in_my_nature's journal

Fic: iTunes Challenge

Sat, 14 Feb 2009 14:30:31 GMT

Title: iTunes Challenge
Rating: C for Crack (but also bad language & sexually suggestive situations)
Pairing: a mixed bag to be sure
Summary: Thanks to kitnkabootle for the challenge! And thanks to everyone that’s posted theirs. I’m looking forward to reading them all along with the Valentines Day stories.
Disclaimer: I am not the creator of the characters in this story. That credit goes to Lauren Weisberger, for the novel she wrote in 2003 and to 20th Century Fox, for the movie produced in 2006.
A/N: This challenge was really hard! But it was fun and I enjoyed seeing where my mind went. I tried to correct these and apologize for any errors that remain. Between speed typing and ignoring punctuation in order to get my thoughts down, it was a hefty job.

{ Traveling Wilburys – End of the Line – 3:30 }

“Nigel?”

“Astute as ever kid, now let me in.”

“But, but, what the hell Nigel?”

“Do you have anything to eat? Who am I kidding, of course you do.”

Nigel threw his coat over the back of her ratty couch and proceeded to pillage the refrigerator. Through a mouthful of cottage cheese, he smiled at her.

“Miranda fired me. I’ve lost my job, my apartment, and thanks to this economy my savings. And it’s your fault.”

“My fault!”

“You were the one that pissed her off and on my account too. Thanks for the righteous indignation Andy. Seriously, thanks a lot. You couldn’t have just had hate sex and gotten it over with?”

Andy sputtered. “Hate sex?”

“Oh don’t tell me you didn’t fantasize. The both of you.” He motioned towards the couch. “Does that green monstrosity pull out?”

“What? No. Look Nigel as nice as this has been, I’m going back to bed and you’re leaving.”

“Think again six. I’m here to stay.”

“You’re drunk.”

“Maybe.” Nigel glided past her into the bedroom.

Andy shook herself and on autopilot bolted the door and turned the kitchen light off. She was too tired to deal with this right now.

She slipped off her robe and curled up on the opposite side of the bed from Nigel. Just as she started to relax, he snuggled up beside her.

“You’re spooning me Nigel.”

“Yep.”

“You’re not wearing pants.”

“Right again.”

“Did you bring a salami to bed with you?”

“Nope.”

“Ah, Nigel?”

“Tell me about Christian Thompson.”

{ Michael Franti & Spearhead – Say Hey (I Love You) – 3:56 }

“Are you going to tell me where we’re going now?”

“Not on your life.”

“Please.”

“No.”

They rode in silence through the traffic. If she shut her eyes and didn’t breathe, she could almost pretend that they weren’t in a cab. It reeked of stale sweat and pastrami. If she could only bottle the smell, she’d make a fortune; one whiff and you’d never want to eat again.

“If you won’t tell me where we’re going, at least tell me if I’m dressed appropriately.”

Serena turned her gaze from the window and slowly licked her from head to toe with her eyes. When she was finished she ran her tongue around her lips and smacked them together puckishly.

“Emily darling, if we weren’t in the back of a cab, I would eat you up this instant. You simply look delicious.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

Serena shook her head. “The only way you could be dressed more appropriately would be to wear nothing at all.”

The cab veered a little too hard to the left, jolting its occupants.

Emily used her best Miranda glare to chastise the driver. He looked apologetically into the rearview mirror.

“Ah sorry ‘bout that ladies. There was a wet pussy, ah I mean hot cunt, errr no sorry, sexy twat, goddammit! There was a, fuck. There was a cat in the road, sorry.”

Emily sniffed.

Serena smirked at her and returned to gazing out the window.

Minutes later, the cab pulled away from the curb to reveal a dirty little club across the street. No wonder Serena hadn’t told her where they going.

“Coming love?”

“I see why you kept quiet.”

“Do you know what’s missing from your life Emily?” Serena didn’t wait for her to answer. “Adventure. Now let’s samba until you break my delicate little English teacup.”

Emily admired the sway of Serena’s hips as she crossed the street. Thank god she had tivoed every episode of Dancing With The Stars.

{ Gomez – See the World – 4:04 }

Andy banged her head on the bar, oblivious to the look the bartender shot her. What had she done? Maybe she could fish the phone out of the fountain and beg Miranda’s forgiveness? No, that was out of the question.

And her life? Her life was over. Miranda would blacklist her.

Nate was probably packing up his shit as she sat here. Andy laughed. Nate. She couldn’t pretend to be sad that their relationship was over.

But how would she pay for the apartment on her own and without a job? She was not going back to Cincinnati.

Andy felt a hand on her shoulder and looked up.

She could feels her eyes turn into saucers at the familiar face. “Ms. Follet?”

“Jacqueline, please.”

“Okay, Jacqueline. Is there something I can do for you?”

“It’s Andrea right?”

She spoke her name in the same affected, drawn out way Miranda did. Her stomach roiled.

“Andy, please.”

“Andy. I like it better I think.” Jacqueline seemed to roll her abbreviated name around her tongue like a hard candy.

Andy liked the sound of it better too.

“Why are you not with Miranda?”

Tears pooled in her eyes. “I quit.”

“Oh, ma chère, no tears for that. You should be celebrating.” Jacqueline sat down beside her.

Andy studied the woman. She’d always liked her hair.

“Celebrating? You just lost out on a chance to be the editor of Runway. How can you say that?”

“I didn’t lose out, as you say. I chose another road. If I took Miranda’s position now, I would always be second best. You too.”

“I—”

Jacqueline shook her head and gave Andy a kind smile. “But let’s not speak of Miranda. So, you and Christian Thompson?”

“Let’s not speak of him either.”

“Yes, he is rather lacking as lovers go. Too caught up in himself and his own pleasure to be, effective. You agree, no?”

Andy groaned. “I agree, yes.”

“You and Miranda?” Jacqueline ran her finger lightly up and down Andy’s arm.

“What? No!”

Jacqueline gave her a knowing look.

“So what will you do now?”

“I have no idea.”

“You will need a plan.”

“And you’re going to help me with that I suppose?”

Jacqueline stood and offered her arm. A brief calculated smile that reminded her of Miranda played across Jacqueline’s face, but then it was gone. Jacqueline’s eyes sparkled.

Andy really did love her hair and she was younger than Miranda, perhaps second best was better than no best at all.

Andy stood and linked arms with the enemy. No, that wasn’t right. Jacqueline was Miranda’s enemy. Andy had always found her quite fetching in an exotic way.

She gave Jacqueline an impish grin. “Au revoir Miranda. Au revoir Andrea.”

Jacqueline’s laughter tickled her ear. “Now we celebrate.”

{ Billy Preston – Nothing from Nothing – 2:36 }

Nigel stood in the doorway and cleared his throat.

Miranda looked up from her desk. The glow from her laptop made her look positively demonic.

“Ah you’re here. Good. Thanks for coming Nigel.”

She motioned him in. The whole situation was just odd. Lights dimmed, no staff, he didn’t even remember seeing a security guard and at this hour certainly there should be a cleaning crew about.

“I won’t waste your time with niceties. It’s Friday night. It’s late. So I’ll cut right to the chase.”

Nigel nodded at her.

Miranda cleared her throat and for the briefest moment looked almost uncertain. “Stephen wants me to ‘peg’ him.”

“Excuse me?”

“Come now Nigel, surely you know what the term means.”

“I, yes Miranda, I know what it means. I just, forgive me, but, why am I here?”

“Practice of course. I had to look up the word myself. But I must say, the idea of ramming something up Stephen’s ass is the first sexually appealing thing he’s suggested in months.”

Nigel was shell-shocked. “Did you say practice?”

“Well, I certainly don’t want to be fumbling around with Stephen.” She reached into a paper bag at her feet and retrieved a black strap-on. “You’re gay. You know about these things. It’s only logical.”

“Yes I’m gay. G-A-Y, gay. I prefer the company of men. And if you think I’m going to—”

She cut him off with a roll of her eyes. “Oh please Nigel, you take it up the ass from me everyday. This is just a more literal translation of your job duties.”

He was incensed, but the idea of Miranda topping him began to niggle pleasantly at the back of his mind. It had been more than a while since he had any. And perhaps “any” was better than none at all.

“So what do you say, Nigel, are you up for it?”

He looked at her. “Make me your bitch Miranda.”

“Excellent.”

{ Depeche Mode – Blasphemous Rumors – 6:22 }

Andy wandered aimlessly for several minutes before heading in the direction of the hotel. What had she been thinking?

It didn’t matter. She wasn’t like Miranda. She wouldn’t be like Miranda. She had to stop thinking about Miranda. It made her chest hurt.

Walking into the hotel lobby she caught sight of a familiar bald head and glasses.

“Nigel.”

He turned slightly before stepping into the elevator. Andy ran to catch up with him and managed to dash in just as the doors closed.

She was a bit breathless. “Nigel, hi, I’m glad I caught up with you.”

“So am I. Miranda sent me back here to make sure you were packed and out of the hotel by the time she gets back.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, she mentioned something about you walking away without a word and tossing your phone in a fountain.” Nigel raised an imperious eyebrow.

“What choice did I have? I can’t do this anymore Nigel, not after what she did to you today.”

“Really? Well I hate to break it to you kid, you quit for nothing. Today was all part of an elaborate sex game between Miranda, Irv and I.”

The elevator doors pinged open. Andy was too stunned to move right away. She sprang out just before the doors closed and ran down the hall to where Nigel stood, impatiently drumming his fingers against her doorframe.

She fumbled for her room key. “A game?”

“Of course it’s a game. Irv likes to be dominated. Miranda likes to dominate.”

“What are you saying Nigel? Irv hates Miranda.” Andy finally got the door open.

“Sure he does, but that’s part of the fun. If Miranda can’t outsmart and out maneuver him in real life, what good would she be in the bedroom?” Nigel let the door swing shut behind him.

Andy knew her mouth was hanging open as she watched Nigel grab her suitcase. He began tossing her clothes into the bag.

“Where do I fit in you might ask? I’m just a big gay sissy boy with a diaper fetish. Sure Irv pretends to hate it when Miranda makes him diaper me, but I’ve seen the results. Rock hard is an understatement.”

Nigel paused to look at his nails. “I can’t wait for this evening. Maybe you’d like to join in Andy. I’m sure you’d be able to redeem yourself if you let Miranda piss in your mouth.”

He finally looked at her. “But judging from the way it’s been hanging open I’d say you already know how much of a turn on it is to get a golden shower from the ice queen.”

Andy snapped her mouth shut. “Nigel I can’t believe—“

“Believe what? Can’t believe that you quit your job for no good reason?” He walked into the bathroom. She could see his reflection in the mirror as he collected her toothbrush and shampoo and carelessly tossed them in her toiletries bag.

“That’s not true Nigel! I quite because of the way Miranda treats people, the way she treated you. We’re friends right?”

Desperately, she looked to Nigel for confirmation. He waltzed out of the bathroom, tossed her toiletry bag in her suitcase and started picking up her shoes.

“We were co-workers Andy, hardly friends.”

“I don’t believe you. Not about that and not about some fucked up sex game you play with Miranda and Irv.”

“Well at least you’re not that gullible.” Nigel zipped her suitcase and set it on the floor. “All set here. Emily arranged for a return flight from New York. You need to leave now in order to get to the airport on time.”

“Nigel?”

“You’ve got a strange idea of friendship. You didn’t do me any favors by walking out on your responsibilities. As if my humiliation today wasn’t enough, I now get to spend the week filling in for you. A friend would have stayed to offer support, at the very least to do her job.”

Andy couldn’t look at him as she took the handle of her bag.

“You’re just a naïve kid Andy. Life is about dominance and control. Take a good, hard look at me. You don’t see me quitting in a huff of righteous indignation. And I’m the one that got screwed over, again I might add. But I’m an adult with a mortgage and a reputation and I don’t have the luxury of running away because the world fucked me.”

She wanted to say something. To say she was sorry, that she hadn’t been thinking, but when she opened her mouth nothing came out.

Nigel held up his hand. “There is nothing for you to say. You’ve got a flight to catch.”

Andy nodded at him and turned away. The tears began to fall the minute she shut the hotel room door.

Fic: Color Me Loved (Post 2/2)

Sat, 04 Oct 2008 03:15:46 GMT

Information on the story and the first post can be found here.

III.
Color Me Loved

“Andrea?”

Miranda had been surprised that the townhouse appeared to be devoid of life when the car slowed to a stop in front of it. She trusted Andrea implicitly. Of course she did.

When she’d spoken with Andrea earlier in the day and been assured that her plans for tonight involved nothing more than a quiet evening at home, she’d taken her at her word. But things came up. Miranda knew that better than anyone.

