Corruption, Purity and Desire - (1/14)
Title: Corruption, Purity and Desire
author: ragelikeafire
rating: m
pairing: andy/miranda
Disclaimer: The Devil Wears Prada does not belong to me. No infringement intended to Lauren Weisberger and 20th Century Fox. All characters are purely fictional. Thanks to various crime fiction for the inspiration behind the dialogue.
Summary: Two and a half years after leaving Runway; Andy Sachs is now working as an investigative journalist for a New York newspaper. Miranda Priestly continues her reign as The New York Fashion Queen, but under the surface the cracks are beginning to form. The unfortunate events of one cold winter’s evening force them to face the unrelenting demon that hides in the shadows. When do you run and when do you stand your ground?
WARNING: There are some scenes of violence and heavy language. If you are easily offended or squeamish I DO NOT suggest that you read this!
A/N: This is my first attempt at fanfic; any constructive comments would be welcome.
A/N2: Edited (03 Jan 2011)
Part One
Andy was transferring her thoughts into her Dictaphone, whilst walking through the busy newsroom. She had filled her seventh cup of coffee for the day and was topping up her sugar levels with a much-needed frosted doughnut.
“Less than a week ago on Christmas Eve, five of New York’s finest were massacred in a crack den in the Bronx. Five o'clock this morning Lucian Hernando, the renowned gang Lord was shot at point blank range in his bathroom. A witness has said that she saw two men, who she has been unable to identify, get of a blue, possibly purple 1980’s grand-prix and go into the building, where the victim was later found dead. An EMT on the scene said off the record that the victim’s larynx was crushed and that he had been shot four times. District Attorney Sharpe has…”
Andy paused, mid-flow as she was interrupted by a shout from across the room. “Hey Andy. There’s a call for you on line one.”
“Ok, thanks Cynthia” Andy called out before stuffing the rest of her doughnut into her mouth, and sitting back down in her creaky leather chair.
“Sachs, here.” Andy announced. The voice on the line was desperate. The man had a strong New York accent with an Irish lilt and she found herself struggling to understand him. “Hey, slow down.” She responded softly into the receiver. “Ok, where?” She questioned, before listening to the man’s response. “Alright, but you’re gonna have to give me something, something small.” Andy let out a deep sigh after the man hung up the phone and she frantically scribbled down the instructions she had been given.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The rain was cruel and unrelenting on the windscreen. Andrea Sachs waited in the dark desolate car park, chuckling lightly from the realisation that she had subconsciously parked perfectly in the space lines even though she was the only one in there.
She heard the car before it came into view, the low growl of the large engine, pulled beside her at a vertical angle. The man got into the back seat of the car; Andy looked at him through the rear view mirror never turning around.
“Are you alone?” He asked, looking around and out of the rain soaked windows nervously.
“Yeah.” She answered.
“Don’t fuck with me girlie, I swear to god don’t fuck with me…” The man bared his teeth and Andy could smell the alcohol on his breath.
“I’m not, I swear! No-one knows I’m here.”
“Are you recording this?”
“Yes, is that ok?” The man took a deep breath and nodded at Andy. “Look.” She said softly. “This is how it goes, you just talk. You say anything you wanna say and I’ll listen, I won’t interrupt you.” Andy tried desperately to calm the extremely agitated man.
“All so you can get my story. Right?” His voice rippled with desperation. Andy gripped the door handle, nervously unsure what the man would do. “You’re all the same. You’ll just fuck me over and turn my name to shit. That’s it?”
“Hey! I’m not your priest, I’m a writer, and I’m here to tell the truth. You called me, remember? I came down here to freeze my ass off sitting in this fucking car, so I did my part.”
The man started to sob pitifully. “I’ve gotta get this out of me, I’ve got to get this out!” He muttered.
Andy stared at the man in the mirror and waited for him to continue.
