Secret Santa Fic: Lost and Found (pt. 1), NC17, The Devil Wears Prada, (Miranda/Andy)
Title: Lost and Found
Author: UbiquitousMixie
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: The Devil Wears Prada
Pairing: Miranda/Andy
Disclaimer: Miranda and Andy belong to Lauren Weisberger and 20th Century Fox.
Summary: Melanacious requested the following prompt: "After Runway Andy leaves for Ohio maybe as a vacation or for a sick family member but Miranda here's through the grapevine that she's leaving and thinks she's leaving for good. Incensed that Andy is throwing away her job at the Mirror (but actually afraid of happiness slipping away) Miranda works herself into a snit and tracks Andy down for a confrontation and with every intention of dragging her back, kick-n-screaming if need be, to New York. Confessions are blurted in an unguarded moment of heated words. And smut. Lots and lots of smut ensues. Oh no they're not involved romantically prior to this."
Author's Note: Merry Christmas, melanacious (and to the rest of my readers!) I really hope that you all enjoy this story - I went all out, and this is the second longest fic that I've ever written! I'm very proud and nervous and excited. Please comment! Comments are LOVE!
---
Miranda Priestly opened the New York Times with a snap, suppressing a smirk as her second assistant jumped at the sound. The mousy blonde -- Alice? Alyssa? -- precariously set the searing Starbucks cup on her desk and scurried away. Miranda busied herself with stock updates, setting the paper onto the glass surface so she could reach for the coffee.
She took a sip. The liquid burned her tongue.
Perfect.
At least the new girl didn't screw that up. All of her second assistants had been extremely disappointing since-- No. It would not do to work herself up by thinking of the ungrateful woman who had all but abandoned her.
She heard Nigel's approach before she saw him, glancing up to confirm her heightened aural awareness. He perched himself on Emily's desk and gave her an appreciative once-over. Miranda turned back to her paper.
"Love the Galliano," Nigel said, his voice slightly above a whisper. "I don't remember seeing that in The Closet."
"Actually," Emily began, her voice dropping, "Andrea gave it to me. One of her Parisian cast-offs."
Miranda's ears tingled at the mention of the girl's name. She strained to listen, forcing her eyes to remain fixed on the newspaper.
"I saw her the other day," Nigel mentioned.
"Did you?"
"Mmm. She was on assignment or something, interviewing people on the street. Can you imagine? We had coffee."
"She's still at that newspaper, then?"
"Yes, though who knows for how much longer. She looked completely worn out. She mentioned something about going home to the Midwest for a while."
Emily scoffed. "The girl leaves a perfectly good set-up for the job of her dreams and then runs away from it six months later? Shocking."
"Maybe she'd be better suited for small-town journalism. New York City is a back-breaking mistress…not many can keep up."
"Ohio can have her."
"Now now, don't be catty. Deep down, under that hard English exterior, beats a soft spot for the doe-eyed girl."
"I have no sympathy for her, leaving me to deal with," her voice dropped an octave, "Miranda's insufferable moods and twelve different replacements."
"Chin up, Red. At least you have things better than Andy Sachs."
Miranda pursed her lips, turning her chair to face the window as Nigel excused himself to return to his office.
So. Andrea Sachs had run away from Runaway. She'd run away from Miranda. And now she was running away from The New York Mirror.
That wouldn't do.
That wouldn't do at all.
---
Andy Sachs dropped her bag in front of the staircase, the loud thud resounding through the empty house.
"Honey, I'm home!"
After a minute or two of awkward silence, a faint "meow" called from the top of the stairs. Andy smiled at the sight of the white feline head that popped around the corner.
"Hey, Lady Mac! Come see Mummy!"
The white Egyptian Mau licked its paw and resumed her nap.
"Brat."
Andy shuffled down the hall, flicking on the light as she entered the kitchen. She saw a stack of twenty-dollar bills and rolled her eyes, reaching for the phone. Her mother answered after two rings.
"Hi, honey!"
"Hey Mom," Andy said, reaching into the refrigerator for a Diet Coke. "What's up with this money on the counter?"
"Oh, well we wanted you to be able to get take out or pick up a few things, especially since we're not there."
"You didn't need to do that."
"We don't have to do anything, but it's not often that our baby girl comes home…And to think we're not even there!"
"You'll see me next week. You and Dad never get the chance to get away."
