New fic: The Kid Stays in the Picture
Title: The Kid Stays in the Picture
Rating: PG
Pairing: Andy/Miranda
Notes: Merry Christmas,
thelastgoodname
, whose prompt was the following:
4. Miranda has been miserable since Andy left, and she's making everyone else miserable, too. Nigel and Emily have had it and now they're going to fix things. The only problem: the object of Miranda's affections hates her. But Nigel and Emily have a few tricks up their sleeves, and they have the Terrible Twosome -- Miranda's twin daughters -- on their side.
It probably isn’t what you’d have written yourself, TLGN, but I took my best shot! It’s an atypical format for me, and though I finished the story in a certain way, I couldn’t resist throwing in what could be considered “deleted scenes.” And there are multiple random film-y references embedded in the text, so if you spot them, yes, it’s theft. :D
I hope everyone likes it. Happy holidays, and God bless us everyone!
---
NIGEL.
Nigel dropped his coat in the hallway and left his scarf on the banister. His laptop bag fell over, and damned if he didn't feel like kicking the thing as he moved through the long foyer. The apartment was dark, the refrigerator empty, the answering machine message light unblinking.
He had not done more than sleep in his apartment for weeks. On some nights not even that-a shower and a shave were all he had time for.
Some weeks back, Miranda Priestly, Nigel's boss of fifteen years, had gone from a garden variety power-mongering bitch to a psychotic harbinger of doom overnight. Nigel recalled the night in question very clearly. It had sucked to be him. He'd nursed a drink or eight at the bar of his Parisian hotel after the very public revelation of his lost opportunity with James Holt. He'd sworn to get revenge on Miranda a thousand times.
But for fuck's sake, lately the woman was miserable. She was making literally every other employee at Runway miserable too. It was worse than he'd ever seen, and he'd seen a lot over the years.
He had one person to blame.
At first, he'd thought it was Stephen. Nigel was sure the divorce would be hard on her; the first two certainly had been. All that attention from the press and the public drove Miranda up a wall. Nigel had been careful not to mention Stephen's name around her, but when he'd slipped, Miranda hadn't flinched. She'd simply curled her lip in disdain and sniffed, much to Nigel's relief.
But one night a week later, they had drinks with a pair of handsome chaps from Dooney & Bourke. Once the two reps left, Nigel was waiting to sign the bill when he'd received a text message from Andy. They had kept in contact, messaging on Facebook and texting now and then. Miranda had looked at him curiously, and Nigel believed (since he hadn't heard anything to the contrary, which he surely would have) that there was no bad blood between them.
He'd shrugged. "It's from Andy. She's working on some interesting pieces for The Mirror--"
Immediately, Miranda's lips pursed. Her eyes flashed. Her nostrils flared. Nigel stopped mid-sentence and tried to pretend he hadn't seen the reaction. "Anyway, I thought Fabiano had some fantastic ideas about the accessories, and the sketches he brought along-"
"You've stayed in touch with Andrea?" she interrupted.
Nigel had frozen. "A little."
Miranda had looked away, as though watching something very intently across the room. "How is she?"
Nigel had not expected that tone from Miranda. It sounded almost… wistful. "She's all right. Working hard."
"For that rag. It's a disgrace," Miranda said, melancholy gone in an instant. Her jaw jutted forward in an odd, unattractive gesture. "She'll have that hopeful naiveté knocked out of her soon enough." She waved at the bartender. "Bourbon. A double."
Nigel had just stared as Miranda downed the whole thing in one long gulp. When she'd slammed the glass on the bar and opened her mouth, Nigel thought for sure she would ask for another. Instead she closed her eyes, and her hand shook as she lifted it to her forehead. "I'm going. Be at the office at 7 tomorrow." She hadn't looked at him as she left.
The pieces had fallen into place. Sad, sad little Six had gotten under Miranda Priestly's skin, and she'd left a trail of dead bodies in her wake.
Nigel was pissed about the whole situation, but he had no idea who he was more pissed at: Miranda for being impossible, or Andy for making her that way.
He decided he would not think about his dilemma for the rest of the night (what was left of it), and poured himself a good glass of single malt. Remote in hand, he clicked on the stereo, and sat back with a sigh to the melodious strains of Delibes.
It was heaven.
Five minutes later, his cell vibrated. He cursed Andy's name silently as he answered without glancing at the display. "Hello, Miranda."
---
EMILY.
Emily sat at her desk in a fury.
It was Sunday. She was in the office. She was overworked and underpaid. But she still adored Miranda in what she understood to be a likely fatal case of hero worship. She saw Miranda Priestly as the icon of the fashion industry she truly was.