“We’re all dirty, every last one of us. We sold our souls to the highest bidders. Murder for hire. We stole drugs, planted shit, robbed and beat our suspects.” He paused for what-to Andy-felt like hours; sobbing into his hands. “We condemned five of our own to die, we knew what they were walking into, and we let it happen anyway.”
“Who, who did this?” Andy made eye contact with the man in the mirror. She was scared out of her mind, but she managed to keep her calm poker face.
“I FUCKING TOLD YOU, NO NAMES!” He spat angrily.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. But you are all cops, right?” The man nodded in response.
“I can’t undo it now, there’s no atonement, I’m gonna burn for this. We’re all gonna fucking burn!”
“No.” She pleaded. “Let me help you? I’ll call the desk and speak with my Editor. I’ll get them to save space for the story; your story.”
The man shook his head. “No, no.” He said.
“We’ll bring you in, we can keep you safe. We’ll take care of you, I promise. Ok?” Andy reached for her phone from her purse on the front seat.
The man stared off into space as the words continued to spill from his mouth. “Becoming a Cop and the respect that earned us.” He murmured in broken lines. “To be able to hold something honest. The pledge we took. Being in the blue and wearing that shield. Do you know how that felt? We’ve let it fall out from under us.”
Andy looked down to the phone and dialled the press office, lifting the phone to her ear. “I was a good man once…” She heard him whisper.
There was an almighty crack, everything around her turned silent; there was then a high-pitched sound, which rang in her ears. It took a couple of seconds for Andy realise what had happened. It wasn’t until she smelt the rich metallic scent in the air and felt the warm liquid against the side of her face that she realised what had happened.
She forced herself to look in the rear view mirror. Just one glance. A sea of red flashed before her eyes, the young journalist opened her mouth to scream but nothing came out, the bile rose in her throat as she fumbled with the door handle desperately trying to get out of the car.
Outside the car, Andy leaned against the door in an effort to stop her knees from buckling beneath her. Her body doubled over as the vomit spilled out on to the concrete, burning her throat on its journey. When she closed her eyes, the image was still there ‘oh god the blood, so much blood.’ She thought.
She took a deep breath and tried to compose herself. ‘Come on Andy, pull yourself together, think!’ Then she remembered her phone, she had dialled the office! She turned and reached into the car finding it on the passenger seat. It was still connected; she pressed the cell to her ear and heard the automated voice on the line. ‘I’m in a call queue! What the fuck?’’ She thought. Andy ended the call and fumbled clumsily with the keypad searching for her Editor’s cell number in her address book.
The rain lashed down around her, she pressed the phone to her ear, straining to hear the ringing on the line. As she heard the line connect and she screamed in to the receiver. “EDDIE? I NEED YOUR HELP. FUCK! I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO!”
“Sachs? Where the hell are you?” Andy felt a wave of relief as she heard Eddie’s voice. “What the fuck’s happened?” He drawled.
“He shot himself Eddie! He blew his fucking brains out in the back seat of your car!” Andy’s voice quivered uncontrollably as she fought the tears. “After what he just told me Eddie I don’t think I can call 911, Jesus Eddie, I’m scared!”
“Christ, Sachs. What the hell did you do?” Eddie shouted and Andy strained to hear him over the sound of the rain. “I told you never to go out alone! Where are…”
The cell phone fell from Andy’s hand as an unbelievable force lifted her off her feet, without warning and threw her to the ground.
Eddie heard the crack on the line. A veteran journalist of thirty-five years, he knew exactly what had caused the sound. Gunshot. “SACHS” He bellowed into the phone as the entire pressroom turned to look at his office. “ANDY? Goddamn it Andy, answer me!” Eddie heard the muffled sound of the rain falling then the line disconnected.