Andy's mother sighed into the phone. "The mountains will be here…"
"And so will I, next Tuesday. Seriously. You and Dad just enjoy your ski trip. You deserve it."
"Are you all set up at the house?"
"I just got in, but I'll be fine."
"There are fresh towels in the--"
"Mom. I lived here for eighteen years. I know where the towels are."
"No need to be short, Andrea."
Andy sighed and rested her head on the counter. "I'm sorry. It's been a long week. I'm just really glad to be home and to have a little bit of quiet time before I go back to New York."
"Enjoy yourself. There's plenty of firewood, the hot tub's good to go -- just relax. You've earned this break."
Andy sighed again, tears prickling in her eyes. "Thanks, Mom."
"You sound tired, sweety. Why don't you fix yourself a sandwich and get some rest?"
"Yea," Andy replied, wiping a stray tear. "Yea, I think I'll do that."
"I'll call and check in tomorrow."
"Mmhmm, sounds good. Love you."
"Love you too. Your father says he misses you."
"Ditto." She sniffled. "Bye."
After resting the phone back in its cradle, Andy rested her head against her forearm and cried, months of loneliness, dissatisfaction, and yearning draining from her exhausted body.
---
There was a great deal of work to be done. There were calls to be made, memos to be typed, notes to be written, proposals to be approved. Under typical circumstances, there would be at least two hours worth of work to do before Miranda's day could be considered complete.
However, Miranda Priestly stared blankly at a particularly atrocious page of The Book, her frown lines deepening as she acknowledged her lack of concentration.
She pushed The Book aside, finally giving in to her persistent train of thought.
Andrea had left New York, perhaps for good.
This detail should not bother her.
But it did.
Miranda left the study in which she worked. She considered going upstairs to see the twins but knew they'd be asleep by now. She turned in the other direction and wandered into the library, which had previously served as Stephen's sanctuary.
She glanced around the dimly lit room, unperturbed by how little his presence remained. With his effects no longer scattered about the room, the library looked as though its only inhabitants were the characters in the books it housed. It was a shame, really; she and her first husband had spent years collecting first editions of the world's most distinguished literature and now it was going to waste.
Miranda used to be a great reader but had little time for it now. The girls were not yet of the age where books interested them, though Cassidy was becoming increasingly more enraptured with creative writing.
Andrea would love this room.
Miranda exhaled sharply through her nose, seating herself on window seat. She stared at her knees, counting the pinstripes in her loose Chanel slacks, but sat back against the throw pillow when numbers morphed into the brunette's face.
Why should her mind betray her now? It wasn't as if they were close. They were not friends. She was not even particularly convinced that Andrea liked her. But Miranda was…fond of the girl. She had begrudgingly admitted this to herself after many sleepless nights and many uncomfortable, fitful dreams.
Why the fact of her fondness was nagging so purposefully at her now was beyond Miranda's comprehension. A woman did not need companionship to survive.
A woman like Miranda certainly didn't need companionship with a former employee. Why, of all people, she seemed so particularly attached to Andrea Sachs confused her to no end. She knew nothing of her, nothing that wasn't documented and filed away. Miranda knew the basic statistics but not one detail about the girl's life. She didn't know what books she liked to read. She didn't know what her favorite flower was. She didn't know what her fears were.
To Miranda's chagrin, she hated not knowing these details.
She knew Andrea the assistant. She knew a beautiful, wide-eyed girl bristling with talent and an unbreakable will to succeed. Miranda shivered as she remembered the electric vibrancy of Andrea's determination. It was refreshing, exhilarating.
Miranda knew that on paper and in her work ethic that Andrea Sachs was her match.
She exhaled again, a line of hot breath fogging the window against which she leaned. She glanced now out the window, watching the snow falling over her garden. An uncharacteristic wistful melancholy settled upon her then. Miranda rolled her eyes at her own weakness.
Why should a woman she barely knew dismantle her so thoroughly?
It was clear to Miranda that she would need to find out.
---
Andy readjusted the straps of the navy and turquoise one-piece bathing suit and raised her eyebrows as she looked at herself in the vanity mirror. She glanced behind her where Lady Macbeth was perched on the end of the bed, looking appalled at Andy's choice of hot tub attire.
"Oh come on," Andy said, turning to pet the cat behind the ears. "I have nothing else. This thing is like eight years old."
