Note: I know I said I wasn't going to be able to post, but, well, I am sick with strep throat right now and have been watching way too many news stories. Political views aside, I think one can draw a lot of similarities between MP and HC, and my mind kind of took it from there. *hugs*
Unauthorized
Andrea smiled as she flipped through the Style section of the Sunday Times. It was always a treat to see so many familiar faces on the pages whenever New York Fashion Week rolls around. And plus, she had to keep tabs on whatever the competition was reporting. Or at least that's what she told herself.
When she first accepted the position at the NY Mirror, she didn't think it would last. She saw it as a stepping stone, a way to bulk up her resume. Now, nine years later, she never dreamed that she would be its Deputy Editor.
She continued to scan the pages until she spotted her. There was no mistaking that signature silver bob. Over the years, that was the one feature of her appearance that had been completely unchanged. She hadn't spoken to the editor in as many years, though she did keep in touch with Nigel. He and his partner David had just moved to Brooklyn and adopted a dachshund puppy. Nigel was happy, and Andrea was happy for him.
They rarely spoke of Miranda, though she presumed Nigel did that on purpose. Ever since Paris when she had a little too much to drink and revealed how much she wanted to bed her boss, the two never spoke of the topic again. It didn't come up when Andrea came out to Nigel. It didn't come up when she introduced him to one of her girlfriends who happened to be twenty years her senior with a white pixie. It didn't come up when Andy told him she started going by her full name. And it certainly wasn't going to come up in casual conversation.
She would always be Andrea's "what if"—the one who got away. And leaving her job, especially before she had the chance to experience New York Fashion Week with the editor, was something she would always regret.
So, while Andrea had a legitimate interest in what the Times was reporting on the Fashion Week activities, and while she was delighted to see so many colleagues—past and present—at the shows, snapping and 'gramming and live-tweeting the coverage, what delighted her most was seeing Miranda in her element.
The next day, Andrea couldn't help but notice it was an unseasonably warm day for September. In fact, it wasn't just warm—it was sweltering. The temperature was in the upper 80's, there was not a cloud in sight, and the air hung thick with stillness and humidity.
She didn't even bother washing and straightening her hair this morning. Today was a day for gel and a bun on the top of her head. She wore an airy white sun dress, because, screw the No-White-After-Labor-Day rule. Anyone in New York City today would forgive the offense, and if they didn't, she'd just sweat on them a little. Andrea laughed at that thought and wondered how the Fashion Week crowd was handling the weather. The designers are mostly showing their fall/winter collections, so she seriously pitied the models who had to wear the parkas and wool and scarves. Hopefully there was air conditioning, she thought.
Her morning was like any other Monday—busy both catching up on the weekend and planning the week ahead. But the beauty of news was that she couldn't do much by way of planning. The news happened, whether papers were ready or not.
At lunch time, she headed downstairs to the cafeteria when she saw a breaking news report scrolling across the bottom of the television screen:
MIRANDA PRIESTLY FALLS ILL DURING FASHION WEEK EVENT…
Her heart stopped momentarily. Please let her be okay, she thought. Andrea quickly pulled out her phone to read the story, and saw several similar headlines: "Priestly Has Health Episode During Fashion Show" and "Videos show Priestly stumble, collapse leaving event."
She bit her lip. She didn't really want to watch the video, but knew she wouldn't be able to resist. Hopefully, it was grainy and you wouldn't be able to see much, she thought. Andrea clicked the link to the video, posted to Twitter by a bystander, and she immediately gasped. In its crystal clear HD, she could see Miranda being led out of the event by two young men. She was upright, but if their grip on her arms meant anything, she was not supporting herself. The video was a little bumpy, but followed them to the street, where they waited for her car to pull up. It looked like they leaned her against the bike stand and like she would fall over at any second. The car pulled up, and by this time Nigel had run over to help. As Miranda moved towards the car—"walked" was definitely not the right word—you could see her knees buckle and she almost fell face-first into the vehicle, were it not for Nigel's grip on her. Several security guards appeared and formed a wall, blocking any further view.
Andrea watched the video several times in horror, then immediately sent a text message to Nigel: I just saw the video. Is Miranda okay?