Still, coming home to what appeared to be an empty house disturbed her more than she was willing to admit.

If Andrea told her that their age difference didn’t matter, then it didn’t.

If Andrea maintained that she was only becoming more beautiful in her eyes with each passing year, then it was the truth.

If she just spent three hours flying coach with an obese man who smelled like the inside of a bowling alley on one side, and on the other a hyperactive five year old whose stubby little fingers nearly smeared strawberry jam on the arm of her Michael Kors vicuna sweater only to find that Andrea was in fact not at home, then she would kill her.

The foyer was dark. But there was light coming from the kitchen.

She called out again. “Andrea?”

“Miranda?”

She told herself it was not relief she felt at the sound of Andrea’s voice coming from the back of their home as she draped her jacket over the banister and headed for the lighted doorway.

“Miranda!”

Andrea was sitting on the kitchen floor, which was covered with newspaper and what for all intents appeared to be an alien autopsy. She was inexpertly wielding a knife.

“Hello darling, I’m home.” Miranda set her bag on the island and surveyed the battle field around her.

“I see that. But, I didn’t expect you back until Tuesday.”

“Surprise.”

Andrea beamed up at her. The obvious joy and love in her eyes made every minute in coach completely worth it.

“I suppose you’re going to make me ask just what you’re doing.”

“Oh.”

Warmth spread through her stomach as she watched Andrea survey the mess surrounding her. She looked dumbfounded as to just how she had ended up on the floor with a knife in her hand surrounded by gourds.

“Well, like I said, wasn’t expecting you that’s for sure. I’m carving pumpkins.”

“Yes, but why?”

“To surprise you. And Caroline is going to visit this weekend. I thought it would be fun to rent some scary movies and have a girls' night. It’ll be even better now that you’re here.”

“Are you sure? I won’t sit idly by while you two gobble candy.”

“Oh come on Miranda it’s Halloween.”

“That’s not an excuse.”

“I suppose I can forgo the treat if you’ll volunteer to be my trick.” Andrea waggled her eyebrows. A maneuver she never successfully managed to make look anything but ridiculous and Miranda laughed.

“Seriously Andrea, whatever possessed you to carve pumpkins?”

“Martha sent them over. Aren’t they wonderful?”

“The past two weeks it’s been nothing but Martha this and Martha that. You’re not turning into one of her minions are you?”

“Of course not, even Martha has better sense than to try and get me into the kitchen.”

“Well,” she shrugged her shoulders. Andrea and cooking were a natural disaster.

“You know she really is wonderful. You two have so much in common. And it’s an honor that she is letting me profile her for the book.”

Andrea returned to her carving, prattling on—oblivious to the dangerous squint in Miranda’s eyes—about the amazing woman who had sent over the pumpkins that were littering their kitchen floor.

Miranda tuned out. What she had in common with Martha Stewart better stop at Andrea. How could Andrea be so naïve? She had the delicious thought that if Martha sent Andrea cupcakes she would enjoy shoving them down the domestic demon’s throat.

“…and I think I can get Hillary Clinton to talk to me. Well, consider the idea at least. My publisher is thrilled.”

Miranda was fuming. Hillary Clinton. Andrea just loved Hillary Clinton.

“Miranda? Miranda, are you even listening to me?”

“Of course I am darling. You just know how I hang on your every inane word.”

Miranda’s tone was arsenic. Her hands had made their way to her hips. She was willing a point just over Andrea’s shoulder to spontaneously combust. This was not how she had pictured her surprise homecoming.

That Andrea rolled her eyes as she rose from the floor didn’t help. Nor did her body’s reaction to Andrea’s sweat pant clad backside as she leaned over the sink to wash her hands. It was true, Andrea’s ass was indeed “JUICY” in what she recognized as a cast off from Caroline’s sorority rush week.

“Miranda what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Miranda, don’t make me analyze you.”

“Nothing is wrong.”

Andrea snorted. “Okay, here we go. So what prompted you to leave the shoot you described as ‘the most exciting collaboration of young photographers and designers I’ve seen in the past fifteen years’ five days early?”

“Nigel had things well in hand. I knew I had what I wanted. Staying would have been counterproductive.”

“And?”

There was a long pause. Andrea had her cornered with that open expression of love, understanding, and absolute acceptance that undid her every time.

Miranda resisted the urge to break eye contact and shuffle her feet like a guilty child.

“You’ve been a bit off for weeks now. Is this about your birthday? If you really want plastic surgery, though goodness knows why you think you need it, then fine. I’ll relent. Let’s explore options. But if you end up looking like Joan Rivers, I swear I’ll leave you.”

Miranda remained quiet.

“I will say this as often as you need to hear it, I love you Miranda Priestly. All of you. Your stubborn, sullen, difficult, petulant, drooping…”

“That’ll do.”

Andrea hugged her.

“What’s wrong?”

“I feel old.”

“You are old.”

Miranda pushed her away.

“Look Miranda, we’ve been over this. You’re twenty five years older than me. When I’m fifty you’ll be seventy five.”

“This isn’t helping Andrea.”

“Neither is pretending like it’s not the truth. Or sulking and being spiteful towards the person who loves you with her whole soul. I would open a vein for you Miranda. I’m not leaving you. Not if I have to change your Depends and push you around in a wheel chair. Not even if you need dentures and I have to take them out and clean them. Deal with it. I’m fully vested here.”

“When I’m seventy five, you’ll be fifty.”

“Yes and when you’re a hundred I’ll be seventy five and it won’t matter. So you better live to be a hundred because I’ll need someone to room with at the home.”

Miranda took a deep breath. She didn’t want to push Andrea away.

“I came home because I missed you.”

“That’s better.”

Andrea stepped towards her again.

“And because I was sick of hearing you go on and on about the amazing, wonderful, brilliant Martha fucking Stewart.”

Andrea looked scandalized. But then she rarely swore.

“Ooh, you’re jealous.”

“I am not jealous. I just can’t believe how gullible you are. That woman has ice water running through her veins.”

“Gullible? You can’t be serious Miranda?”

She remembered the way Martha had sashayed up to her at a party a few months after she and Andrea had gone public. “I see your excellent taste extends to people as well, Miranda. Congratulations.”

“Yes, gullible.”

Andrea seemed to be considering something. “I’ll admit there is something about her.”

Miranda ran a hand through her hair in exasperation.

“But I only have eyes for you.”

“Oh thanks very much Mr. Bond.”

Andrea opened her arms and Miranda obliged. They held tightly to one another.

Andrea placed a light kiss on her temple. “Welcome home.”

“That’s better.”

They separated and Andrea appeared to survey the mess she had made for the first time. Her eyes landed on Miranda’s bag which had slipped open on the counter.

“Miranda what’s that?”

She could feel her shoulders tense. “It’s nothing. Just some notes from the shoot.”

Andrea ignored her words and fished the supple leather clad volume out of Miranda’s bag. Miranda held out her hand.

“It’s your favorite shade of red.”

“Yes, I had it specially made.”

“You said this color reminds you of me.”

“Clearly I was mistaken. Such a rich color could not possibly remind me of someone so devoid of manners. Now hand that over before you cover it with pumpkin innards.”

“Work, work, work. Dearest you put Martha to shame. So were you reading this on the plane?”

“Yes, now please hand it here.”

She should have just ignored her. Her insistence had no doubt piqued Andrea’s curiosity. Andrea was like a dog with a bone once that happened.

Andrea set the book on the counter and began flipping through the pages. She looked up at Miranda, her eyes glassy.

“This…this is everything I’ve ever written.”

“I know.”

“But how? I wrote this one in middle school!”

“Your mother.”

Andrea nodded and caressed the page. The look of delayed shock on her face as her head whipped up was priceless.

“Wait you asked my mother for something?”

“She was quite happy to help.”

“My piece on the janitors' strike, my first article for The Mirror, Miranda they’re all here.”

“Yes I know.”

“But why?”

“I miss you when I travel.”

“So you had this made?”

“The book yes. But I glued the articles in myself.” She said it flippantly in effort to cover her embarrassment.

“Why a scrapbook of my writing? Why not photos?”

“Your words are who you are. You really are a brilliant writer. I wish you would trust me on that.”

“And you really are the great love of my life. I wish you would trust me on that.”

As they came together again, she slid her hands beneath Andrea’s tank desperate to feel the smooth expanse of her back. Andrea rested her forehead against Miranda’s. Miranda couldn’t help it, she kissed Andrea’s nose.

“I think…this is the sweetest…no one has ever…”

She silenced her babbling with another kiss. Andrea flushed the most delectable shade of plum as Miranda angled her closer, running her hands hips to stomach to breasts and back again. She pulled away slightly to witness the effect.

“You’re blushing.”

Andrea was beaming at her again. Now it felt like she was really home.

“Color me loved?”

“Not yet, but let’s see how this orange will look next to your aubergine.”

Andrea quickly shrugged off her top and waggled her eyebrows.

“We’ve never done it in a pumpkin patch before.”

Miranda could only laugh.

IV.
We’re going to Disneyland!

“Cassidy I simply can’t spare a week off right now.”

“Come on mother you know that’s not true.”

“Look Cass, your mom doesn’t want to go. Don’t force the issue.”

“Yes Cassidy, listen to Jefferson. He’s making sense for once.”

“My name is Jeff, Miranda.”

“Perhaps I spoke to soon. Jeffrey shouldn’t you see what Millicent is up to?”

“She’s watching The Little Mermaid mother. And do you know why?”

“I can’t imagine.”

“Because she can’t wait to go to Disneyland with her family.”

“She is going to Disneyland with her family.”

Jeff grunted. “She wants her grandmothers to be there too.” He nodded apologetically in Andy’s direction. It was her mother that he couldn’t stand.

“Jefferson do you really think now is the time for a vacation given that your wife is six months pregnant?”

Jeff narrowed his eyes. “For the last time Miranda, my name is Jeff.”

Cassidy could feel the beginnings of a headache. All she wanted was to make her little girl happy, and truth be told, having her mother and Andy come on this vacation would make her happy too.

That’s why they were here. She had pleaded with Jeff much like their little girl; arguing that the memories would be priceless. She was beginning to regret having made the effort.

Her brow throbbed and she winced. Andy cleared her throat and stepped up to her mother’s side.

“Miranda.”

Her tone was one of warning. Cassidy recognized it from the day she told her mother she was getting married right after graduating from college and that no, she didn’t intend to work because she wanted to start a family, and stay home to raise them.

Millie spent quite a bit of time with both of her grandmothers. Cassidy had never called Andy mom, but she considered her a parent none-the-less and to her children she would be grandma—no different from their biological grandmother.

Most of the time Cassidy's life was wonderful. The other thirty percent of the time it was her mother.

“I’m sorry Jeff.” Miranda emphasized the –eff in such a way that it sounded like an insult.

Andy wrapped her fingers around her mother’s arm and squeezed.

“We appreciate the invitation, but it would be hard to get away just now. I’m working on an essay for Harper’s and Miranda has a slew of new employees to deal with.”

“Well she wouldn’t have a bunch of new people to ‘deal with’ if she hadn’t gone on a firing rampage in a fit of pique.”

Cassidy felt her eyes grow wide. Her mother was going to kill her husband.

She noticed Andy readjust and tighten her grip on her mother’s arm. Red fingerprints marred the perfect white bicep and Cassidy wondered just what her mom would do if she wasn’t being held in place.

“Don’t start Jeff.”

“I’m sorry Andy, but you know how she gets me going.”

“Cassidy sit down and drink your tea before that headache gets any worse.”

Cassidy obeyed. Andy didn’t use her command voice very often, but when she did, everyone tended to do as they were told.

Andy looked at her. “This vacation is for one week?”

Cassidy nodded.

“And Millie really wants us to go?”

She nodded again.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Miranda yanked herself free from Andy’s grasp and turned to her in astonishment.

“Yes Miranda, okay.”

“Andrea.”

“Miranda you could use a week off. And it’s important to Millie.”

“Millicent. I don’t know why you all insist on using ridiculous nicknames.”

“Cass, a little help here.”

“Please mother?” Cassidy rubbed her stomach for good measure.

Miranda harrumphed and rolled her eyes. “All right Fine, we’re going to Disneyland.”

One month later and the sun was beating down on her mother’s untouched hot dog as Jeff, who had suggested the food item that her mother considered the most foul for no other reason than to cause trouble, posed for a picture with Millie and Cinderella.

“I refuse to eat this.”

“So don’t eat it Miranda. For the love of god it’s a hot dog, not something to start world war three over.”

“I do believe you are enjoying this.”

“Well…perhaps just a little.”