‘Get up, get up, get up.’ Andy chanted to herself, forcing her body into the sitting position, with her back against the car. She had seen people being shot hundreds of times on the television, she had been to dozens of crime scenes, but never had she imagined that she would have to experience it first hand. She had been shot. The pain was almost unbearable, and she knew that the pure adrenalin pumping through her leaking veins was driving on her. She listened for any approaching footsteps, but everything was drowned out by the sound of the pouring rain and low rumbling thunder. She knew that the shot had originated from somewhere behind the car, hitting her in the chest, in the left shoulder just a couple of inches above her breast.
She considered her options; she knew Vincent’s gun would still be in the backseat of the car. The dreams and fears of her soul were engaged in all out battle in her mind.
‘Get the gun, you need to protect yourself…No, you should hide…No you should run…” She argued with herself. “You stupid girl, no-one is coming, you are going to die here.’ The thought of dying, the thought of leaving this world with so much yet to be done, so much left to be said and so much love to give. The very thought got her off the ground and she ran, with all of her might.
Shots rang out from behind her as she reached the edge of the car park, concrete shards splintered and sprayed off the building wall as she rounded the corner. Seeing the lights ahead of her, the beautiful stained glass windows fifty yards ahead... she prayed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Runway Magazine, New Year ball was the hottest ticket in town, with the event less than twenty-four hours away and London Fashion week starting in two weeks, Miranda’s schedule was insane.
She had allowed herself two days out of the office over the holidays. A whole day on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, of uninterrupted time with the twins. The teens adored her full attention and relished every second they could spend with her. She could have taken more time, she knew that she had some bridges to mend with her children and their home life, but that would mean letting standards slip at the Magazine. That to Miranda Priestly was simply unacceptable, so she just kept telling herself that she would make it up to them.
Miranda was working late, reviewing the stills from the latest Lacroix shoot, which would be used in the next edition, a task that she equally loved and loathed in her editorial duties. She was scanning through the images and brutally attacking them with a pad of vibrant post-it notes and a red pen, when infamous Book arrived after the days changes had been added. The Runway Book, which was renowned throughout the fashion industry, held the secrets of the next highly sought edition. After the day’s additions, the Book would then be delivered to the Editor each evening for review, and returned to the relevant department heads, with fresh scathing remarks each morning.
With the Girls at their Father’s for the remainder of the holiday, there was nothing to go home to but an empty house. So, Miranda had dismissed Carrie, her current mentally-challenged second assistant and continued to work in blissful uninterrupted silence in her office.
Several hours later, the elevator doors pinged open on to the Elias Clark Corporation lobby, the fashion Queen exited alone. Her heels clacked on the marble floor, as she glided towards the revolving doors with her trademark majestical grace. The lobby was empty apart from the two security guards, whose attention was completely focussed on the huge plasma screen mounted on the wall behind the reception desk.
The Editor glanced at the screen intrigued at what was holding their attention. The sound on the television was muted, but there was a breaking news alert scrolling across the screen.
Even at a glance, the words on the screen caught Miranda’s attention and she stop dead in her tracks.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was regretful day in Paris, which had occurred over two and half years ago, the day she had left her. Andrea hadn’t just left Runway, and her well-deserved position as first assistant. She had left Miranda too.
The months following Andrea’s sudden departure, the Editor had been desperately unhappy. She had thrown herself into work, some would say, even more ruthlessly than normal. Of course, everyone had assumed it was the impending divorce to her third husband and Miranda did not bother to correct them. She truly believed that her thoughts and feelings for Andrea were completely unrequited. She was iron clad professional with her employees at all times and she would never have crossed that line. But, even now, after all this time, she had trouble actually admitting her feelings to herself never mind anyone else.
The conversation had played out many times in her head.
‘Am I deluded? She was just a girl who had shown promise, someone worthy of mentorship. For gods-sake I am twice her age! She could never love me. So why do I feel so strongly about her? More than any husband, lover or potential partners in my lifetime. Why? Because, she knew what I was thinking often before I did? Because, she knew how to give me what I needed and not just what I wanted? She challenged me. She made me feel alive. Her smile, oh her smile…’
She had lost count of the amount of times that she’d had the same conversation with herself.