He responded right away: Not really. At my apartment now.
Andrea's heart sank. She sent another message: I want to help—what can I do? Can I come over?
Nigel responded: No, already too many people here. Her drs are with her now. Help get rid of that video.
Andrea took a deep breath. Miranda was being tended to by, no doubt, the best doctors in New York. She didn't need Andrea to hold her hand; she needed Andrea to use her influence with the media. She told Nigel to call her later when he had a chance, and she quickly returned to her office.
After a few phone calls, Andrea was assured that the major news outlets, both cable and local, would not run the video clip on television or on their websites. This only left her to contact the amateur videographer, but first, she reached out to her contact at the NYPD to see if they could get Twitter to remove the unauthorized video.
"Ms. Sachs, I have Mr. Dorfey for you," her assistant called.
"Jack, hi," Andrea said sweetly. She met the Twitter CEO at a banquet a few years ago and the two had been good friends ever since.
"Andrea, sweetie, you know it's against our policies to remove that video."
"Jack, listen to me," she said. "This woman means everything to me. I would not be here without her, and she does not deserve this."
"Sweetie—"
"No, hear me out. If it was a blurry pixelated video, we wouldn't be having this conversation. But technology advances more quickly than the law. You and I both know that. This video is crystal clear. Everything happened so fast, her security team couldn't keep up. This should never have been recorded."
"Andrea, I can't just take down the video and then change our terms," he said.
"Jack. Every single news story is linking to this tweet, to this video. Go ahead, look at the analytics if you don't believe me. Please, I will owe you the biggest favor of my life if you help me here," she said. Tears were streaming down her cheeks as she watched the video again. "Please."
He sighed. "I'll figure something out, but it won't be permanent. It will buy you a few hours to track down the user, though."
"Thank you. Thank you, thank you thank you!" she cried.
When she went to hit "replay" she got a 404 error message. He couldn't take the video down so he crashed the entire site.
Andrea quickly called her friend back at the NYPD back and within an hour the District Attorney had issued an order to confiscate the video camera and mobile device of the person. The videographer stupidly had continued posting geo-tagged tweets for the two hours after the video was taken, so authorities had no problem locating her. Yes, her. A young woman who could have easily been one of Miranda's former assistants.
News reports now began referring to the unauthorized video that had been removed, and she felt a wave of relief. That was the best she could do. There would no doubt be screenshots and other footage that would surface, but hopefully it would be minimal. She sent Nigel another message: Video is taken down. How is she doing?
Nigel replied: About ready to head home. Treated for severe dehydration, and doing better. I'll tell you more later. I told her you took care of the video and she blew a kiss at me. I think that's yours. :-*
Andrea stared at the text. Miranda knew she helped, and she thanked her with a kiss. Nigel better have been telling the truth. Seriously? she wrote.
He replied: Cross my gay little heart.
Andrea took a deep breath. This was getting to be too much. She needed to see Nigel in person and talk to him, face-to-face: Can I come over after work?
He didn't reply right away, but when he did, she was shocked: She wants to rest tonight, but says you can come by tomorrow morning. She's taking the day off.
Suddenly she felt her heart beating out of her chest. It had been nine years, and now, she was going to see Miranda in less than twenty four hours. She quickly replied to Nigel: Great, I look forward to seeing her then. P.S. Can I come talk to YOU tonight?
Nigel wrote back: Hahahaa! Of course. P.S. You're welcome. ;)
That night, Nigel actually got caught up at work, so Andrea had dinner with David. It felt very surreal, being in the room Miranda had occupied several hours earlier. Of course, a cleaning crew had come and gone and the place was immaculate, but still. David reassured her that any hard feelings would be water under the bridge after nine years, and that she go in with an open mind.
"Open mind about what?" she asked as she helped him load the dishwasher.
"About her. About her feelings towards you," he said. "She definitely doesn't hate you."
"What?! Wait, have you talked to her about me?" Andrea asked.
"No, never. Your name has never come up, and I don't believe Nigel has mentioned it before, either. It's just today—you texted and he was sitting right next to her. She was reading the messages over his shoulder and the look on her face was not one of dislike."