Lady Macbeth mewled and licked Andy's hand.
"Yea yea. No one's here to judge me but you, ya old brat."
The cat swiped at her hand.
"Who made you the fashion police? You can't boss me around, missy. It's not like you're Miranda Priestly."
A tingle coursed down her spine at the mention of her former boss and Andy shook it off as she ventured into the hallway, grabbing a towel from the closet. She headed downstairs, rummaging through the stack of magazines on the coffee table. She tucked a recent issue of The New Yorker under her arm and shook her head when she noticed the latest issue of Runway at the bottom of the pile. She'd have to ask her mother why she continued to subscribe to a magazine that Andy no longer worked for and, more importantly, never wrote for.
Without thinking about it, Andy grabbed the issue.
Once she had eased herself into the hot tub with a glass of Zinfandel, Andy felt immediately better. She leaned her head back and sighed as the steam dampened her flesh. This was exactly what she needed.
A thick wave of guilt washed over her. She clenched her eyes tightly, hoping for it to pass quickly. Her skin prickled, her shoulders tensed.
Taking a deep breath, Andy counted to ten and opened her eyes. She felt a little better after moving in front of one of the jets, the water pounding therapeutically into her back. She took a sip of her wine and tried to relax.
There was nothing wrong with taking time off, she reminded herself. Guilt boiled in her stomach as she remembered that she'd had a week off only a month and a half before when she came home to celebrate the holidays. She considered it a sign of epic weakness that she needed another break so soon.
But Andy was human. And working over 60 hours a week as a cub reporter with very few benefits was taking its toll.
She knew she was being taken advantage of; it was like Runway all over again. She was being worked to the bone and she was getting nowhere in advancing her career. She spent her days chasing the cast-off stories that the star reporters at the Mirror didn't want and she forced herself to do it with a smile. She'd be damned if she didn't project a cheery, grateful persona.
It wasn't as though she hated her job. She loved the fast-paced world of journalism but, somehow, she expected more. She expected to be a little more fulfilled than this. She had nothing in New York. Lily and Doug barely talked to her. Nate was gone. Her landlord didn't allow pets in her building so any hope of cat-napping Lady Macbeth was extinguished.
Andy was lonely. She worked herself to death because she came home to an empty apartment. The empty bed depressed her. It wasn't that she missed Nate. She missed having someone there, someone who cared whether or not she showed up at the end of the day. Someone whose face brightened just by looking at her.
Andy frowned and took a large swallow from her glass. What was the point of analyzing her life when she had worked so hard to run away from it for a week? The point of this vacation was to decompress. To regroup. To get her shit together long enough to last until the next vacation, until the next big break.
Until her life took a turn for the better.
With a resigned sigh, Andy reached for one of the magazines on the ledge of the hot tub, careful not to dip the edges in the water. Runway.
She examined the front cover, rolling her eyes at the sight of the boxy, skeletal girl. What was beautiful about this girl? She looked hungry. And sickly. It made Andy cringe. And want to eat an entire cheesecake.
She flipped through several pages of ads, appreciatively eyeing up a Marc Jacobs handbag and skimming over the table of contents, before settling on the page devoted to the Letter from the Editor.
Andy's eyes immediately honed in on the offset image of Miranda. This month's photo of the magazine's editor-in-chief had her perched on the edge of her desk, arms crossed regally in front of her chest. She wore an off-the-shoulder cream blouse, hung modestly over her chest, and a black pencil skirt. Her long legs were crossed at the ankles, her feet encased in what appeared to be Jimmy Choos. Hell, they could be Payless for all Andy knew or cared.
Miranda did not smile in this photograph; her lips were pursed slightly and her eyes were stern, staring past the frame of the image. It was almost as if she sought to look into the souls of every reader and expose some hidden truth, some undiscovered yearning. Andy supposed that it was meant to say, "You cannot possibly achieve what I have, but perhaps a fraction of this greatness may be yours."
This picture -- no, Miranda herself -- did not inspire her to spend her rent money on couture. Miranda Priestly somehow made Andy want to be a better version of herself. Months of working as Miranda's assistant revealed that it wasn't so much about proving her worth and ability to Miranda; it was about proving it to herself. At least she could thank Miranda for fine-tuning her work ethic.