After Paris Miranda had been furious, humiliated and heartbroken. She had planned to destroy the young woman, blackball her with every publication and newsroom in the city, the state, the country! However, when the request for a reference request from the New York Post had landed on her desk she just could not bring herself to follow through on her vengeful promises. Miranda subscribed to the New York Post that same week.
They had crossed paths fleetingly in the last two years, but there was never a word spoken. Miranda had seen Andrea several times walking past Elias Clark. More recently, they had both attended a charity ball at the Plaza, for one of the many Children’s causes that the Elias Clark Corporation sponsored. On each occasion, they had made tense eye contact. Miranda had locked with Andrea’s beautiful deep brown eyes, daring her to break the stare. Miranda prayed that with that stare the younger woman would read her soul. She longed for her to make the first step but she never failed to disappoint.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Miranda took in the scrolling bar on the screen of the television and gasped aloud.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>Breaking News: Off duty Police Officer and New York Post Journalist Andy Sachs fatally injured in Bronx shooting.<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
“Turn the sound on!” Miranda called out from across the lobby. Both security guards spun round instantly and froze on the spot.
“I’m so sorry Ms. Priestly; we did not see you stood…”
“Quiet, I do not wish to enter into a conversation with you! Do as I say, turn on the sound!” She ordered.
“Yes Ms. Priestly, but…” The Security Guard knew that he was playing with fire as he opened his mouth but he could see the distress on her face and he felt the need to tell her what he knew. “They ain’t saying anything more than what’s on the screen, Ma’am.”
Miranda didn’t acknowledge the guard’s words; she simply scanned the headline one more time and then turned on her heel and exited the building.
Her driver, Roy was waiting patiently at the curb, watching intently for sight of his passenger. Seeing her appear, he hurried towards the building to meet her with a large black umbrella to protect her from the elements.
As soon as he closed the car door, Miranda put up the privacy screen and hit the speed dial on her BlackBerry.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Emily Charlton was used to the calls at all random hours, she had trained herself to answer the phone within one ring regardless of her location; sleeping, showering. She had even mastered the art of holding her pee mid-stream to answer Miranda’s calls. This particular occasion was not the most convenient of times for Emily.
As the First Assistant to the Fashion Queen, Emily was taking full advantage of the fact, that Miranda had finally entrusted new girl, Carrie not to steal anything or burn her house down. She had been able to leave early for the first time two months. She was in fact, at this moment in time on her knees, in a hotel suite giving some of her finest work to Jacob Ellison, heir to the GQ Empire. Her phone, which was hooked discreetly over the stockings, vibrated aggressively against her thigh. ‘I love my job, I love my job, I love my job!’ She reassured herself mentally, as she reached for the buzzing device.
Emily was approaching her fourth year with Miranda. They had recently discussed her promotion-again- on the condition that she found herself a suitable successor. The Priestly-graduate-programme would normally have handed her a diploma by now, allowing her to progress through the ranks at sky rocketing pace. But, after a certain person- whom Emily referred to as the fat girl-had changed the game. Emily had been left to pick up the pieces after Paris. She had now re-earned her place as first assistant and got back on track.
She idolised Miranda. The Queen of the fashion world; she was her goddess. One to be loved and feared in equal amounts. There wasn’t anything she that wouldn’t do for this woman.
“Yes, Miranda” Emily answered the call brightly, whilst simultaneously giving Jacob a look that screamed ‘One word and I will bite it off!’
Miranda began her list of demands without greeting her assistant. “Get me the details of the Editor of The New York Post immediately or do not bother come into work tomorrow.” The call disconnected before Emily could respond, which was no different to the usual. At least this time she had given her the name of the paper where the Editor worked. It was more than she normally got, in the past Emily had often considered trying to develop her telepathic abilities to even out the odds where Miranda was concerned.
Her assistant did not disappoint Miranda. One Minute and twenty seconds later, Miranda got exactly what she needed.