Andrea pondered this information. "Did she really blow a kiss?"
David laughed. "It was pure gratitude, but most definitely directed at the phone and not Nigel," he added.
The following morning, Andrea spent over an hour fussing with her outfit. When she finally settled on a green dress, she tossed her things into her bag. Her phone, however, showed a text message from an unknown number.
Since you never returned your key, let yourself in. 112849 'disarm' for the alarm. -M
Andrea took a deep breath. Miranda just sent her a text message. Before looking into it too much, she sent a quick reply: Ok, I'll be over in about an hour. Need anything? -A
She tossed her phone into her bag and headed for the subway. Of course she kept Miranda's key on her personal key ring. She didn't know how to give the key back, and she didn't want to use Nigel to return it, so she kept it, and kept it safely stored with her own key. She never dreamed she'd be using it once again.
When she got off the subway, she stopped at the corner bodega and bought a bunch of flowers. Quickly checking her phone, she saw that Miranda had replied: Yes, actually, if you don't mind. Kleenex. I'll reimburse you. -M
Andrea smiled. She wondered if Miranda knew there were services where you could order things like Kleenex from your phone. But of course Miranda knew about that. She just chose not to use it.
She bought two boxes of Kleenex from the drugstore and walked the last three blocks to Miranda's home. It was exactly as she remembered. Walking up the front steps was like a trip down memory lane. She unlocked the door and disarmed the security system with no issue, but after that, she wasn't sure where to go.
Miranda must have sensed this, because she received a text message: Upstairs, 3rd floor, last door on the right.
Andrea quickly climbed the steps and paused outside the room, knocking gently.
"Come in," a hoarse voice called. It was followed by several coughs, and Andrea suddenly worried that the editor really was ill with some contagious disease.
"Miranda, hi," she said, stepping inside and approaching her bed. She set the flowers down at the foot of the bed and seeing the pile of used tissues in the bin next to the bed, she opened one of the boxes of Kleenex and held it out to the editor. "How are you doing?" she asked.
"You're the first person, I think, who has been sincerely concerned about my health. I can't thank you enough for how quickly you got that video taken down," she said, pausing to cough into a tissue. "I don't want to think about all the money Rupert Murdoch would have made off of it."
"Of course. I'd do…anything. But are you okay, health-wise?" she asked, quickly changing the subject.
Miranda coughed again, then reached for water. After taking a drink she put her hands up to cover her face. "I have pneumonia. The nurses will be back tonight to give me more antibiotics," she said, lifting up her hand and revealing the IV. "Yesterday was a nightmare."
"Did it happen all of a sudden, or had you not been feeling well?" Andrea asked.
"Please sit. You're not pregnant, are you?" she asked.
Andrea's eyes widened and she shook her head.
"Okay, good. They say that this could still be contagious and it's dangerous for pregnant women," she said. She took a deep breath and had another coughing fit before she continued. "I was feeling tired, just really exhausted. I had a bit of a cough, but it was August—I thought I had allergies like everyone else. And then it was so damn hot yesterday." She paused to cough. "The show was running behind and there was no water for the guests. I guess I passed out on Nigel while we were just sitting there. Stefan and Alexander—my assistants now—they helped me to the car, but it took Roy a few minutes to pull the car around because of the traffic."
"Oh my, that must have been terrifying," Andrea said.
"It was, but it wasn't. It was like I wasn't even there. I couldn't move. I could hardly hold my head up. I was only thinking about how soon it would be until I could take off my tweed coat and lay down in air conditioning. I don't remember waiting for the car, or the ride to Nigel's, just waking up in a silk robe in his bed."
"Nigel's blue silk robe?"
"Yes, why?"
Andrea smiled. "Nothing, I just know the robe. Sometimes I crash at his place and he always wears that when he's making coffee."
Miranda chuckled. "I'll have to be sure to replace that for him," she said. "I hadn't realized you two kept in touch."
"Yeah, a few times a year we'll get together. It's usually me using him for advice. I'm like a leech," she said, chuckling.
"Why didn't you ever ask me?" she asked quietly.