Millie was waving at them. “Look granny it’s Cinderella.”

Miranda smiled indulgently at her granddaughter, but hissed at Andy. “Remind me to think of a way to properly thank you again for the ‘granny’ bit.”

“Oh come on mother, it’s cute. Besides, at least this way there’s no confusion between you and Andy.”

“I don’t see why she just couldn’t address me as grandmother.”

“Seriously Miranda?”

“Oh and you two were serious when you started this granny and nana business?”

“A bit of harmless fun dear.” Andy scooped up the offensive hot dog and tossed it in the trash.

“It wouldn’t be so harmless if you were the granny.”

“I can’t be the granny, I’m too young.”

Cassidy laughed at the look on her mother’s face.

“Cass I’m going to get your mom something proper to eat before she works herself into a snit. We’ll be right back.”

Andy tugged Miranda up from the table and Cassidy smiled as they disappeared behind the corner of the concession building, her mother quietly grumbling.

After Cinderella came Snow White. Cassidy smiled and laughed as Jeff goofed about with the camera and Millie jumped around with one of the seven dwarfs.

“Who feels like ice cream?”

“Me, me, me.” Millie was pumping her hand in the air.

“Jeff she just ate a hot dog. I don’t want her to get sick.”

“Look Cass, I don’t know how Milificent raised you, but my kids are going to grow up eating hot dogs and ice cream.”

“Whose Milif—“

“Milificent honey,” Jeff gently helped their daughter with the difficult word, “is your granny.”

Millie looked puzzled. Cassidy knew she had to nip this in the bud. Thankfully they’d never made it to Sleeping Beauty. “Tell your dad what kind of ice cream you'd like sweetie.”

“The one shaped like a frog.”

“One frog it is then.” Jeff pecked her cheek.

Cassidy gave him a disapproving glare and playfully swatted his butt as he turned away.

“Where did granny and nana go?”

“Granny didn’t like her hot dog and nana went to help her find something she would like.”

“I liked my hot dog mom.”

“That’s nice.” She felt tired. Her feet hurt and sweat was trickling down her back. “Millie, mom’s a bit pooped, let’s go sit down.”

They made their way back to the table. Despite her discomfort it made her truly happy to see the way her daughter’s eyes danced with joy at the sights around them.

“Can I go look for granny and nana?”

“Just to the corner of the building there and then come right back.”

Millie darted up with an energy she envied. A moment later her daughter’s troubled call infused her with a different kind of energy as she covered the ten feet to the corner of the stand in what seemed like a single stride.

“Mom! Mom!” Millie’s eyes filled with surprise at seeing her mother already by her side and she pointed. “Nana’s giving granny the hi-lick!”

Cassidy peered around the corner and could feel her concern dissolve into disgust. “Really you two this is Disneyland!”

Millie tugged at her mother’s dress. “Is granny choking?”

In a perfect impersonation of her mother, Cassidy glared at the guilty duo.

Miranda squirmed away from Andrea, whose hand snaked out of her shirt. A move that did not go unnoticed by Cassidy. She shook her head, the barest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

Millie’s head snapped back and forth between the adults. She was doing a little jig of concern that matched each jerk of her neck perfectly.

“Millicent. Stop dancing around. I’m fine.”

Cassidy could feel her own insides curl a bit at that clipped tone of her mother’s. She frowned.

Millie started to cry.

“Mother.”

“Miranda.”

Andy and Cassidy had spoken in unison as they both moved to pick up the blubbering little girl. Cassidy backed off as her protruding stomach didn’t allow her to scoop Millie into arms. She ran a hand through her daughter’s soft golden locks as Andy placed a gentle kiss on her forehead.

“Your granny is just fine sweetie.”

“But she was making choking noises.”

Andy rubbed soothing circles into her granddaughter’s back and looked with exasperation over her shoulder at Miranda.

Cassidy almost laughed at their nonverbal exchange. Millie definitely had Andy wrapped around her tiny fingers.

“Why did granny yell at me?”

“She didn’t mean to I’m sure. Isn’t that right granny?”

A small laugh escaped Cassidy’s mouth at the way Andy had enunciated granny. Her mother shot her a look before moving towards her granddaughter.

“I did not yell at you Millicent. I apologize if it seemed that way. I was merely startled.”

Miranda placed a kiss on Millie’s shiny pink cheek.

Millie squirmed to get down and glowed up at her granny.

Her mother never did see the point in speaking any differently to children than adults and Millie loved being treated like a big girl. Cassidy could see her daughter calculating. She almost laughed again.

“You’re not mad at me?”

“No, of course not.”

“Prove it.”

“Excuse me?”

“I want to go on the teacup ride.”

“You’ve been on the teacup ride.”

“Not with you. Please take me on the teacup ride granny.”

The whine in her daughter’s voice made her attempt at manipulation all the more amusing. Andy appeared on the edge of laughter as well.

Her mother looked from her to Andy for assistance.

“She’s got your genes Miranda, what can I say?”

Millie looked like she was about to turn on the waterworks.

“Fine Millicent, I will take you on the teacup ride.”

Millie jumped with glee and grabbed her grandmother’s hand.

Andy patted Cassidy’s rounded stomach and linked their arms. They began to walk slowly after the pair that hand in hand were headed towards the grouping of giant teacups.

“I hope you know your mother is going to take this out on me.”

“Good. Serves you right for groping her like a teenage boy behind a concession stand in plain view of Mickey Mouse.”

“Hey, I’m sure if Mickey were given the chance he’d grope your mother too.”

Cassidy tugged Andy a bit closer.

“Do you think she’ll throw up?”

“Who your mom? I hope not. Your mother has never taken kindly to her bodily functions and I think tossing her cookies in pubic might send her into fits. Besides, we’d never get her back here.”

Andy looked pointedly at the soon to be addition to their little clan safely ensconced in Cassidy’s belly and smiled.

“You’re right about that. And I figure in another six years or so, it will be time for another trip.”

“Great, Millie will be just on the edge of pre-pubescent sulking. She and your mother will be a perfect match.”

They had come to a stop in front of the Mad Tea Party ride. Her mother and Millie were ensconced in a white teacup with pink and gold hearts on the side. “You know I never cared for Alice in Wonderland.”

“I shouldn’t doubt it, but a spinning teacup is a spinning teacup.”

“You’re a real font of wisdom Andy.”

“Oh shut up Cass. I’m too busy trying to think of ways to divert your mother’s anger when her tour of duty in centrifugal hell concludes to be wise.”

The ride started up. Miranda glowered at them briefly before bringing a hand to her mouth to stifle a yelp as Millie screamed in glee.

Cassidy watched amused as Andy fished a camera from her shoulder bag and began snapping pictures.

“I’m sure mother will just love that you’re immortalizing this moment for all time.”

“Miranda Priestly on the teacup ride at Disneyland. Are you kidding? This is blackmail pure and simple.”

“And all these years I thought it was you who was the mature one. I’m shocked Andy.”

Andy winked at her and cringed as a particularly loud cry escaped from Miranda who went zooming past. “One for the holiday cards?”

She took the camera from Andy. Her mother’s white hair whipped out behind her. Her mouth hung open and there was an uncharacteristic look of horror in her wild blue eyes. Next to her Millie’s hands were thrown into the air, a rapturous peal of delight frozen on her face.

The ride had come to a stop and Millie was bounding towards her.

Andy moved off to meet Miranda and wrapped her arms around her mother’s waist to steady her.

Cassidy raised the camera and clicked.

As Millie tugged at her dress—a habit she needed to break her daughter of—and Jeff walked towards them with ice cream treats in hand, Cassidy looked at the camera again.

Frozen there was an image of love she was sure to remember for the rest of her life. Andy was whispering something in her mother’s ear, one arm around her shoulders, the other cupping her chin.

Her mother looked a bit green and completely dazed, but she had instinctively leaned into her partner. It wasn’t really the picture that was amazing. It was the two women in it.

Cassidy smiled at her husband as he leaned in and kissed her cheek. The baby inside of her kicked and she said a silent prayer of thanks to the forces that had brought them all together.

Children didn’t need a mother and a father so much as they needed stability and happiness and love. Andy Sachs had taught her family how to love by the simple act of loving her mother.

“Can we go again granny?”

Before she could admonish her daughter, who had green ice cream dripping from her chain, Andy spoke up.

“I think granny’s had enough fun for one day.” The look on Miranda’s face was profoundly grateful as Andy continued. “We’re going to head back to our room.”

“Will we see you at dinner?”

She would need to talk to Jeff later about sounding less eager when he hoped her mother wouldn’t be joining them.

Andy smiled indulgently at Jeff’s tone as she spoke. “I don’t think so, Jefferson dear. We’re really still quite full from the hot dogs and I think we’ll probably skip right to dessert in our room.” The hand Andy tightened around her mother’s waist left little doubt as to the double entendre her words implied.

Jeff cleared his throat and shuffled his feet.

Millie perked up. “Can I eat dessert with nana and granny?”

“I don’t think so sweetie.” She patted her daughter’s head.

Her mother had brightened at Jeff’s obvious discomfort.

“Thank you for the lovely ride Millicent. Nana and I will see you tomorrow at breakfast.”

Her mother and Andy bent as one and placed matching kisses on Millie’s cheeks.

As they walked away, hand in hand, her mother looked over her shoulder at Jeff and blew him a kiss. She then turned to Andy saying something which made her laugh.

Really, her parents were incorrigible.

Millie had finished her ice cream and was looking expectantly up at her father.

“Granny rode the teacups with me.”

“Really?”

He looked to her for confirmation.

“She did. You know I’m really proud of the way my mother has jumped into this vacation and tried her best to make it a memorable experience for Millie.”

Minutes later, Cassidy momentarily regretted her own manipulative nature as she watched Jeff plunk down into the giant white teacup. He could deal with roller coasters okay, but this was bound to make him regret insisting on the hot dogs.

It served him right. She’d make it up to him later.

V.
“Your children are not your children.”

Miranda smoothed the hair back from her face and nodded at the minister as she stepped up to the podium.

“I am here today to speak on behalf of my partner, Andrea Sachs who is too ill to travel at the moment. She wanted me to convey her best to each of you and to read the eulogy she has prepared for her father.”

Miranda cleared her throat and unfolded the pages in front of her. She had printed them off only hours ago and had not been given the chance to read them.

Andrea’s father had passed away in his sleep four days ago: a blood clot in his brain. Miranda had gotten on a plane bound for Cincinnati three days ago to handle the arrangements. Andrea had emailed her the eulogy this morning.

Miranda glanced out at those assembled in the pews. She hadn’t been in a church since her first marriage. She recognized a few of the faces from past Sachs’ family gatherings.

The eyes of those she knew looked on her with sadness. Whether it was sadness at the sudden death of Richard Sachs, sadness for Andrea’s cancer, or sadness for her because they assumed she too would be touched by loss soon Miranda couldn’t say.

She cleared her throat again and began to read.

“My father, Richard Eric Sachs, was a good man. But then you already knew that. Or could have guessed that I would say that because this is a speech about death and in death, whether we have been good or not is besides the point because we are all equal.

In death then, it is easy to be forgiving. It is easy to remember someone as good.

That makes it harder then to tell the truth.

The woman reading this to you, Miranda Priestly, who has been the love of my life these past twenty nine years, I know understands this.

Because it is true that Richard Sachs was a good man.

But it is also true that he was not as good a father as he could have been.

However, to be fair, it is equally true to say that I have not been as good a daughter as I could have been and it is for that which I grieve the most.

We are all equal in death. And therefore in death there are no second chances.

My father and I drifted apart these past years. The death of my mother, a woman we both loved dearly was partly to blame. But now that I too may be dying from the same cancer that consumed her, I recognize that is only part of the truth.

The drift began the day I announced that I was involved with Miranda.”

She had to pause for a moment to steady herself. She would get through this. She would do justice to this. Miranda looked at the picture of Andrea with her parents that had been blown up and placed at the front of the church.

Andrea couldn’t have been more than ten. She beamed up at her father, hair in pigtails, while her mother looked on.

She thought again of how she hadn’t been in a church since her first marriage. She wasn’t sure if she ever really believed in a god. But in this moment she cast a silent plea to the universe that Andrea survived. At least long enough to let her die first.

Miranda took a deep breath and continued.

“My parents didn’t have a problem with the fact that Miranda was a woman. But then you all know how liberal the Sachs family is. They were naturally concerned about the age difference between us, but then so was Miranda.

For the record, it has never bothered me.

Eventually my mother grew to respect and like Miranda. She got over the fact that Miranda had been my boss from hell.

My father on the other hand never did. But then he had what was in his mind a better reason I suppose.