Andy sighed, folding over the page so she could hold the magazine with one hand while reaching for her wine with the other. She swirled the liquid around her mouth, rolling it around with her tongue, while she studied the photograph. She stared at the familiar lines of Miranda's face, the shape of her mouth, the slope of her nose, the curve of her cheekbones. A warmth settled in the pit of her stomach and a pleasurable throb hummed between her thighs.
With a gasp of surprise at her body's response, Andy dropped the magazine.
"Shit!" She snatched it up, holding the dripping pages in front of her. Water soaked into the picture and she pursed her lips.
This wasn't exactly what she had in mind when she pictured a wet Miranda.
Andy wiped a light sheen of sweat from her brow, puffing her cheeks as she let out an exaggerated exhale. Thinking about a wet Miranda, especially while water jets massaged into her lower back and while she was drinking wine and while she was more than a little mentally vulnerable, was so not a good idea.
Memories of countless nights of similar thoughts came flooding back. She leaned her heavy head back against the ledge of the hot tub and groaned.
Lady Macbeth's small white head appeared, nudging at Andy's hand and pulling her from her inappropriate thoughts.
She turned her head and opened her eyes. "So I have a thing for my former boss. So what?"
The cat nuzzled her nose against Andy's knuckles.
"Of course I know it's wrong. She treated me like crap when I worked for her. I know my attraction is completely irrational."
The cat stared at her, her large eyes unblinking.
"Please don't give me a hard time, Lady Mac. I feel weird enough about the whole thing as it is. What kind of sane person has feelings for a woman twice her age?" She scratched absentmindedly at the cat's back. "She's probably not even a woman. I'm pretty sure she's a pod person. A really hot pod person." She raised her eyebrow at the cat. "Come on, she is. Take a look at that picture. You'll agree with me. She's a damn good-looking woman. It's too bad she's evil."
Guilt pooled once more in her stomach. "You're right. She's not evil. She's just…dedicated to her work. And a little addicted to power." She pursed her lips. "You know, you're a smart cat. She's just misunderstood."
The Egyptian Mau licked at Andy's thumb, meowing loudly before heading back towards the kitchen. Andy groaned again and dropped her head against her arm. "I've lost it. I'm conversing with cats and daydreaming about my old boss and uggggghhhaaaaah!"
She drained the rest of her glass and, her mind full of resolve, told herself to give up thinking about Miranda Priestly.
What was the point of fantasizing about a lost cause?
---
"Mom, when are you coming back?"
"I'll be back on Sunday evening, darling. You'll hardly notice that Mummy's gone."
"Yea, but it's boring at Dad's."
Miranda smirked at the insult to her ex-husband. "You and Cassidy will have plenty to keep you occupied. You've packed your violins, haven't you?"
"Yea, but Dad hates it."
"All the more reason to practice, dear."
Caroline laughed. There was a slight muffled sound and Miranda knew that the phone was being passed to Cassidy. As suspected, the other twin said, "Where are you going, anyway?"
Miranda paused. "To the Midwest. I have to visit a…colleague."
The sound of a woman clearing her voice drew Miranda's attention to the flight attendant that stood by her seat. "Ma'am, we're going to need you to fasten your seatbelt and turn off your phone as we prepare for take off."
Miranda glared archly, raising an eyebrow until the flight attendant cowered and moved on.
"What was that?" Cassidy asked.
"Some insipid flight attendant. Mummy is going to have to go now. I expect both of you to be on your best behavior, is that clear?"
"Yes, Mom." The phone exchanged hands and Caroline spoke, "Will you bring something back?"
Miranda was silent for a moment before answering. "I certainly hope so, darling."
In unison, both twins shouted, "Love you!"
Miranda smiled. "I love you both." Switching off her Blackberry, Miranda glared at the flight attendant as she passed and fastened the seat belt across her lap. She propped her hand on her chin and pursed her lips, staring out at JFK International Airport. People bustled about, rushing to luggage carriers and trucks, hastening to beat the snow as it began to fall in a dizzy pattern.
The light of the plane's interior shone on the window as the New York sky receded into purple and blue. The lustrous glow cast Miranda's reflection upon the glass. She blinked, studying her image, and wondered who Andrea would see when she stood on her doorstep. Would she see Miranda as she'd been in Paris, vulnerable and manipulative? Or would she see Miranda as she was now, weakened by feelings that she couldn't explain?