And Miranda Priestly had just accidentally called her Andrea.
Andrea.
Andrea bloody Sachs, who had abandoned her post at Miranda's side in the most beautiful city in the world last month, and suffered exactly zero consequences for it.
Emily had never been to Paris. At this rate, she wouldn't live long enough to make it next year. Miranda had been running her ragged, all the while stabbing Emily with quietly delivered insults on an hourly basis.
But none was worse than being called Andrea.
Remarkably, Miranda had seemed horrified at her slip. Her face turned to stone, and Emily thought for sure she'd blushed.
Emily knew why, and it made her ill.
Her powerful, brilliant, radiant boss was hung up on her former piddly little assistant. An assistant who'd been too obtuse to pick up on the obvious signals Miranda sent out, and foolishly walked away. When she left, Emily had to reassemble the pieces of a woman known to destroy lives when suffering from something as inconsequential as a hangnail.
Add a broken heart to the mix and all bets were off.
Emily had seen the chemistry between them. She couldn't deny it; like a Pandora's Box, once known, it was impossible to ignore. Emily had been shocked since Stephen had still been skulking about, but the night of the annual benefit, the truth finally set in.
Emily told no one. There was nothing she could do about it except keep trying her best and hope that Miranda would notice her dedication. Emily wanted a career in fashion, one that did not include running for coffee fourteen times a day and hauling skirts up and down Fifth Avenue every night of her life.
Not like silly Andy, who wanted to be a journalist.
Idiot. Emily didn't know what Miranda saw in her. But to her credit, Andy had grown on Emily, and really, she'd done any number of nice things for her over time. But still. Everything came so bloody easy for her it was enough to make a girl insane.
"Emily," Miranda said from the inner office. It was almost a whisper, and the sound of it made Emily want to quiver in terror.
Emily stood and swallowed her fear. She stepped into the office. "Yes, Miranda."
"Go home." Miranda did not look up from the Book.
Emily's mouth opened, and five questions sprang to mind. She asked none of them. "Yes, Miranda." She hurried back to her desk and shut her computer down, ignoring the hollow space in her stomach. She refused to feel badly for Miranda, not after the way she'd been treated for the past month. But there was a vacancy to Miranda's expression that awakened something akin to sympathy in her.
Emily knew what it was like to love someone who didn't love you back.
Before she left, she glanced into the office briefly. Miranda was staring out the window, the frown lines across her brow more pronounced than usual.
Something had to change, as soon as possible.
---
THE TWINS.
Cassidy listened from the staircase, and waved to Caroline. "She's coming! Let's go!"
They raced down the stairs to greet their mother, whose key rattled in the door.
"Mom!" Caroline squealed. They'd hardly seen Miranda all weekend, and it was Sunday night. They wanted only an hour of her time. Was that too much to ask?
"Hello, Bobbsey," Miranda said to both of them, touching their heads as they hugged her.
Cassidy furtively glanced at Caroline. Their mother's tone told them all they needed to know: she was sad. When she was sad, she withdrew. It was awful. And it had been that way for a while.
After much private discussion of Stephen and the divorce, the girls had dismissed him as the main cause for concern. The marriage had been coming to a close for a long time, and they doubted Miranda had been surprised to be served with papers. Besides, they never liked Stephen much anyway. He was such a whiner.
In the end, Cassidy was the one who figured it out.
"Emily's delivering the book now. Andy's gone."
Caroline had stared at her. "No way. You really think that's it?"
Cassidy nodded. "Mom used to talk about Andy all the time, remember? She hasn't said her name once since she got back from Paris. You think she fired her?"
With a sigh, Caroline furrowed her brow. "Maybe. But I don't know. Andy always did everything right. She'd have to do something really bad for Mom to fire her."
"I guess. It's weird." Cassidy narrowed her eyes, and Caroline got nervous. When her sister got that look, it never ended well. "I know. You ask Mom about Andy. Tell her you have a project you need help with."
"Me? Uh-uh. You do it," Caroline insisted.
"No, it has to be you. She'll know I have an ulterior motive."
Caroline rolled her eyes. "No way."
For the next minute, Cassidy tickled her until she relented.
Three days later, Caroline asked Miranda about Andy. She watched her mother's face, expecting nothing out of the ordinary. But Cassidy had been right; her expression was pained for a few unguarded moments before the anguish disappeared behind the usual mask. "Andrea can't help you with your science project, darling. She's gone."
Caroline's mouth dropped open. "You fired her?"
Her mother's eyes hardened and glared suspiciously at Caroline. "No. Emily will help you. That's all."
Miranda never used her signature dismissal with her daughters unless she was really upset. So that had been the end of that.