When I was still Miranda’s assistant he came to visit me in New York. Miranda was in Miami, unable to get a flight home for her daughters’ recital due to a hurricane.

Naturally she called my phone continuously demanding the impossible. I became hysterical. I even tried calling the National Guard.

It was the first time I allowed something in my life to interfere with what had always been our special father-daughter time. It was my choice, but I know my father never stopped blaming Miranda.”

She had to pause again. Miranda looked out at those in attendance, searching for recrimination. There was none. She wiped a tear from her cheek.

“So that’s it then. One night so long ago has stood between us for the past thirty some odd years.

As you sit gathered today, remembering my father’s life and mourning its loss, it is my hope too that you will learn from his mistake and from mine.

And yet again, I find that I have written a cliché. For just as we are all good in death, so too do all our lives leave lessons behind for the living.

But what is the lesson here? Is it that we should not allow past mistakes to stand in the way with those we love?

Of course.

Is it that we should reach out to one another again and again regardless of the prospect of reciprocity?

Of course.

Is this is a lesson about parents and children?

Absolutely.

And it is to this last point that I wish to speak. I consider myself a parent. Though I have never born children of my own, when Miranda came into my life so did her twins Caroline and Cassidy. The quintessential package deal.

I love Cassidy and Caroline like they were my own daughters. I love the grandchildren Cassidy has given me and Miranda. It is because of them that I can say when it comes to family, let nothing stand in the way of the love that you feel.

Have the girls done things that have upset me over the years?

You bet.

When Cassidy decided to marry her college sweet heart and pursue motherhood in lieu of a career I scratched my head. I didn’t have to say anything. Miranda said enough for the both of us.

Each time Caroline came home with a different hair color and man on her arm I frowned. When she calmed down a bit and decided to pursue a career in geology instead of art, I had my doubts. So did Miranda.

Now Cassidy has three wonderful children and Caroline lives in Iceland. Miranda and I have never been more proud. They made their choices as I made mine. The difference is that I decided none of their choices would come between my relationships with them.

Kahil Gibran wrote,
Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
You are the bows from which your children
as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might
that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let our bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
so He loves also the bow that is stable.

Life longs for itself. I know that.

‘Life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.’ I have learned that.

That there are forces greater than our individual will, bending us to a purpose I know not of, I have learned too.

That love is the stability which enables us to bend I am certain.

My father was a good man. We loved each other, but not enough to bend in the name of gladness.

When you think of my father, remember that. And in your own life and your dealings with those you love, find a way to bend in gladness.

Through that my father will live on. Through that I will live on when my time comes. So too will each of you.

I want to thank each of you for being here today. I wish you all the best life has to offer.”

Miranda did not look up. She could hear someone blowing their nose. She felt the minister’s gentle touch on her elbow. He smiled at her. She did her best to smile back as she stepped down from the podium.

Five hours later and she was on a plane home.

Miranda was bone weary when she greeted the nurse that sat by Andrea’s side. “I’ll take it from here Angela.”

Angela smiled at her and quietly left for her room down the hall.

“Miranda is that you.”

“I hope it’s me. Who else were you expecting in our bedroom at one in the morning?”

Andrea’s laugh quickly turned into a rattling cough.

Miranda, who had begun stripping off her clothes the minute she entered the room, climbed into bed beside her and rubbed soothing circles on her back.

“I’m so glad you’re home. How was the funeral?”

“Everything went fine. It was a lovely service.”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“You know.”

“Yes, well go back to sleep.”

Miranda wrapped her arms around Andrea’s waist and tried not to notice the protrusion of her hip bone.

“Promise me something?”

“I’ll promise you the moon if you let us get some rest.”

“Seriously Miranda.” There was a long, deep quiet. She could tell Andrea was crying. “I need you to promise me that if I die, you won’t shut down. That you’ll be happy. That you’ll let the girls in. That you'll take care of them and let them take care of you.”

Her voice was barely a whisper. “I promise.” Miranda could feel Andrea exhale as she kissed her shoulder. “But you’re not going to die, at least not tonight, so go to sleep.”

Andrea nodded and burrowed closer to Miranda’s warmth.

Fic: Color Me Loved (Post 1/2)

Sat, 04 Oct 2008 03:00:13 GMT

Title: Color Me Loved
Rating: PG
Pairing: Miranda/Andy
Summary: Five vignettes—varying lengths, themes, POVs—loosely progressing through the years, focusing on what the expressions of love might look like between Miranda and Andy and within their family. My challenge to myself was to write scenarios that I hadn’t seen written before.
Disclaimer: I am not the creator of the characters in this story. That credit goes to Lauren Weisberger, for the novel she wrote in 2003 and to 20th Century Fox, for the movie produced in 2006.
A/N: Regarding the first story, I am not a historian, but I have made every effort to keep things as simple and accurate as I can within the context of Miranda's daughters doing the telling of the history within the story. Please note that I have not read the book and I do not draw from it as a source of back story for the characters when I write. Finally, the last story, while not containing character death, does deal--though not directly--with a character's serious illness.
A/N: I proofed these myself. If you see errors and want to let me know, I really would appreciate it.

“Love at first sight is easy to understand; it’s when two people have been looking at each other for a lifetime that it becomes a miracle.”
(Amy Bloom)

I.
Vital Records

Miranda closed the door and listened for the voices of her daughters and Andrea.

It was this moment that she now looked forward to everyday. The sound of chatter—mostly happy, sometimes raised in argument, other times hushed in confidence—filling a home that had once been too quiet.

Today she could just make out the sound of chatter as it drifted down the stairs.

She hung her coat in the closet and noted that Andrea was already home. Over the past couple of months that had become a regular occurrence.

She would arrive home to find Andrea and the twins preparing dinner; well not preparing so much as setting it out. A cook was still a vital necessity.

Other times they would be watching television together. Or Andrea would sit with them working on her laptop while they did homework. Andrea’s domesticity had come as a pleasant surprise.

Miranda climbed the stairs and nudged the door of the twins’ study open just a crack. She had to stifle a gasp.

Photos she hadn’t looked at in over thirty years littered the table. Miranda felt like she'd been broadsided by an iceberg.

Andrea sat sandwiched between Cassidy and Caroline who had pushed their chairs up so close they were each touching one of her shoulders.

“Who do you suppose this guy was?”

“I haven’t the foggiest, Caroline. I told you we should have waited for your mom to get home.”

“Yeah well that beard he’s sporting is ridiculous.”

“You know that’s probably one of our relatives. I don’t think you should make fun.”

“Cass, if any of these people are related to us,” Caroline swished her hand over the photos, “then how come mom’s never said anything?”

Cassidy pondered her answer. “Maybe she was waiting?”

“Waiting for what? Are you sure you’re not playing a trick on us Andy?”

“Caroline I told you, I found these photos upstairs when I was trying to decide on a room for my office. Besides, really look at this picture. This man has your mother’s eyes.”

“He was my father.”

Three sets of eyes jumped to attention at the sound of her voice. She pushed the door open and walked into the room, hands on her hips.

“Hi Miranda.”

“Andrea.”

Cassidy looked nervous; Caroline defiant.

“Hi mother, how was work?”

“Fine Cassidy. Don’t you girls have homework to do?”

“This is our homework.”

Miranda raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “Really? Cassidy I’m curious. Just what kind of homework would require you to snoop in my private affairs?”

“How are family photos your private affair mom?” Caroline chirped in. She was holding the photo of Miranda’s father that Andrea had let flutter back on the pile.

“We’re studying American history in school. Our teacher asked us to write a report on where our families came from.”

“Cassidy, I fail to see how that’s relative to American history.”

“You can’t be serious Miranda?”

She fixed Andrea with a glare. The tension in the room ratcheted up several notches.

“Mom?”

“Caroline, you and Cassidy go to the kitchen and see what’s for dinner. I would like a moment alone with Andrea.”

“No.”

“No?”

“We have a right to know where our family comes from.”

“Besides,” Cassidy added, “it’s not fair for you to yell at Andrea. She was only trying to help us.”

That gave Miranda pause. It was the first time since Andrea had moved in that one of the girls had jumped in to mediate between them; and, in Andrea’s defense no less. This challenge on her partner’s behalf appeared to be progress.

At seeing her mother’s hesitation Caroline prodded. “What was his name?”

Miranda didn’t answer immediately. Her daughters did have a right to know where they came from. They were old enough to choose for themselves she supposed.

“His name was Moszek Pryzbylkowski.”

Caroline immediately scrunched up her face. “Eww, what kind of a name is that?”

Miranda inhaled sharply. On the other hand, maybe she wasn’t prepared for this conversation.

Cassidy kicked her sister under the table.

“What? It is a funny sounding name. Besides, it’s not even mom’s name.”

Andrea stood and brought over another chair. She took Miranda’s arm and nodded for Cassidy to move over. She slid her hand down into Miranda’s and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“It’s not my name because I changed it.”

Two red heads bobbed up to look at her as she lowered herself into the chair.

Cassidy spurted, “You what? Wait mom, so you weren’t born with your name? That means you’re not really Miranda Priestly.”

“Duh, Cass.” Caroline gave her sister an annoyed be quiet already glare.

“No, I was not born with the name Miranda Priestly. But it is my name none-the-less. As you girls know, sometimes life forces you to make difficult decisions. I can assure you though that changing my name was not one of them.”

She hoped the girls would just drop this.

But then Caroline softly spoke. “So what name were you born with?”

Miranda’s back stiffened against her will. She felt Andrea’s hold on her hand become tighter.

“Leja.”

Caroline shrugged.

“That’s a pretty name.”

“Thank you Cassidy.”

“What was your mother’s name?”

“Fruma. Fruma Pryzbylkowski.”

“What was she like?”

“She was a small woman.”

“Like petite?”

“No, not exactly. She was petite; you might describe her as a bit bird like perhaps. She had terrible arthritis. Her hands were especially gnarled and tiny.”

The twins simultaneously looked down at their hands—long delicate fingers, not bird like in the least—a ghost of a smile crossed Miranda’s face.

“You two inherited your father’s hands.”

“Our music teacher says we have piano fingers.” Caroline proudly looked down at her hands again.

“And so you do.”

Cassidy’s expression was bursting with unanswered questions. “But what was your mother like?”

“I told you—“

“No, not what did she look like. What was she like?”

Miranda’s eyes clouded a bit. She pursed her lips. “She was quite distant.”

She could see this wasn’t the type of information the girls wanted.

Andrea on the other hand was clearly working out her own conclusions based on what she was not saying. She had been right. This was progress of a sort. None of her husbands had gotten this information out of her.

“And she was very sad. She was sad all the time. My father died when I was ten.”

“Was she sad because her husb—um, I mean our grandfather died?”

“I don’t think that was the whole reason, but his death certainly didn’t help.”

They had dinner delivered that evening and ate in the study while the twins peppered her and to her surprise Andrea with questions.

Two weeks later Miranda sat in a classroom filled with other parents, no doubt as concerned as she, as to what family secrets their offspring were about to reveal.

A young girl with dark brown hair concluded her presentation. Miranda closed her eyes and pictured her twenty years from now: a member of the DAR and married to a politician.

“Okay, next up we have Caroline and Cassidy Priestly.”

The girls’ teacher, Ms. Cooper, was rosy cheeked and chubby. She looked like a happy little cherub as she flitted around the classroom. Curly wisps of black hair stuck out around her face. Her exuberance almost made up for her roundness.

The girls smiled out at the classroom and waved at her.

Caroline began. “Our assignment was to research our family history and to discuss how it fits into the broader history of the United States.”

Cassidy picked up flawlessly from her sister. “Caroline and I have broken this presentation into three parts. She will talk about our mother’s family, I will talk about our father’s family, and then we'd like to share our impressions.”

Cassidy smiled at Caroline as she stepped to the side to give her sister center stage.

Miranda was holding her breath.

“Our mother is Miranda Priestly. As I’m sure you all know she is the Editor of Runway magazine.”

Caroline pointed at her for good measure.

Miranda gave her best proud parent smile to those around her and folded her hands neatly across her lap. She had not instructed the girls to censor the information she had shared with them, but she desperately hoped they would use a modicum of sense.

“My mother’s parents were named, Moszek and Fruma Pryzbylkowski. They were born in Poland and came to America in 1938 to work for my grandfather’s older brother.

He owned a bakery in Chicago, Illinois.

My mother was the youngest child of five. Her family was Jewish.

Her parents named her Leja. It is the Polish version of the biblical Hebrew name Leah. I looked up the meaning on the internet and it means ‘weary.' I think that was a perfect name to describe what my mother’s childhood was like.”

Caroline paused and smiled at her again.

