for permission to do as she wished brought a flush of anger to Miranda’s cheeks, visible even through her flawless makeup. The thought of her not being in Paris in the fall was just unbearable. For the sake of everyone who worked under Miranda, Andy was grateful that the judge hadn’t been too harsh. She could imagine that weasel Irv Ravitz using it as leverage to finally get rid of Miranda, and the fallout from that would be unbelievable.
“Well, it could have been worse?” Andy ventured. An eye-roll was Miranda’s only response, and so Andy decided to soldier on.
“So, what’s your statement, Miranda? Is it finally time for the big ‘I didn’t do it’?”
Stephanie intervened at that point, warning Miranda in harsh tones that she shouldn’t comment on anything but the established facts of the case. Her reprimand veered into a lecture, but the lawyer didn’t seem to register the further cooling of Miranda’s eyes, or the more pronounced pursing of her lips. When Stephanie finally shut up, Andy looked away, staring out of the tinted window in uncomfortable anticipation.
“Stop the car.”
Hardly louder than a murmur, but the other three occupants of the vehicle heard the words as clearly as if they’d been broadcast over speakers. The driver complied immediately, pulling over and narrowly avoiding a bike messenger in the process. Andy contained her gasp as the cyclist sped by, flipping them off for their trouble.
“We’re not far from your office, Stephanie. Why don’t you leave Andréa and I to chat?”
By now, Andy knew New York well enough to estimate that they were at least ten blocks from Stephanie’s firm, and the lawyer looked back at Miranda as though stunned. Was she seriously throwing her out of the car?
Miranda, as ever, did not flinch and so Stephanie resigned herself to her fate. She shot Andy a ‘better you than me’ look before leaving the front seat with a scowl. Andy watched Stephanie hail a cab as Miranda instructed their driver to carry on.
Andy actually felt better for being as good as alone with Miranda. She’d tried so hard not to dismiss people as servants, like Miranda did, but it had become habit to tune out the drivers and nannies and other staff so easily, and Andy found herself picking up exactly where she had left off.
At least venting some of her anger on Stephanie seemed to have calmed Miranda a little. Her shoulders seemed to have slightly less tension in them, and her previously clenched fist now lay slack on her lap. Andy didn’t realize she was staring at Miranda’s extended fingers until a quiet “hmm?” interrupted her.
Shit.
When Miranda was the one to break the sudden silence, Andy feared the worst. It really didn’t help that Miranda simultaneously flicked the button to slide the privacy screen up. The thought of actually being alone with Miranda rendered Andy temporarily deaf, and she missed every word the editor said.
Conscious of her mouth hanging open like a fool, Andy forced herself to snap back to reality, cringing as she quietly asked Miranda to repeat herself. The roaring in her ears had definitely subsided, and Andy watched Miranda’s mouth carefully, anything to avoid meeting her eyes.
“I said, the girls haven’t called.”
Wow, talk about a really crappy thing to make someone say twice. Miranda was looking past Andy in that way she had, not exactly avoiding eye contact, but clearly with her thoughts elsewhere. Miranda’s usually vibrant dark-blue eyes were dimmed and lifeless, almost as gray as her signature eyeshadow. Andy knew she had to think of something, anything, to get some kind of spark back into them.
“Well, maybe they thought you wouldn’t want to be interrupted? I’m sure their dad told them how busy a day you’d be having. They’ll call later, I’m sure. Or…you could call them.”
It brought a flicker of emotion back into Miranda’s eyes at least, but nothing approaching happiness. The sneer at the idea of needing attention or affection, even from her own children, told Andy that Miranda was in no mood to show weakness. Not that she ever was. And in that moment, even if she had to harass the Priestly twins herself, Andy knew she would find a way to make that call happen. Maybe she could persuade the twins that they really wanted to go home. Which, considering she hadn’t seen them in over a year, and they only knew her as another disposable assistant of ‘Mommy’, was going to be one hell of a challenge.
She’d do it anyway.
Then Miranda’s phone rang, shattering the fresh cloud of quietness between them. Professional mask firmly back on, Miranda began berating Emily, or whoever the new girl was, about exactly why Meisel was not to be canceled and something incredibly detailed about slingbacks that Andy didn’t even pretend to listen to. Instead she took the opportunity to really look at Miranda, something she’d always been too scared to do on the rare occasions they’d shared such a small space before.
She saw the surface glamour, of course. The expensive fabrics draped over Miranda’s slight frame didn’t crease or wrinkle, they just adapted to the seated shape of her body. Her crossed legs were covered in sheer black stockings, a sight Andy forced her eyes away from before she could start wondering about thigh highs versus garter belts. No wedding ring today, in fact Miranda’s left hand was bare as she stroked it aimlessly across her pin-striped skirt. There was a hint of an ornate watch at the edge of her sleeve, but Andy found the superficial wasn’t holding her attention for now.
Instead she drank in the sight of Miranda’s elegant neck, tapering off into the dark flashes of her hairline, which in turn gave way to the world-famous silver strands that looked far too appealing for Andy’s suddenly restless fingers. What would it feel like to run her fingers through Miranda’s hair? To kiss the sometimes cruel, but apparently soft, lips beneath those cool eyes and proud nose?
But all too soon the reprieve was over, and Miranda snapped her phone shut with enough force to break it. When Miranda reached for her sunglasses, Andy was powerless to stop her own hand from shooting out to meet Miranda’s.
“Don’t.”
Miranda’s voice was a steely whisper, but she made no retreat, allowing the warm skin of Andy’s hand to cover hers. Andy risked a gentle squeeze, drunk once more on the sheer sensation of it.
“Please, don’t.”
Then Andy dared to look Miranda in the eye, and was shocked to see the hint of tears shimmering there. She wasn’t sure which she expected least: the tears, or the word ‘please’. Either way, Andy was officially through the damn looking glass.
“I-want to, Miranda.”
But Miranda could look past what people wanted, what people needed, and that included herself. She withdrew her hand at last, cradling it protectively against her stomach as though Andy might snatch it back.
“You want a story, don’t you?”
Which was when Andy pieced it together: Miranda couldn’t allow herself even that moment of comfort. Accepting sympathy from another person was to admit defeat in her strange little world. Or perhaps she was worried that any kindness, something she had all but removed from her life, would finally cause some kind of dam to break.
Shrugging in agreement, Andy readied her pen once more.
<--- Part 4 | Part 5B --->