Miranda was not a woman who was accustomed to fear. She lived her life with a fair amount of certainty and confidence.
Andrea Sachs deconstructed everything Miranda knew. She wondered how willing the young woman would be to put her back together.
---
Andy flipped off the blow dryer, sliding her fingers through her slightly frizzy hair. She pouted, rearranging a few locks of hair and brushing the dark brown strands out of her face. She shook her hair, emulating the women in the hair commercials, hoping that her mane might just magically become fabulous and cooperative instead of lank and wild. She rolled her eyes at her attempt and pulled it back into a loose ponytail.
Hanging her towel on the bar in the bathroom, she padded barefoot down the hall into her bedroom. She slipped into a pair of zebra print cotton boyshorts and a white camisole. She hummed to herself as she reached into her drawer for a large, bulky hand-knit charcoal gray sweater that her aunt had given her, shrugging it over her shoulders. Her lounging ensemble was completed by a pair of black and white argyle knee socks.
Andy pursed her lips in thought as she studied her bookshelf, selecting at random a stack of books that she'd never had time to read. Novels in hand, she headed for the living room where she lit candles, turned on a quiet jazz station, and fetched a steaming mug of black tea.
"This is perfect, Lady Mac," Andy said, settling into the large, overstuffed cushions of the sofa. She snuggled back, grinning, as the cat curled up on her feet. "I can't think of a better way to spend a mental health break, can you?" She wiggled her toes, stroking the cat's belly. Lady Mac purred. "Didn't think so."
As Andy reached for the book at the top of the pile, The Alchemist by Paulo Coehlo, she frowned to hear the faint crunching of tires against the salted road. "Who could that be?"
She strained in her attempt to ascertain whether or not the car had stopped at her house or at a neighbor's, and with a sigh she heaved herself off the couch and skipped to the window.
"Who the hell do we know that drives a blue BMW?"
---
Miranda tapped impatiently at the steering wheel, peeved at the knots furling uncomfortably in her abdomen. She was acting like a teenager before the prom, and for heaven's sake, Miranda Priestly did not get nervous over another human being.
As if to prove to herself that she was beyond such displays of human feeling, Miranda hoisted her Chanel purse over her shoulder and stepped out of the car.
Actually facing the house was a different story. As she rounded the BMW, she stood in front of the white two-story home, her breath hitching painfully in her chest as she noticed Andrea standing at the window. The curtain rustled and she was gone.
Miranda climbed the walk, her Christian Lou's slipping as they met ice. She caught her balance as Andrea pulled opened the front door.
Miranda's lips parted as she saw her former second assistant standing before her, a lumpy sweater covering her torso and barely reaching mid-thigh. Her large eyes were wider than usual, clearly conveying her shock at seeing Miranda again. She crossed her arms protectively in front of her chest.
"Miranda?"
"Andrea."
Andrea opened her mouth as if to speak and promptly closed it again. She repeated the motion several times, her uncertainty endearingly adorable to Miranda, before cocking her head to the side. "Um. Why are you here?"
Before Miranda could respond, a flash of white shot out the door.
"No! Shit! Catch that cat!"
Miranda furrowed her brow, staring indignantly at Andrea as she quickly jumped into a pair of men's snow boots. Rather than disrupt her iconic cool exterior, Miranda crouched as the cat bolted in her direction and scooped it into her arms, scrunching her nose as its wet paws clung to her Dior jacket.
Andrea was clearly surprised by Miranda's help and unceremoniously tripped over the untied laces, toppling forward ungracefully. Miranda surged forward.
"Are you--"
Andrea winced as she stood, brushing salt and dirt from her knees. "Yes. I'm fine. And mortified."
"Don't be."
Andrea raised her eyebrows at that. "I just fell on my face."
"It's not as though I wasn't previously aware of your accident prone tendencies." Miranda tugged at the cat, whose claws sunk deeper into the suede. "I believe this is yours."
"Right. Uh, thanks. For catching her, I mean. She's an indoor cat." Andrea stepped forward, her hand brushing against Miranda's collarbone as she extracted the cat from her jacket. She stepped back, looking down at a leg that she extended, and pouted as she noticed that her knee was bleeding.
"May I come in?" Miranda asked. Under normal circumstances she'd have already been inside, but felt in this situation that imposing herself in such a situation would not aide in her conversation with the younger woman. As Andrea eyed her wearily, Miranda added, "I come in peace."