Before Andrea could respond, the woman began coughing again, so much that she turned away and coughed into one of her pillows. Andrea got up from her chair and approached the bedside, placing one knee on the mattress and sitting on her leg, she reached over and placed her hand on Miranda's back. With her other hand, she grabbed a few Kleenex and handed them to the woman. She took them and continued coughing, while Andrea gently traced circles on her back.
When the coughing fit appeared to be over, Miranda sank back against the pillows. She was visibly fatigued. Andrea handed her a glass of water and held up the trash bin for the used tissues.
"I'm afraid that my being here is making your cough worse because I'm making you speak," she said.
"No, it's not. Really, I've been like this all night," Miranda said. Her eyes were red and bloodshot from the intense coughing, but she seemed to genuinely appreciate the visit.
Andrea sighed. "To answer your question, why I didn't ask you—I was afraid, afraid that you would say something horrible to me, or maybe worse, that you wouldn't respond at all," she said quietly, her eyes fixed on her hands in her lap.
"Oh, Andrea, why didn't you say something to Nigel? He would have known I would be amicable."
"It's complicated. Nigel and I have managed to not really mention you to each other for nine years. It kind of became our thing. I think we wanted to prove to each other that we were had other things in common. It's weird. I'm sorry," Andrea said. "Not a day went by that I didn't think of you," she added.
Miranda reached out and took the young woman's hand. "I waited for your call," she said. "Every time the phone rang, I needed to know who it was. I checked my own email even. Nothing. Not even a 'Thank you for the reference, Miranda.' Nothing," she said, letting the young woman's hand drop.
"Miranda, I—"
"Let me finish. You had your chance—every day for the past nine years you had your chance," she said. "I would have taken you back, you know. I have never gotten emotional over any employee except you. Why is that? Everyone thought I was upset about the divorce—even Nigel was confused. And now, yesterday, with the video…you come waltzing back in my life to save the day when I am at my most vulnerable…"
"Miranda, stop," she said, gripping the woman firmly by the shoulders. "I didn't want my job back. It was an exhausting job and the pay was shit. Sorry, but it was, and you know it. But through that job, I came to know you, and that was worth it." She let go of the woman, as she started to cough again.
"You walked away. You didn't want to come back. Why now? Why are you here?" the editor asked.
"Miranda," she whispered, reaching up to cup the woman's cheek. She felt warm, and must have been running a fever. She pressed a kiss to her forehead, and looked into her incredible blue eyes. She had tears in the corners, and Andrea wasn't entirely sure they were all a result of her coughing. "I was practically a child nine years ago. It would have been a mess. But I'm here, now, and I am not going anywhere. Do you understand?" she asked.
The editor closed her eyes and nodded.
"I want you to rest and get well, because as soon as you are feeling better I would like to kiss you properly," she said, again pressing a kiss to the woman's forehead.
"That's…that's nice…but…I don't feel so…so good now," Miranda muttered.
"You're burning up," Andrea said, pressing the back of her hand to the woman's forehead. "I'll go get you some ice. Are you nauseous or anything?"
Miranda nodded weakly.
"Can you sit up?"
Miranda tried to push herself up but sank back into the pillows shaking her head.
"Okay, I'll be back in a few minutes with some ice. Just relax and close your eyes," she said, practically sprinting downstairs to the kitchen. It was more than a little terrifying to see Miranda so weak, and she tried to get the image out of her mind. There were none of the jelly-style icepacks in the freezer, so she opened cabinets until she found a box of ziploc bags, filled a few with ice from the ice maker, then grabbed another bottle of water and ran back upstairs, where Miranda was curled up on her side, coughing and groaning.
When her cough had settled, Andrea helped her drink some water, then readjusted the pillows so she would be sitting up at an incline. It seemed her cough was worse when she was laying down. She placed one of the icepacks on her forehead and Miranda practically moaned. Andrea set another on the woman's chest, and put the other two in her hands.
"How is that?"
"Cold…good," she said, sighing.
Andrea reached up and adjusted the bag on her forehead, brushing her hair out of the way. "You poor thing," she said as she absentmindedly ran her fingers through the woman's hair. "You must feel miserable."
After about ten minutes, Miranda took the bag of melted ice off her chest. Andrea gathered the bags and put them in the bathroom, in the sink. She held out a glass of water with a straw for the woman, and waited while she took several sips.