“During World War II, Germany occupied Poland. About six millions Poles lost their lives during the Nazi occupation, not all of them were Jewish. But the majority of the Jewish population in Poland was killed during the war.

No one from my grandparents’ families survived.

This made my mother’s parents very sad, especially my grandmother. I can’t imagine what it would be like to one day never hear from my family again, like they never existed. To not know how they died.

My grandfather survived Polio as a child, but his right leg was paralyzed. Mom said he could always make people laugh and that he was very clever.

When my mother was ten years old her father died of pneumonia brought on by complications from his childhood Polio.

The family had never had a lot of money and it was even harder for them after my grandfather died.

My mother worked every morning before school in her uncle’s bakery.

After school she helped her mother who was a seamstress. That’s where she learned to sew and first began dreaming about a career in fashion.

When she turned seventeen she asked her family about college. But there wasn’t any money to send her. Her mother and older brothers thought it would be best if she married a friend of her uncle’s.

He was quite a bit older than my mother and she knew that she would be forced to make a difficult decision.

When she turned eighteen my mother took her life savings of two hundred fourteen dollars and bought a bus ticket to New York City. She tried to contact her family once she had gotten her first job, but they wouldn’t speak to her.

That’s when she decided to change her name to Miranda Priestly. She told us she thought Priestly sounded fashionable.

She chose Miranda as her first name because it means ‘worthy of admiration.'

My mother worked very hard to get where she is. She had to make a lot of sacrifices and difficult decisions. At first I was embarrassed to learn about my grandparents.

I didn’t want to be Polish. And I don’t know anything about being Jewish since my mother stopped practicing when she left home and my sister and I celebrate Christmas.

But then I did some research on the contributions of Polish and Jewish people. It makes me feel proud to know that my ancestors have stood up to and overcome great adversity.

Also Scarlett Johansson is part Jewish and Polish too on her mother’s side and she was on the cover of Runway.”

Caroline nodded at her sister who stepped forward.

“Okay, now I would like to tell you a little bit about my father’s family…”

Miranda’s head was spinning. She felt both exposed and liberated as she listened to Cassidy talk about her father’s family.

“…so that is where my father’s family came from. Unlike my mother he didn’t have to work for his money. But I have learned that even if you inherit your wealth and are given every opportunity you can still make mistakes.”

“Yeah, our uncle Nick is an alcoholic and our Grandmother Anne is mean.”

Miranda stifled a laugh. Caroline was a handful. She would have to see about getting Scarlett Johansson to do another cover.

“What my sister means to say is that we all have to make choices in our life. Now we would like to close by talking about the newest member of our family Andy Sachs.”

Then again, Cassidy could be handful as well. Miranda was not prepared for this. She had assumed the girls had merely questioned Andrea out of polite curiosity.

Caroline shot her a crooked grin. “Cassidy and I know that you all know who Andy is. Well, I suppose if you live under a rock and can’t read you might not.”

Ms. Cooper cleared her throat. From the look on her face she had not seen this coming either.

Undaunted, Caroline continued. “So Andy and my mom have been dating for two years I think.”

She looked to Cassidy who nodded in confirmation.

“Six months ago Andy moved in with us. At first it was really weird. Cassidy and I didn’t know that our mom was a lesbian and Andy is so much younger than mom.”

Again Cassidy nodded.

“So we weren’t sure if Andy was going to be like a big sister, or a friend, or a step-mom. Also, there were so many reporters asking us questions and following us everywhere and mom was really stressed. And it sucks to be on the cover of The National Enquirer.”

Cassidy put a hand on her sister’s shoulder. “Yeah, it sucks. And it felt like our family was being torn apart. Andy is also really different from our mother so the whole thing just didn’t make sense to us at first. I mean she’s pretty, but she’s not thin and she doesn’t care about the same stuff our mother does.”

“It was like mom went off the deep end.”

Their classmates giggled. The other parents in the room were floating surreptitious glances her way. Miranda smiled at her daughters who were grinning mischievously at her.

At what point in their upbringing she had lost control she couldn’t say. But if one of the goals of parenting was to create individuals capable of following their own direction, well then she had succeeded grandly.

Caroline continued, “But she didn’t go off the deep end.”

“I know that we were supposed to talk about how our parents’ families fit into the history of the United States, but we think that’s boring.” Caroline nodded in agreement. “We want to talk about how our current family fits into the history that is being written right now. So to start, my sister is going to tell you about Andy’s background.”

Caroline ran a hand through her hair and stepped forward. “So Andy falls somewhere right between our mom’s family and our dad’s family: not super rich or really poor. She’s not a first generation immigrant like our mom or descended from a family that predates the constitution like our dad.

She was born in Cincinnati, Ohio the only child of Richard and Sarah Sachs. Her father is a dentist and her mother is a middle school teacher.

She has ancestors from all over Europe: Germany, England, Ireland, Austria, Norway, and a couple other places. Most of her family settled in the Midwest during the mid-1800s.

Andy was raised a Methodist, but she doesn’t practice.

She went to college at Northwestern University in Chicago and graduated with a degree in journalism focusing on newspaper reporting. Andy came to New York a few months after graduating in order to find a job.

But she couldn’t find a job as a reporter and so she ended up applying to be my mom’s assistant. She worked for my mom for less than a year and then she got a job as a reporter for The Mirror where she works today.”

Cassidy chimed in, “And for the record, again, no they didn’t start dating until after Andy had quit her job at Runway.”

Caroline nodded vehemently and continued. “We decided to tell you a bit about Andy’s background because she is part of our family now. And that’s something about American history we think is important: families and traditions are always changing. We’re not a traditional family. I guess we never were depending on how you define that. Our parents got divorced before we were two. Our dad’s remarried and our mom’s been married two other times.”

“And we say so what.” The look in Cassidy’s eyes was pure challenge. “So what if our mother’s been divorced three times? So what if now she’s living with a woman,” and she made large air quotes while rolling her eyes, “who is half her age.”

Cassidy paused for breath and Caroline picked up the thread.

“But it’s hard to say so what when you’ve got people accusing your mother of sexually harassing her assistants or of being a pervert or corrupting her children with her alternative lifestyle. I won’t speak for Cassidy,” and she looked to her sister.

“No you can speak for me.”

“Okay, speaking for both of us then, nobody has the right to judge our family or our mother. No, it hasn’t been easy to get to this point where we can stand up here and talk about this, but here we are. We’re happy and we’re making it work as a family.”

Cassidy linked her arm with her sister’s. “And it’s because of Andy and the stories she’s written about the child welfare system and our public schools that Caroline and I can also stand up here astonished that our family was ever newsworthy. If people want to talk about moral issues, they should look at ones they ignore everyday right in their own neighborhoods instead of dissecting our family.”

“And that’s what we learned from doing this report. It’s good to have a sense of history and a sense of where you came from because it helps to put things into perspective. Cassidy and I have learned from the way our current family has been treated and batted around that we still have a long way to go as a country before we live up to our potential.”

Miranda started clapping first. Each time she brought her hands together a tiny bit of her pent up fears and doubts were released. Maybe they were becoming a whole family for the first time; not just a loosely tolerant group of individuals forced together by cohabitation. It felt real and tangible in a way she had never experienced.

Her daughters winked at her as they took their seats.

Perhaps this evening she would surprise Andrea by arriving home first and baking something with the girls for dinner.

Perhaps happiness really could be that simple.

II.
The way to a woman’s heart is through her stomach.

Sunday morning and the townhouse sat in blissful silence as Andy gently nipped the kitchen door shut behind her. Another couple of hours would find the lazy drifting of dust moats raucously interrupted by two red headed terrors squabbling over their identical lacrosse equipment.

Their game wasn’t until noon, but the coach was taking the team to breakfast which meant that the girls would sleep until the last possible moment before managing to throw four stories into utter chaos ahead of dashing out the door.

Even after five years of watching them grow, their exuberance and mostly good natured bickering still frazzled her at times. Andy was glad she had grown up an only child.

But the cacophony wasn’t due to start for at least another hour and this was her time.

Miranda was still asleep and as much as Andy loved a good Saturday snuggle, nothing pleased her more than when she was able to quietly slip out of their bed for a bit of weekend morning to herself.

She’d dashed out into the crisp autumn air to pick up some of her favorite bagels and real honest-to-goodness, full-fat cream cheese. Of course she would need to dispose of the evidence, but Andy had never had a hard time eating her way through a container before.

Then she would give it a quick rinse and smuggle it out in her bag on Monday for the recycling at the office. If her co-workers thought it odd that she occasionally showed up with empty containers of dairy products in her briefcase they’d never said.

The coffee was finished brewing and the Times sat beckoning to be read. She plunked down and ripped open the warm brown paper bag with gusto.

“What the fuck?“

“Language, Andrea.”

The surprise of Miranda’s too awake voice whispering in her ear would have toppled her off the stool had Miranda not wrapped her arms around her waist and placed a light kiss on her cheek.

“Miranda!”

“I should have thought that was obvious.”

“No wait, but you’re not supposed to be up yet.”

“Not supposed to be? Careful Andrea, statements like that might make one wonder what you’ve been up to this early in the morning.”

“Up to?” Oh shit, she was squeaking.

“Yes, up to. Bagels I see. They smell delicious. I’m surprised you haven’t done your usual food magician act and made them disappear.”

Andy motioned helplessly with her hand. How could she tell Miranda that the bagels were nothing without the cream cheese that some piss poor employee at Vinnie’s Bagel had neglected to put in her bag? An employee she was going to sneak out and strangle just as soon as she got a chance.

“I guess I’m just not as hungry as I thought I was.”

“That’s odd. Are you sure?” Miranda was sauntering over to the refrigerator. “See, I would have thought given the interrupted expletive and your crestfallen face that you were missing something.” She opened the refrigerator door and pulled out a tub of cream cheese. “Like this perhaps?”

“Miranda!”

“Yes Watson, it’s still me.”

“Where did you…how did you,” great now she was sputtering and squeaking, “my cream cheese!”

“Oh yes, I know all about your clandestine early morning forays to procure forbidden dairy products. Your, might I say breathtaking, size six ass tells the tale all by itself.”

“Ass? My ass?”

“Yes Andrea, I said ass. There simply is no better word to describe your delicious bottom.”

Miranda gave her bottom a swat as she set the cream cheese on the countertop.

“But I don’t understand Miranda. How did you know? And how did you get my cream cheese?”

“Oh, I have my ways. You of all people should know that. And it was simple really. I just gave Vinnie a call this morning and told him to make sure no cream cheese went into your bag. He had an employee deliver this while you were out.”

“You paid Vinnie to forget my cream cheese? Are you insane?”

But she had never been so turned on in her life and Miranda could no doubt tell.

“You’re hopeless Andrea.”

“True, but that’s why you love me isn’t it.”

“Mmmm.” Miranda removed the lid from the cream cheese container and picked up the spoon Andy had used to stir her coffee. “Real cream too I see. Tisk, tisk.”

She shrugged helplessly.

Miranda gave the spoon a wicked lick before plunging it into the tub of fluffy white heaven.

Eyes twinkling she raised the spoon to Andy’s lips. “As I said Andrea, I love your ass. And I would hate to wake up one morning to find that it had shrunk from a size six back to a four all because I failed to do my part.”

Andy took the spoon into her mouth, shut her eyes and sighed. “Do you think we have enough time?”

“That depends. How hard are you willing to work to burn off the calories you just consumed?”

“So you love my ass?”

“Minx.”

“Calculating cougar.”

“Completely hopeless,” but Miranda was laughing. “You know that don’t you?”

“Only when it comes to you my dairy fairy.”

“Andrea.”

“I know, only one instance of alliteration or bad rhyming allowed per day.”

“Just shut up and kiss me before the girls get up and want to use this counter for the purposes of eating.”

“Their coach is taking the team out to breakfast.”

“That’s wonderful dear. One less sin to confess this week: thank god I avoided having sex where my children eat.”

“Miranda you’re not Catholic.”

“Andrea why are we still talking?”

She smirked and made to pick up the paper, but Miranda’s hand clamped down over her wrist.

“Because I enjoy frustrating you. It’s always better when you’re right at the edge.”

“Well then Andrea, you’re going to love this.”

Miranda ran a hand up her back and gently tugged the hair at the nape of her neck. She raked her teeth across Andrea’s throat as she slid her other hand under Andrea’s t-shirt, brushing her fingers across a taut nipple.

There was a thud upstairs. Miranda growled.

“This is your fault.”

“Hey, I’m not the one who felt the need to wake up and orchestrate a cream cheese heist. You started this.”

“No I didn't. But I am going to finish it.”