Andrea nodded and walked into the house, standing by the door as she allowed Miranda to pass her.
"Am I interrupting?" Miranda asked, motioning to Andrea's attire. Her stomach constricted painfully as she considered that she had perhaps disrupted Andrea while she was entertaining. Her face burned.
"Just a hot date with a book and a cup of tea," Andrea responded, bending to allow the cat to jump out of her arms. "Can I take your coat?"
Miranda hooked her purse onto the banister of the staircase and motioned to pull her jacket off, frowning as she noticed the dirt and claw marks. Andrea's gaze followed and she gasped, rushing forward.
"Oh God, I'm so sorry. I didn't think -- Dammit, I'm so sorry, Miranda!" Andrea smoothed her fingers over the suede, brushing off the dirt and pressing down the pick marks as if she could undo the damage. Miranda's body tingled pleasantly under Andrea's touch before she shook her head.
"No matter," she said dismissively, shrugging her shoulders and handing the jacket to Andrea. She watched as the younger woman placed it on the coat rack. "You should clean that knee up before you get an infection."
"Hmm? Oh. Right." Andrea shuffled nervously. "Um, why don't you sit in the living room while I grab a bandaid?"
"And rubbing alcohol. To clean it out."
"Right." She pointed towards the living room and walked down the hall.
Miranda watched her go, her eyes fixed on the flash of ivory thigh and the sway of her hips. She inhaled deeply and entered the comfortable-looking living room, her eyes scanning the layout of the room. She observed the tea and stack of books, the pictures on the mantle, the cat staring from atop an ottoman.
She had absolutely no idea what to expect when Andrea returned.
She'd never been more terrified in her life.
---
"Ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygod," Andy chanted, flipping on the light switch with trembling hands. She pressed a hand to her pounding heart, breathing deeply. She looked into the mirror, half-expecting to see some sort of spooky reflection or hazy spirals -- something, anything -- to indicate that she were dreaming.
But she was definitely not dreaming.
Miranda Priestly was in her fucking living room, and Andy was half dressed, and why the hell was Miranda there?
She took another deep breath, aware of the fact that she'd never find out if she continued to freak out in her bathroom. She attempted a few yogic breathing techniques, rolling her shoulders and cracking her knuckles.
"Be cool, Andy. Jeez, it's just Miranda." She rolled her eyes at herself. "Ugh. That's the problem. And now I'm talking to myself. Perfect."
She looked under the sink, moving around packages of toilet paper and cleaning products as she searched for the first aid kit. Frowning, she looked in the medicine cabinet, shuffling around her parents' effects before glancing at the shelf above the toilet. She spotted the kit and reached for it.
Rather than stand on the toilet seat, Andy stood on the tips of her toes, elongating her frame as she grabbed at the case. True to form, she knocked over bottles of shampoo and shaving cream. She shrieked as the bottles fell and hit the floor and sprang back as the first aid kit toppled down at her.
"Shitshitshit. Way to go, Andy. Waaay to go." She crouched down, muttering to herself, shaking her head at her clumsiness. "Trash the entire house and the rest of your body while your at it, why don't you?"
Before she could respond to her own question, the sound of Miranda clearing her throat caused her to jump. She spun around, dropping a bottle of shampoo once more. "Oh. Hi."
"Are you all right? I heard you cry out. I was…concerned."
Concerned? What the hell was going on? "No, I just knocked a few things over. I'm fine."
Miranda raised an eyebrow. "Obviously you're not fine if you've had two accidents in the span of fifteen minutes. Sit on the sink."
Andy stared at her.
"Sit."
Against her better judgment, Andy hopped onto the ledge of the sink, watching in a daze as her former boss picked up the fallen bottles and the first aid kit. She placed them on the sink behind Andy, her hand dangerously close to Andy's thigh, before opening the kit. With dexterous precision she opened a bottle of rubbing alcohol and a cotton ball.
"Knee."
Andy robotically lifted her leg, her eyes widening as Miranda began to dab at the laceration. She held the back of her calf, pressing her leg into her stomach to steady it as she cleaned out the wound. Andy hissed, unsure if the alcohol or the close proximity had caused the involuntary reaction. She studied the older woman's features, an octopus of tenderness squirming in her abdomen. A loose lock of silver hair fell over her brow, her blue eyes focused intently on the task at hand.