"What else can I get you?"
Miranda shook her head. "I'm going to try and sleep."
"Okay. I'm going to run to the office—is that okay? I'll come back later this afternoon," Andrea said, taking her hand.
"You don't have to come back," Miranda said. "I appreciate the visit, and again, thank you for the video situation."
"Look at me," Andrea said, waiting for the woman to open her eyes. "I am coming back tonight. Okay?"
Miranda's lower lip quivered and she quickly nodded.
Andrea leaned over and hugged her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I can't leave you again," she whispered. "I'm coming back."
She felt the editor's arms tighten around her and she could feel tears on her shoulder. After a few minutes, she pulled away and wiped her own eyes before taking a Kleenex and wiping the other woman's.
"Now, do you need anything before I go?" she asked.
Miranda shook her head.
"Okay, please get some rest," Andrea urged, kissing the woman's forehead before leaving the room. Downstairs, she washed her hands before setting the security alarm again and letting herself out.
She went from meeting to meeting that afternoon, and all she could think about was getting back to Miranda. Was it seriously going to happen just like that, she wondered. After talking to a slightly delirious woman for two hours, was she going to drop everything and change her life for the woman? Before she could even finish the thought, the answer was yes, because Miranda was worth it.
On her way back to the townhouse later that night—she took a taxi this time—she scrolled through the news. It appears Miranda's PR team released a statement that she was being treated for pneumonia. According to the Post, Miranda had been on antibiotics for days and was no longer contagious. She thought she could make it through a few shows, but the heat caused severe dehydration and she had to leave abruptly. Of course, other sources reported that she was on her deathbed, that she is unfit for her position, and that she's been hiding her health issues for years.
When she entered the townhouse, there was a flurry of activity. Nurses and doctors were running all over the place, and Andrea suddenly grew worried. "Stefan, right?" she asked, grabbing one of the men she had seen carrying Miranda on the video.
"Ugh, no. I'm Alexander. And you are?"
The other assistant appeared out of nowhere, nudging Alexander aside. "I am Stefan. Ms. Sachs, right this way," he said, leading her upstairs.
"Andrea Sachs!?" Alexander gasped. "She's…she's…"
"She's here to see Miranda, and Miranda asked that she wait in the study, as she is just getting out of the shower," Stefan said, rolling his eyes. "Sorry, total incompetence around here. Can you believe what I have to put up with? Actually, never mind, of course you can."
"Is she doing okay?" Andrea asked. "I didn't expect so many people to be here."
"Yes, I think she's better. The nurse was here to check her, another nurse helped her shower, the housekeeping service disinfected her room while she showered, and the doctor wants to give her more IV fluids and antibiotics or something. I think housekeeping will be here a while longer. Do you eat?"
Andrea blinked as she tried to keep up with Stefan's train of thought. "Um, yes, I eat, but I do not want anything."
"I didn't ask," he said, rolling his eyes. "Miranda is technically on bedrest, but the doctor said it would be okay for her to come down the hall to eat dinner here, at her desk in the study. You will eat with her—croque monsieur with chicken and dumpling soup. There's gluten—is it a problem?"
"N-no, not at all. Look," she said, "I'll take it from here. Miranda needs rest, which means all of this," she gestured with her hands, "needs to not be happening. When she finishes eating, her doctor can give her the IV. I'm sure her appetite isn't up to par, so that will be pretty soon. She will call if she needs anything further," Andrea said, gently pushing Stefan towards the door.
"But—I—but—" he stammered.
"Here," she said, handing him the keys to her apartment. "I need an overnight bag—toiletries, makeup, pajamas, something to wear tomorrow. Can you do this or should I ask Alexander?"
He grabbed the keys and waited while Andrea scribbled her address on a post-it. "I'll, uh, be discrete. I'll put your things in the closet across from the stairs and you can retrieve whenever you're ready," he said.
"Perfect. Thank you so much. You are such a help. We will call if there's anything else, but remember, Miranda needs her rest, so, wrap it up," Andrea said.