Miranda straddled Andy's leg and pushed her back into the countertop. She grasped the edges of the counter just to the side of Andy’s hips. Miranda leaned forward, bringing their lips together as she snaked her tongue over top of Andy’s lips.

“That tickles Miranda.”

“Just cleaning up a bit of leftover cream cheese.”

Miranda brought their lips together again, but this time for a searing kiss as she began to grind herself against Andy’s thigh in rhythm the two had perfected years ago.

Andy couldn’t help it. The feel of Miranda’s breasts bobbing against her own always drove her nuts and she moaned deeply into Miranda’s ear. That was all it took.

Miranda shivered once, twice, then stilled before driving herself up and down several more times, until her head fell on Andy’s shoulder.

“Gee, was it good for you?”

“Mmmm.” Miranda pecked her on the forehead.

“That’s just great, now what am I supposed to do?”

“I suggest you enjoy the rest of your cream cheese. I’m going to shower.” As stealthy as she had entered the kitchen, Miranda was gone.

Andy's bagels weren’t even warm anymore and they would hardly satisfy the ache between her legs.

The thought of water sliding down Miranda’s back while her tongue slid up to meet it was all it took to have her bounding up the stairs after Miranda.

She would just have to take a bagel to the twin's game.

Second Post

Fic: Bookends

Sat, 19 Apr 2008 20:56:46 GMT

Title: Bookends
Rating: PG
Pairing: Andy & Alan, (implied Miranda/Andy, Denny/Alan)
Summary: DWP/Boston Legal Crossover. Five meetings between Andy and Alan in a waiting room.
Disclaimer: I am not the creator of the characters in this story. The credit for The Devil Wears Prada goes to Lauren Weisberger, for the novel she wrote in 2003 and to 20th Century Fox, for the movie produced in 2006. The credit for Boston Legal goes to David E. Kelley and ABC. "Preserve your memories; they're all that's left you." is from the song Bookends by Simon & Garfunkel. The David Bowie song referenced in this story is called Fantastic Voyage.
A/N: watergal has my deep thanks for taking the time to assist with my many grammatical errors! She has helped make this a better story and I'm super grateful.

They had been coming to New York-Presbyterian’s Taub Center for six months the first time he saw her. Six months had led him to the realization that nurses wore ugly shoes; that every cliché about hospital waiting rooms was justified; that life was indeed profoundly unfair. This last was not so much a realization but a revelation of something he had long suspected to be true, but never understood until this exact moment. Standing alone in front of the coffee machine it had washed over him like a tidal wave and he slammed his fist into the panel in front of him.

“Maybe if you ask it politely?”

Startled, he turned, a retort poised on his lips, only to be confronted with a disarmingly charming pair of female eyes—big, brown and crowned with a set of lashes that made parts of him twitch. More than that though, they were filled with concern. And suddenly he wasn’t alone in front of a coffee machine. He rubbed his hand.

“Are you alright?”

“Fine, why do you ask?”

“Well you seem to be having an altercation with a vending machine.”

“What this?” He held up his hand, “I do that every so often just to stay in shape.”

That made her smile. She tilted her head and ran a nervous hand through her hair. She had beautiful hair. “Well if you wouldn’t mind taking a break from your routine, I was hoping to get some coffee.”

“Of course.”

She slid past him and he smelled petals. She was like spring. He admired her shapely backside and long legs. She was dressed immaculately. And that reminded him of Denny and where he was and once again there was a hole in his chest.

Coffee in hand Ms. Spring smiled at him again. She raised the paper cup to her mouth and took a sip. The light drained from her eyes and she ran her tongue over her lips. He thought maybe she had a hole in her chest too.

“It’s never hot enough is it? My name’s Alan by the way.” She was staring at her coffee and gave no sign that she had heard him. “Hey, are you okay?”

“Oh. What. Sure, I mean I’m fine. Alan right? My name’s Andy. Nice to meet you.”

A nurse appeared from around the corner, “He’s all set Mr. Shore.”

Alan turned to Andy and smiled, “Duty calls.”

She nodded and followed him back to the waiting area. Another nurse was wheeling Denny down the hall. “Your father?”

Alan shook his head, his smile turned inward and his eyes focused on a point just above Denny’s head. “No. Not my father. He’s just my friend.”

He was surprised when he felt a hand on his elbow. “I’m sorry.” And he could tell she was. And for the first time in several years those words didn’t make him feel contempt.

“Thank you.” And he moved off to collect Denny before he started pinching bottoms.

II.

“Well hello there.”

Andy looked up from her book. “Hello again. It’s Alan right?” She actually looked pleased to see him. No one was ever pleased to see him anymore.

“I’m not disturbing you am I?”

“Of course not, please sit down.”

He didn’t need to be asked twice. “No coffee today?”

“No, I’ve lost the taste for coffee. I’m dying for a cigarette though.”

“You smoke?”

“No, but before you showed up I was seriously thinking about starting.”

“Really? And why is that, if I you don’t mind my asking.”

“I’m not sure really. The futility of life maybe?"

“Indeed.” He regarded her more closely. It had been two months since their meeting at Starbucks, his nickname for the vending area, and she looked smaller. “Well Andy, I’m by no means an authority on the subject, but I can recommend a fine cigar or two if you’re interested.”

“Oh, so you smoke then?”

“No, but I used to. My taste for cigars has gone the way of your taste for coffee.”

The absurdity of the conversation made them both laugh. They shared a companionable smile and Alan realized he had been anticipating a second meeting. There was something about Andy, a light that radiated from within her. She was guileless.

“So Andy what brings you here today?”

Her light dimmed. And then she squinted her eyes at him and pursed her lips. He wouldn’t have thought her capable of producing such a look. “You’re a reporter aren’t you? Look Alan, if that’s even your name, I don’t know what story you’re after here or what your game is, but make no mistake about it if you print one word about Miranda Priestly I will personally make sure you regret it for the rest of your life.”

She was gathering her things and he wanted to reach out and stop her, comfort her, but truthfully he cared too much about his arm to risk it. “Andy, it’s okay. I’m not a reporter. I’m a lawyer. And I’m here for the same reason you are.”

She glared at him warily. Who she was hit him then and he remembered now the papers that ran story after story for months a few years back. He looked at the woman in front of him, the hurt that shone in her eyes, the set of her shoulders, the sudden appearance of a myriad of fine lines across her face and he felt like shooting something. Denny would be proud of that.

A minute or so had passed in which Andy had relaxed a bit and blinked a few times too many. She was still looking at him through glassy eyes with a hint of disbelief. “And what reason is that?”

“False hope.” He offered those words with all that he was. He could never be called guileless, but he strived for honest sometimes.

"Is there any other kind?" She sat back down. "I'm sorry Alan. It's just, it's..."

He laid his hand on her arm. "Say no more."

III.

“What no flowers?” Andy looked up from the journal she was writing in and favored him with a glowing smile.

“You know I left them in my other jacket with the chocolates. How’ve you been Alan?”

“Great and yourself?” He bent over and embraced her neck in a one armed hug before sitting down.

“Fabulous.”

He nodded and shut his eyes. The sound of Andy’s pen scratching across the page was soothing. After their last meeting, they felt like old friends. It was good to have a friend again. He dozed off.

He felt something jabbing him in the side and woke with a start. “What the…”

“You were snoring. Ten minutes under and snoring like a dragon. What’s your secret?”

Alan rubbed his hands over his face and up through his hair before resting them on top his head. “Two years of eighty to a hundred hour weeks right out of law school taught me to get my sleep wherever I could.”

Andy looked disgusted. “And I thought being Miranda Priestly’s assistant was rough.”

“It seems to have worked out alright for you.” He tried to wiggle his eyebrows suggestively, but it didn’t work.

Andy was laughing out loud. “Stop it Alan, you look like a hideously demented rabbit.”

“I’ll do anything to make a pretty girl laugh at me.”

“I believe you would. I should introduce you to Miranda.”

“That bad?”

“Moody doesn’t even begin to cover it. I had to switch to plastic silverware.”

“Mmm, I see.”

“The worst part is she wasn’t even appalled. My Miranda would never suffer sporks gladly.”

“She’s still your Miranda.”

“Sometimes.”

“Dignity is valuable, but our lives our valuable too.”

“In the event this fantastic voyage turns to erosion and we never get old? David Bowie.”

“Right. You don’t seem the type Andy."

“Yeah and I don’t smoke either, but you're not exactly quoting Keats there.”

“No offense meant. You just seem a bit too young perhaps to be a real fan."

“Come on Alan, it’s David Bowie.”

“You’ve got me there.”

They were silent for a moment. “It’s the losing her in pieces. It’s the watching her lose herself. It’s all the firsts we should never have had. The first time she looked right through me and didn’t know my name. The first time she wandered off and got lost. The first time she surrendered. This disease, it's…”

“Mad Cow.” She was sniffling and he took hold of her hand and gave it a squeeze. She looked at him with those huge brown eyes brimming with tears and suddenly nothing else mattered but making her smile again.

“Mad Cow?”

“That’s what Denny always called it.”

“I like it.”

“I’ll be right back.”

Andy was writing again when he returned. She looked up at him and smiled. “Alan I’m sorry about before.”

He shook his head, “Don’t be. Here.” He handed her the bag he was holding.

“What’s this then?”

“For you; open it.”

She pulled out the tissue paper and reached inside. A moment later her hand made contact with a furry ear and she pulled a fluffy white teddy bear out of the bag. He wore a red shirt with pink hearts on it that said "get well soon." There were little pink bows by each of his ears.

“Oh Alan he’s lovely. I think I’ll name him Bernard.”

“I think he’s a she.”

“Does it really matter?”

“I guess not.”

“But you shouldn’t have.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day Andy.” He sat back down and was dozing again in minutes.

IV.

It was three months before he saw her again. She was in the same chair scribbling away. Her hair was pulled back in a tight bun and she appeared to have shrunk further. Just like Denny, just like him—they were all shrinking--all the time. Gravity: It was science he supposed. “What’s that you’re working on?”

“Alan! I was hoping to run into you again. Bernard sends his regards.” Her smile did not reach her eyes. “It’s a book.”

“Ah so you’re a writer. Am I in any danger?”

“It’s not that kind of book.”

“What kind of book is it then?”

“A beginner’s guide to dementia and dating.”

“Mad Cow 101?”

“Sort of. But for us.”

“Well we are the ones who’ll remember to read it. May I?”

Andy handed him the pages; her handwriting was lovely. Alan selected a page at random and began to read. And then he read another and another until several minutes had passed. “Andy this is…this is good.”

“You needn’t sound so surprised.”

“No it’s not that. This is warm and smart. It’s honest. And it’s funny.”

“Well, I can’t take all the credit. I was greatly inspired by Runway and her ilk.” He looked puzzled. “You know those insipid little articles on love and dating they’re always running.”

“Sure, like 'Ten Fantastic Variations on the Blow Job that Your Man Will Love!'”

“What magazines are you reading? But yes that’s the general idea. Think of it as 'Ten Sexy Tips to Get Your Lover to Remember Your Name' or 'Is Your Partner Forgetful During Sex?' Take our quiz inside to see if they have Mad Cow.”

“Has it helped?”

“Yes and no. I just needed something to do; something to keep me going. You’ve never stopped working. So despite everything else at the end of the day you’re still Alan Shore, lawyer.”

“For whatever that’s worth.” He remembered the devastation in Denny’s eyes when he was finally forced to leave; it’s what brought them to New York. A pair of refugees in tailored suits. Every time he stepped into a courtroom now the guilt of still being able to practice law nearly suffocated him.

“That’s not the point. After Miranda resigned from Runway and the story broke…well before that happened I was a journalist. I hadn’t gotten very far in my career when we got the diagnosis and I would have kept working, but then everything just spiraled out of control and I guess I lost the taste for my chosen profession.”

“They’re not all vultures Andy.” But he could see in her the fresh faced, intrepid young reporter—a pad in one hand, pencil in the other—ready to champion the poor, the abandoned, the desolate. He could see the might have beens and was struck for the hundredth time by the injustice of it all. The world didn’t give a shit about anybody.

“Perhaps not. But Miranda needed me. I wouldn’t trade those first couple years during the early stages for anything in the world. Now, however, I find myself at loose ends.”

“So you wrote a book.”

“It seemed the thing to do. Maybe it will help someone else too.”

How she had managed to retain the ability to hope boggled him. It was like those people who returned to the volcano after an eruption to rebuild. Alan desperately wanted their faith or stupidity. He wasn’t sure there was a difference. “Any chance I could get an autographed copy?”

“I think something could be arranged.”

Four months later they met in the waiting room for the last time. This time it was he who was sitting down. Elbows on his knees, Alan cradled his head, eyes squeezed shut to keep out the world. He felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Alan?”