Tonight, they hoped that Miranda would be cheerful, or that she could at least fake it for a little while. Caroline tried first. "We kept dinner warm for you. Come into the kitchen and sit with us."
Miranda exhaled. "Mommy's very tired tonight and has to be up early tomorrow morning."
Caroline's lip quivered, and Cassidy couldn't abide it any longer, especially since she doubted her mother had eaten dinner. "Mom, please? Just a few minutes?"
Miranda touched her cheek. "Isn't it past your bedtime?"
Caroline hugged her mother tightly around the waist once. When she let go, she ran up the stairs, wiping tears from her eyes. Cassidy stared up at her mother. "Whatever. G'night."
Cassidy stomped as loudly as she could up the stairs, ignoring her mother's plaintive, "Bobbsey?" She went to Caroline's room and crawled onto the bed with her. They held each other for a few minutes until Caroline's tears ebbed.
"I can't stand it anymore," Cassidy said with finality. "We're going to fix this."
"How?" Caroline whimpered. "We don't have Andy's number. And maybe she's not even why mom's so sad!"
Cassidy simply shook her head, determined to solve the problem. "We'll think of something. Just wait."
---
EMILY, CASSIDY & CAROLINE.
Emily unlocked the door Tuesday night, hoisting the dry cleaning in one hand and the book in the other. Her walking cast had just come off, and her leg was weak but functioning. After unloading everything, she arranged the book artfully on the table between the vases of tulips and prepared to go.
"Emily!" someone whispered. A flurry of quiet footsteps followed. "Emily, we have to talk to you."
It was Cassidy and Caroline. Emily still couldn't tell which was which, but she assumed the chatty one was Cassidy. "I've got to go. Another time," Emily answered, unwilling to believe the girls had something to say that she was interested in.
"No, now!" One of them grabbed her arm. "Please! Mom's acting like a crazy person, and we need your help."
That tempted Emily, but again, she'd been the butt of more pranks that she cared to count over the years. "Why should I trust you?"
Caroline rolled her eyes. "You mean Mom isn't acting bitchier than usual at work? Isn't that enough motivation?"
Emily narrowed her eyes. "I wouldn’t say that exactly," she sniffed. "Where’s the tape recorder?"
"I wouldn't say bitch into a recording I was going to give my mom, stupid. Now come on." The other twin grabbed Emily's free arm, and the two girls dragged her into the coat closet.
Sadly, Emily noted that this closet was larger than her only bathroom, and there was plenty of room alongside the dozens of coats hung up around them. "Fine. Go."
The twin on the left took a deep breath. "We think Mom misses Andy."
Emily's mouth dropped open. "What?"
"She's gone, and Mom's depressed. She's sad every night when she comes home. Did you know she started getting The New York Mirror delivered to the house every day? Isn't that enough of a signal?"
Emily did not know that little factoid. It was almost tragic. "I didn't know. How did you find out where Andy's working?"
The one she thought was Cassidy rolled her eyes in an unpleasant fashion that reminded Emily of Miranda. "Google, dummy."
"I suggest you stop insulting my intelligence or you won't get a thing out of me. All right?" The girl nodded. "What do you want me to do about it?"
"We want to get them together. You know, make them run into each other and lock them in a room. That works in the movies sometimes. They'll have a big fight and then get all their arguing out, and then they'll make up. It's the perfect plan!"
Emily didn't want to think about what it would look like if Andy and Miranda made up in a locked room. She shivered, both mortified and titillated. "How am I supposed to do that?"
The probable Cassidy crossed her arms angrily. "You're the grown up. You figure it out."
The other one handed Emily two business cards. "These have our cellphone numbers and email addresses. Mom doesn't have access to them. We're totally serious, Emily. I don't know if Mom was just friends with Andy or if she went gay all of a sudden, but I don't care. I just want her back. Everything's been shit lately and I'm tired of it." The girl sniffled. "Besides, Christmas is coming and I want good presents. If Mom's distracted, she's not going to pay attention to all the hints we're dropping."
Emily thought that sounded like an appropriate explanation. She actually believed them. "Well, I'll look into it."
The girls gave one another high-fives. "Awesome. Thanks, Emily. We will owe you bigtime."
Now that the girls had brought it up, the answer to all of Emily's problems seemed to be glaring her in the face the entire time. Get Andy back in the picture and Miranda calms down, at least to a dull roar. It might be helpful to have an inside man, or men, to achieve her goal. She tucked the cards in her tiny clutch and gave them a nod. "I'll contact you when I have information."
"Ditto," the one on the right said. "We know your number."
---
Part II.