Miranda wiped for several moments after the cut was sufficiently cleaned, gently brushing her thumb against her leg before peering for the trash. "Uh, it's over there," Andy said, her voice breaking slightly as she pointed behind Miranda. Miranda disposed of the cotton ball and looked in the plastic container, shuffling around a few things before pulling out a bandaid. She unwrapped it and raised an eyebrow.
"Cinderella?"
Andy blushed furiously. "I have nieces."
Miranda, to Andy's surprise, chuckled as she placed the bandaid on Andy's skin. Her fingers tickled against her flesh and Andy shivered harshly, a surge of heat rocking her core.
"Good as new."
"Thank you. You didn't have to, but thank you."
"I know." Miranda studied her face. "You don't have to look so surprised, you know."
"Well, it's just that…well, you just don't come off as the nurturing type."
Miranda straightened her back, squaring her shoulders defensively. "I'm a mother of two young girls who are as graceful as newborn foals."
"Yea, but still…"
"I'm not completely heartless, Andrea."
"I see that." Andy looked up, her bangs tickling her eyebrows. She gripped the sink, watching Miranda as Miranda watched her. "Why are you here, Miranda?"
"We need to talk."
Andy looked down at her knees. "You could have called, you know," she said quietly.
"I preferred not to risk you hanging up on me."
Andy furrowed her brow stubbornly. "What makes you think--"
Miranda rolled her eyes. "Says the woman who threw her phone into a Parisian fountain like a petulant child."
Andy opened her mouth to protest but found, to her dismay, that Miranda was right. "So flying to Ohio seemed like the only logical option?"
"I didn't think you'd turn me away. You are equally polite and curious. I assumed I'd have a better chance of getting through to you." Miranda cocked her head to the side. "Perhaps we should leave the bathroom?"
Leave it to Miranda to invite Andy into her own living room. "Uh, yea." She hopped off the sink and followed Miranda down the hall, taking her seat on the sofa. To her surprise, Miranda sat at the other end of the couch rather than in the chair across from her. "How did you know I was here?"
"One hears things," Miranda replied, looking away.
"But who would -- Ooooh. Nigel said something, didn't he?"
"Indirectly."
"Go figure."
"Andrea," Miranda said pointedly, her eyes staring into her own. "You left. Again."
Andy scrunched her forehead in confusion. What the hell? "Miranda, I'm sorry, but you're really going to need to spell this one out for me. I have no idea what you're talking about."
"You left Runway. And now it would appear that you're leaving The Mirror. After all I've done to help you advance, you're leaving."
"What? I'm not lea-- wait. After all you've done? Are you serious?" She sat up, her agitated body leaning forward at Miranda's suggestion.
"You'd never have gotten that job if it hadn't been for my recommendation. You can't deny that."
"Miranda, you told my boss that I was a huge disappointment! And you called him an idiot! How was that helpful in any way?"
"Obviously he proved me wrong. He hired you, didn't he?"
"That's beside the point! He could have easily shown me to the door!"
"But he didn't. You're the one missing the point, Andrea. Despite the fact that you walked out on me, I helped you." Miranda looked away, staring at the window. "Against my better judgment it would seem."
"Miranda." Andy sighed, completely at a loss as to where to begin. "I walked out on the job. Not on you."
Miranda's eyes met hers, her expression unrecognizable. Andy realized that she'd give her left arm to know what Miranda was thinking at that moment. She waited several moments and when Miranda didn't respond, she continued. "I'm not--what exactly did Nigel say to you?"
Miranda seemed reluctant to foreclose the details. "He inferred that you weren't adjusting to your position."
"And?"
"He seemed to believe that you were leaving New York."
"Aah." She thought back to the day she'd met him on the street. It had been a particularly crummy day; she'd been freezing and running all over the damn city on fruitless leads that never panned out. She'd been frustrated and fed up and completely at her wit's end. "I told him I was going home for a while."
"Yes."
"For a week."
Miranda's eyelids widened. "A week?"
"For a vacation," Andy responded.
"A vacation," Miranda repeated weakly. The color drained from her face.
"Miranda, did you think…" Andy blushed, her cheeks hot. "Why would it matter if I moved home?"
Miranda stood and turned away.
---
Part Two...