He didn’t want to hear that voice. He peered up at Andy through steepled fingers. She sat down next to him. “I have something for you.” She retrieved a book from her bag. "It’s being released on Tuesday.” When he didn’t move to take it, she reached around him and set it on the empty chair by his other side. She removed a bunch of yarn from her bag and started knitting.

“What are you making?”

“I think it’s going to be a scarf. To tell the truth though I'm not sure. I hate knitting.”

“Then why…”

“The girls, Miranda’s daughters,” Andy amended at seeing his look of confusion, “Cassidy and Caroline, they thought it would be good for me. So I thought I would make Miranda a scarf with winter just around the corner and all.”

He wanted to laugh. Miranda Priestly, former maven of the fashion world, in a poorly knit homemade scarf. “Will you make one for Denny too?”

“I can try.” Judging from the awkward way in which she held the needles in her hands it would be a Herculean effort. They settled into a companionable silence. He returned his head to his hands.

“I just want him to die Andy.” He had spoken so softly he wasn’t sure if he had spoken at all. But the click, click of his friend's needles had stopped. Louder now, “I just want him to die.” It was out. The thought, the desire that had crept up on his consciousness and eaten away at him like acid for the past couple of months was out. He felt lighter, if only just. “A lifetime spent indulging in red meat and single malt and he has to die like this? Whittled away to nothing. Stripped of everything, including his name. And he can’t just die of a heart attack. Why does all the plaque have to be in his brain?” His cheeks were wet now. “He’s holding on to life. Even this life, because it’s his, because he’s Denny Crane! I know it.” His voice hitched in his throat. “Why won’t he just die?”

And then Andy was kneeling in front of him, and his head was on her shoulder, and Alan Shore cried for the first time since he started down this path with Denny all those years ago. Minutes passed and Andy was sitting next to him again, holding his hand. “Denny Crane is the bravest man I’ve ever known. He’s my best friend. He’s the great love of my life.”

“I know Alan. I know.” And she squeezed his hand tighter. A minute or two later she let go and rose from her chair.

When she returned she offered him a paper cup.

“Please tell me that’s scotch.”

“Alright, it’s scotch.”

“Just what I needed.” The water was cool as it washed over his tongue. It tasted like crying. He smiled at Andy. She sat down again and took his hand.

“Do you know what scares me Alan? It’s not all of this,” and she waved her long fingers in the air motioning around them, “It’s losing her. Not in death, but in my own mind. What will happen when I can’t remember what she smelled like? What will happen when there’s nobody else to remember the details of our life together? I don’t want to be alone Alan. I don’t want to be alone with my own faulty memories.”

“You already are.”

“But if only I remember…”

She was a black hole of pain. They both were. “If a tree falls in the forest?”

“Exactly.”

“It still falls Andy. And your memories still matter.”

p.s.

When Denny finally died, it was not the relief he thought it would be. Weeks past, and he stopped shaving. There was so much time now. Too much time, all to himself. He was watching another episode of T.J. Hooker—he’d ordered the DVDs online a few weeks ago because Hooker reminded him of Denny for some reason—when he decided to go through his mail.

Amidst the piles of cards and letters, bills and junk mail he reached for a package. He’d seen who it was from and he hadn’t felt like opening it until now. Seeing Andy’s name on the return address had made him ache for his friend—Denny or Andy he wasn’t sure which.

Miranda was dead now too. It had been in all the papers: pneumonia. He hoped Andy had been able to finish her scarf in time. He hadn’t sent flowers or a card. But he arranged for an iPod filled with David Bowie to be delivered to her the day of the funeral.

He looked around for something to open the box with. He spied a butter knife on the floor and knew there was a reason he hadn’t been picking up after himself. Sliding the utensil along the seams he felt the new stitches in his heart coming up along with the tape. Alan wasn’t sure if the wound had had enough time to heal properly.

He reached inside the box and his hand made contact with a furry ear. He smiled for the first time in months.

Eight months later he was standing uncomfortably against the wall at a benefit gala for the New York City Chapter of the Alzheimer’s Association. Andy, who had become a board member, had addressed the invitation herself.

He was about to give up hope of actually seeing her when he felt a hand on his shoulder. “Hello stranger.” She looked radiant. And he remembered the first time he saw her.

“Andy. I almost wouldn’t have recognized you outside of a waiting room. You clean up well.”

“I could say the same for you. Care to dance Alan?”

He looked towards the dance floor. “Why not? Just don’t expect me to lead.”

They swayed together gently for a few moments and Andy set her head on his shoulder. “Miranda and I never got a chance to dance together in public. I’m sure it would have caused quite the stir.”

He remembered dancing with Denny and the scar across his heart ached. “You would have made a beautiful pair out here on the dance floor.” He gently kissed the top of her head.

The slow music gave way to something more upbeat and she looked up at him, “Thanks for coming tonight Alan. I just wanted there to be one person in the crowd who wasn’t after my money.”

“That bad?”

“I’m not going to complain. It’s better to have, than have not.”

“It is indeed. Let’s get a drink.” He led her over to the bar. A cool breeze was coming in from the open balcony doors behind them. “I’ll have a scotch.”

“And for you?” The bar tender nodded at Andy.

“The same.”

Alan raised an eyebrow, “What no white wine spritzer or champagne cocktail?”

“Please.”

He began to have an inkling that there may be more here for the basis of friendship than grief. Glass in hand Andy motioned towards the balcony. “Care to join me in a bit of fresh air Alan?”

He raised his glass to hers and clinked them together. “Andy, I believe this could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

Fic: Cinquieme As

Tue, 04 Dec 2007 18:16:17 GMT

Title: Cinquieme As
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Miranda/Andy
Summary: A short, one shot domestic scene in the shower. But nothing too naughty.
Disclaimer: I am not the creator of the characters in this story. That credit goes to Lauren Weisberger, for the novel she wrote in 2003 and to 20th Century Fox, for the movie produced in 2006.
A/N: It always struck me as really cool that Miranda bumped Snoop up to her table in the movie. This little bit of fluff sort of came to me from there. The title comes from an albumn by MC Solaar and I wanted to pay tribute because it’s great, but also because Miranda always has a fifth ace up her sleeve.
A/N Update: Warning! This is an unbetaed early fic. I *crosses fingers* hope that I've improved since writing this, but I thought I would still tag it correctly for the community.

Also, here is what I think Miranda would be driving. How hot would she look in this car?

“Miranda?” Andy called her name as she entered their bedroom and set down her bag. She'd been gone on assignment for the past week, covering the aftermath of a particularly devastating string of tornadoes that ripped through the Midwest. She was exhausted.

All she wanted to do was curl her arms around Miranda and inhale the glorious scent that belonged uniquely to her lover. Maybe then she would be able to sleep properly.

But there was no answer to her call. She was about to call Miranda’s name again when she registered music coming from the bathroom. Andy instantly recognized Dr. Dre, which meant Miranda had not had a good week either. At least that explained her clipped and weary tone during their daily phone conversations.

She smiled to herself as she listened to Snoop chime in, “I’m representing for them gangsters all across the world…” and shook her head. Rap and Miranda Priestly were an unusual combination to say the least, but Miranda’s wide ranging tastes no longer surprised her.

Andy remembered the first time she and Miranda had driven up to Miranda's house in Sag Harbor. She'd been awed when Miranda had pulled up outside her apartment in the most amazing light blue convertible she'd ever seen. Miranda had looked, well there was no word to adequately describe how Miranda had looked.

Andy remembered how she had pinched her arm just to make sure she wasn't dreaming. The pleasant memory of that afternoon floated around her as she willed the stress of the past week to leave her body. A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

"What no driver Miranda?"

Miranda gave her a look that said she was beyond stupid for asking. She climbed into the passenger's seat, delighted by the feel of cool leather against her skin.

Andy cast a sideways glance at Miranda. Did the woman have any idea how absolutely gorgeous she looked with her hair blowing out like a silver halo behind her head?

They drove out of the city in silence. The farther they got, the more Miranda visibly relaxed. Andy felt a growing sense of contentment. Being in a car with Miranda behind the wheel was a luxury to be savored.

Andy's hair had pulled free of its bun and billowed out behind her. The wind massaged her scalp. She felt like she was being lit up from the inside; joy seemed to sprout directly from her skin, twining her body in vines of pure happiness. She sighed.

Miranda looked at her, a rare and genuine smile on her lips. And then she flicked on the radio, giving the volume control a generous turn. She couldn’t help but laugh when Nelly’s ‘Ride Wit Me’ started thumping from the speakers. She caught Miranda smiling again as she bobbed her head and began tapping her fingers against the steering wheel.

Andy knew Miranda wasn't smiling now. She nudged open the bathroom door; it was like a sauna. She could just make out Miranda’s backside through the fogged glass of the shower door.

She stripped off her clothes and braced for the scalding her skin was about to receive. Miranda started when she opened the shower door.

Before Andy could offer a word of greeting, Miranda had her pressed up against the wall of the shower. Her tongue demanded entrance to Andy's mouth as her hands kneaded her quickly dampening hair. It was so hot, literally and figuratively, but she needed to breathe.

Miranda must have sensed this because she pulled away slightly. Her eyes were glazed.

“Gosh, It’s nice to see you too Miranda.”

“Mmm…I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow.”

“Yes, well I decided to catch an earlier flight.” She nuzzled Miranda’s neck.

Andy drew back in order to look Miranda in the eye. She ran her hands down her lover's spine and cupped her bottom. “So dearest, how was your week?”

Miranda tensed in her arms. Andy was not pleased by the lines of worry that appeared on Miranda’s brow, or the way she pursed her lips as if sucking on a lemon.

“My week was, well it was a disaster. You have no idea what it’s like to be surrounded by utter incompetence day in and day out. And Irv. Irv thinks he going to..."

Miranda’s voice trailed off. Andy knew better than to niggle. Instead she pressed her forehead against Miranda’s and kissed her nose. Miranda always pretended like she hated this, but Andy knew better.

It was a little known fact that Miranda Priestly had a deviated septum, which she stubbornly refused to have corrected. Andy thought it was just one more thing to love about her as she kneaded Miranda's bottom and slowly moved her hands up Miranda's sides until she held one glorious breast in each hand.

She sucked lightly on Miranda’s earlobe. “I’m sorry you had a bad week Miranda.”

“Yes, well.” Miranda arched into her as she circled her tongue around a hard pink nipple before taking it into her mouth. “I have to say it is rapidly improving by the second.”

Andy smiled and ran her hands over Miranda’s forehead in an effort to smooth away the worry.

“I'll break your neck, damn near put your face in your lap. Try to be the king but the ace is back…”

Andy couldn’t help herself. She laughed into Miranda’s chest as the lyrics struck her.

Miranda pulled back and glared at her. “I fail to see what’s so amusing Andrea.”

She brought her mouth back up to Miranda’s earlobe for another nibble. “Dr. Dre Miranda?”

Andy could feel Miranda raise an eyebrow in challenge. She laughed again and ran her tongue along Miranda's shoulder blade. She felt Miranda go slack in her arms.

Andy lived for moments like this. Moments when it felt like the love they shared was all that mattered in the world. Still chuckling, she shut her eyes and slid her leg between Miranda's knees. It was wonderful to be home.

fic: She Likes It Ruff

Sun, 02 Dec 2007 19:01:09 GMT

Title: She Likes It Ruff
Rating: M
Pairing: Miranda/Andy
Summary: Patricia!
Disclaimer: I am not the creator of the characters in this story. That credit goes to Lauren Weisberger, for the novel she wrote in 2003 and to 20th Century Fox, for the movie produced in 2006.
A/N: Another early, unbetaed *cringes* fic.

“Miranda I can’t.”

She looked up from between Andrea’s legs. “What’s the problem now Andrea?”

“The dog is staring at us again.”

“Her name is Patricia and I suggest you ignore her or shut your eyes.”

She resumed caressing Andrea's outer lips with her tongue. Repositioning herself, Miranda snaked her hands around Andrea's waist and roughly grabbed her lover's hips. Miranda found the contrast of the cool bedroom air against her moist delicious, as she swirled her tongue into Andrea's folds and gently nibbled her clit.

Andrea moaned and Miranda couldn't help smiling into her lover's inner thigh. This was bliss.

But then Andrea smacked her in the head with her knee as she yelped and scooted back.

Miranda growled and looked up into a startled pair of eyes. "Andrea, I trust you have a good reason for nearly giving me a concussion."

“The dog…is…right there.”

Oh this really was becoming absurd. She was trying to accomplish something here.

Miranda propped herself up and peered over Andrea’s leg. Patricia had indeed padded over to the side of the bed. She sat there panting, staring up at them intently. “Were you bitten as a child or something?”

“No. I just can’t, you know, relax, when she sits there watching us.”

Miranda rolled her eyes and released a frustrated breath. “Honestly Andrea, I can’t believe you. I’m really putting forth some effort here.”

“And I love you for it.”

“Then ignore the dog. Just shut your eyes.”

“You know perfectly well I can’t shut my eyes. I like to watch you.”

"Really Andrea." But of course, knowing how much Andrea delighted in watching her when she went down gave her a secret thrill.

“I just can’t relax Miranda. I’m not a dog person, you know that. The dog, Patricia,” she amended quickly when she saw the briefest flash of consternation cross Miranda’s face, “well I just wonder what she is thinking about. Don’t you?”

“Andrea, I can honestly say that I have never given a second thought to what Patricia is thinking. She is a dog. She is sweet, loyal, and follows commands when they are given to her, but at the end of the day she still jumps at any opportunity to drink water out of the toilet. Now, as pleasant as I find this conversation to be, do you think we could get back to the more pressing matter at hand?”

She drummed her fingers impatiently on Andrea's mound to emphasize her point. Andrea appeared not to notice.

“Well if she takes commands so well, why don't you just tell her to go somewhere else.”

This was beyond ridiculous. “Patricia.” Miranda used her most commanding tone. She raised an eyebrow and glared at the dog. That was all it took. Patricia tucked tail and ran, so to speak.

“You know it’s really scary what you can do with just a look.”

She fixed Andrea with her best oh you think so do you glare, but she just couldn’t keep a straight face. As her eyes danced over Andrea’s naked body, a smile curled on her lips. “I assume that you’re comfortable enough now for us to resume our activities?”

“Quite. Please, resume away.” Andrea was smirking at her just a bit.

In that instant it struck Miranda that she was making love to a cat person. And what was worse, she had been the one to play right into her hands, just like a happy little puppy begging for a treat. She growled just a bit against Andrea’s skin before returning her tongue to where it belonged, more viciously than before.

A while later, Andrea lay glowing and half asleep in her arms, the barest trace of a smile still lingering on her lips. Miranda laughed to herself at the little noises Andrea was making as she gently stroked her hair. It almost sounded like she was purring.

Miranda shut her eyes and curled a bit closer to Andrea’s warmth. Andrea may be ridiculous at times, but this was definitely bliss.

Fic: Andy F-----g Sachs

Tue, 20 Nov 2007 19:50:39 GMT

Title: Andy F-----g Sachs
Rating: M
Pairing: Miranda/Andy
Summary: Nigel's POV on an unexpected discovery
Disclaimer: I am not the creator of the characters in this story. That credit goes to Lauren Weisberger, for the novel she wrote in 2003 and to 20th Century Fox, for the movie produced in 2006.
A/N: This is my first DWP story and my first fic period. All mistakes are my own. If you see any errors, please feel free to let me know so I can correct them. I hope you like it.

Nigel froze at the sound of laughter. He had come into Miranda’s outer office to retrieve some notes on next week’s shoot that he had inadvertently left on Emily’s desk a few hours before. The last thing he expected was for anyone else to still be working at ten o’clock on a Friday night. But there it was again, unmistakably laugter, rich and deep.

As the realization penetrated his senses that is was Miranda's laughter, he stepped back in an effort to avoid the searingly melodious sound. Nigel could remember hearing Miranda genuinely laugh maybe once in the past twenty years. It was beautiful.

But what was Miranda still doing at the office?

For that matter, what was he still doing at the office? He knew the answer to that question, but shied away from facing the conotations. What did it say about him that he had no where better to be in New York City on a Friday night than standing outside his boss’s office listening to her laugh? What did it say about him, that he would willingly stay with a boss that laughed only once every twenty years? A boss whose every maniacal whim he kowtowed to, jumping at the opportunity to but her happiness and career above his own to such an extent that his personal life consisted of drinking cold cappuccino in a dimly lit room while staring at hundreds of images of depressingly thin, vacnt-eyed models for fun. Where was his John Wayne?

Bitterness, he mused, did not become him.

Nigel knew that he should turn around and leave quickly before he was discovered. But the sound of Miranda’s laughter was too intoxicating. And as her laughter morphed into another sound, something he couldn’t quite place he found himself compelled against his better judgment to angle in behind a garment rack that afforded a relatively clear view into Miranda’s office.

Miranda’s back was towards the door. She was leaning against the edge of her desk, legs spread wide. Her skirt was bunched at her waist, blouse pooled in a crumpled heap on the desk behind her. The soft light of the office made the bare skin of her shoulders and back seem almost iridescent. The image was breathtaking.

Her head was thrown back, eyes closed, hair mussed, throat upturned, and there it was again that sound, not quite a laugh and not quite a cry. It sounded as if a torrent of emotions had become lodged in her throat, each vying for dominance, desperately trying to escape.

Recognition dawned on him. He had made that sound once, a long time ago, when he had been deeply in love; when the parameters of his life had consisted of more than eight and half by eleven sheets of paper. The sound mocked him. Miranda mocked him. He should leave, now. But his feet wouldn’t move. He had to see, had to know who put that sound in Miranda’s throat because he was sure that not one of her three ex-husbands had ever come close.

Miranda was gently panting now. Tears were streaming down her cheeks. He saw her shoulders tense, her back go rigid, and then he heard her unintelligible release. Half scream, half moan, half curse… it took more than two halves to describe the whole of that sound.

Oh God, had Miranda Priestly just come on her desk? He realized he was breathless with the beauty of it all. Now there was the perfect cover for the magazine. He really should leave, but he had to know. Had to know who had reduced the coldest bitch in the fashion industry to a quivering mess on top of her own desk.

"Feel better?"

Nigel knew that voice. It couldn’t be. The voice's owner rose to her feet, wiped her chin with a smirk and gazed at Miranda with a look of love and lust that he wouldn't have thought her bright eyes capable of. But then it had been two years since he’d last seen her and he wouldn’t have thought her capable of maintaining that size four either.

Andy fucking Sachs. The girl who left. The girl who was currently being enveloped by Miranda Priestley’s mouth. And then all the puzzle pieces fell into place.

The weeks after Paris when Miranda had been the foulest he had ever known her. When nothing and no one had been good enough. When she had terrorized ten employees into quitting in the span of three days. Andy fucking Sachs had been responsible for all that.

And then the sudden change in Miranda. The day she had come in as if she hadn’t a care in the world, practically glowing. He supposed Andy fucking Sachs was responsible for that too.

The glow had spread. Miranda was never nice or warm, but those who knew her best, which obviously was not at all, noticed the change. She still demanded scaldingly hot Starbucks, her tongue still dripped satire like Elizabeth Taylor dripped diamonds, but it was all different somehow. If he hadn’t known better he would have said that Miranda’s heart really wasn’t in it anymore when her tongue lashed out at the hapless targets around her. Now he knew for sure, it wasn't.

And the changes at Runway, the peace-making with Irv, the stockholders, and the accounting department, he supposed Andy fucking Sachs was responsible for that too. The magazine was still on top of course, Miranda Priestly was still revered as a fashion institution unto herself, her name still inspired fear and excellence, but well it was different now. He had tried to ask her one day when she had insisted that they stay on budget for shoot. "You can catch more flies with honey, did you know that Nigel?" It hadn't been the answer he was looking for.

Then there were the family vacations—real vacations to quiet places far away from the fashion world. It wasn’t just the vacations though. Although Miranda had begun taking them twice a year, for two weeks at a time. Two god damned weeks, a whole month out of every year! No one could understand it but Nigel hadn’t complained because Miranda had trusted him to keep her abreast of the daily goings on; she had trusted him to act as her man in charge, her Girl Friday, and he had relished the opportunity.

It was the fact that Miranda Priestly, who had always doted on her girls to a fault—there was an office betting pool for kicks among the long-time staffers as to whether Cassidy and Caroline would turn out more like Paris Hilton, Lindsey Lohan, or the Olsen twins—became a good and devoted mother. No one did the girls homework anymore. And aside from the rare necessary night out, everyone knew that Miranda had to be home by seven for dinner and family time. She had even allowed Caroline to join the school basketball team. And when the girls actually began coming to Runway occasionally, to surprise their mother, they hugged and talked like a real family.

When he had read that Miranda and her first husband had resolved their long-simmering custody battle peacefully, he had been floored. Just like that, after years and years of viciousness, they had sat down at a table with their daughters present and worked it out. They had been heralded as an example of unselfishness, of putting their children first. And suddenly, acting like adults instead of like squabbling, insolent children had become the chic thing to do in every uptown divorce and custody battle. Andy fucking Sachs he knew now was responsible for that.

Yes, he was sure that if he looked closely enough at the changes in Runway, in Miranda, in her daughters over the past two years he would find Andy Sachs, with her hideous poly-blend and corn chowder ass, at the center of it. Why was it making him so angry? His job had become more pleasant. Everyone around him was happier, and he had to admit a bit more productive, if that were possible. Runway was doing better than ever.

He was torn from his thoughts; they were talking now. Miranda had pressed her forehead to Andy’s and was holding the back of Andy’s head with her hands. Her lips parted. "Do you know what a nightmare that past three weeks have been? Missing you. Needing you. Worrying about you every second of the day?"

Her voice was barely above a whisper and Nigel could hear the desperation, hear the tears that she had shed earlier. And for the first time he took in the bags that had been unceremoniously dropped on the floor of Miranda’s office, Andy’s--stylish he had to admit--rumpled travel clothes, and the dark circles under her eyes. He hadn’t followed Andy’s career. He remembered hearing something about a reference Miranda had provided for some newspaper and aside from the fact that Nigel had been amazed she’d provided one at all he hadn’t really given it a second thought.

He couldn’t afford to. Those weeks after Paris had been difficult for him, more than difficult. And the thought that Andy fucking Sachs had walked out on Miranda and her career, walked out on principle, in part it was rumored because of him, had made part of him hate her. He had cursed her and called her stupid with the rest of the office. Internally he damned her for her courage, her impudence, and above all, her freedom. One thing was for certain: he had never wanted to see her again.

But here she was. Rubbing soothing circles on Miranda Priestly’s bare back and whispering soothing words into her ear. "Ssh, Miranda it's okay. I’m home and I’m fine. This story will be incredible. It will earn me a new job on my own merits. Maybe even The Times."

He heard Miranda suck air through her teeth. She pulled away from Andy slightly and looked over her young lover's shoulder. Nigel supposed she was gazing at their reflection in the office window. "I never thought," she paused, "I never realized when I told you that you would have to step on people to get to the top, that you would first have to step on me."

Andy looked puzzled. "Miranda?"

"Andrea." She reached out and ran her hand along Andy’s chin. "Andrea I want you to have the world. I would give you the world if it were in my power to do so. I just, it’s just these past three weeks, I’ve never felt so empty."

Andy sighed. "Miranda, I love you. And contrary to what you might believe, I am not just like you. I can and will have my career and you at the same time. You, this, our life, it means more to me than anything."

"Then tell me you won’t take another overseas assignment. Promise me that you won’t put your life in jeopardy. You do know they kidnap, torture, and kill journalists over there don’t you! I may work with a pack of backstabbing harpies, but at least I only need to worry about the metaphorical knife in my back. Have you given any thought at all to what would happen to me, to the girls, if something happened to you? Have you given any thought at all to us or do we now permanently ride back seat to your ideals?"

Andy pursed her lips. She looked a bit exasperated. "Miranda. Miranda Priestly look at me." To Nigel’s surprise Miranda looked up at Andy, her face cast in stone. "Miranda, there are no guarantees in life. No matter how much you would like there to be. You know what my job involves. And I know you understand my need to go after the story wherever that might be, whatever it might cost me. You. You give me the strength I need to chase my ideals. You, the girls, us, our family propels me forward. Everyone should have this, or have the opportunity for this, and you and I both know we live in a world where that is so far from the case that…Miranda I love you. I love you so much it makes me crazy, you make me crazy. There are no promises I can make, no guarantees except this," and she encircled Miranda with her arms and placed a kiss on the top of her head, "I will love you with my whole heart until my last breath."

Nigel didn’t stay to hear more. He walked to his office in a daze. As he set his notes down he realized he was crying. Just a little bit, but it was enough. Maybe tomorrow he would offer his resignation or ask for a two week vacation. He wasn’t sure which. Andy fucking Sachs and her god damned courage. Miranda fucking Priestly and her what? Courage. Suddenly Nigel knew what he needed to do. He picked up his phone and dialed. "Hello James, its Nigel…"