Within minutes, the townhouse returned to its peaceful silence. If people were milling about downstairs, they were doing it quietly. Andrea took the tray from he gentleman at the door and quickly set out their dinner.
Soon after, Miranda walked in, looking much better than she had been earlier. A nurse followed her and led her to the chair before disappearing out of the room. Miranda's gaze was fixed on the young woman, as if she couldn't believe she had actually come back.
Before Miranda could open her mouth to speak, Andrea said, "I am staying here tonight. Stefan went to get some things from my apartment. Now, let's eat before dinner gets cold."
The editor smiled and shook her head, nodding her assent. When she looked down at the food, though, she cringed. "I am not eating soup," she said.
"It's mostly broth," Andrea explained. "It's salty enough to make you thirsty and encourage hydration, and plus, the warmth should feel soothing on your throat."
"If I want that I'll suck on a lozenge," the editor said, pushing her bowl away, coughing a little. She set her hand on the table next to the plate and stared at it.
Andrea tried not to stare at her, so she focused on her own meal. She wasn't hungry, but the sandwich was absolutely delicious. Miranda started coughing again and she tried to ignore it, but the woman was coughing so hard she couldn't help but look up.
All of a sudden, her cough stopped and she just sat there. Her eyes were open, but unfocused, and she was awkwardly pushing at her plate with her hand.
"Miranda?"
The editor didn't respond, so Andrea stood and walked around the desk.
"Are you okay?" she asked. Miranda's arm continued its odd movement and her head tilted to the side a few times. Judging by the lack of other response, she could see something was seriously wrong.
"Help! Someone, hurry!" she cried as she helplessly kneeled next to the woman, taking her hand and cupping her cheek. "Miranda, it's okay," she said, trying to reassure her. Andrea squeezed her hand and pressed a kiss to her cheek.
A nurse and doctor came rushing in. "I don't know what happened. She was sitting down to eat, and then she started coughing and then she couldn't move. Is she having a stroke?" Andrea asked.
The doctor shook his head. "Miranda, take a deep breath," he said loudly. "You're having a seizure, and you're going to be okay." He turned to Andrea. "Talk to her, squeeze her hands. Touch her lightly," he said.
"Miranda," she said hesitantly, tears running down her cheek. "It's going to be okay. We're, um, here in your study. We were going to eat dinner—you didn't want the soup," she added, squeezing both of Miranda's hands. She felt a slight squeeze back and was relieved. "Yes, keep doing that. Squeeze my hand," she said.
Miranda blinked a few times, then her lips moved and her tongue darted out to lick her lips.
"Miranda?" the doctor said.
The woman turned to look at him.
"Do you know where you are?" he asked.
"Th-the study. My house," she said carefully. "What—Andrea, why are you—" she looked down at their joined hands and inhaled in recognition.
"What do you remember about the last few minutes, Miranda?" the doctor asked.
She squeezed Andrea's hands once more before letting go. "I sat down to eat and started coughing and had an…" she paused and waved her hand in the air, "episode."
Andrea smiled. It was reassuring to see the woman's natural indifference, proof that she was really okay. "How do you feel now?" she asked.
"Tired. I think I need to rest for a while," she said, pushing the chair away from the desk and moving to stand up.
The doctor and nurse both stepped in to help support her as she walked. Not only was she still a little unsteady from the pneumonia, but she was also a little confused and still recovering from the seizure. They walked her to her room and helped her into bed. While she was laying there, the doctor took the time to connect her to the IV for fluids and antibiotics. Miranda's eyes were closed, so Andrea took the opportunity to talk to the doctor in the other room.
"Are you sure she's going to be okay? She doesn't need any tests or anything?" Andrea asked.
"What is your relationship to the editor?" he asked.
"Um, well," she stammered, "I'm just a friend."
"You know I cannot provide any medical information without her explicit consent," he said with a frown. "However," he added, "I am confident that she will recover just fine. It is imperative that she rest and stay in bed for at least two days, preferably a week. I cannot stress that enough. She needs rest, both mind and body."
"Thanks," Andrea said. She saw that Miranda was still resting, so she left the bedroom and returned to the study, clearing their plates and taking everything down to the kitchen. All of the others had left the townhouse, so she took her time putting the plates away.
A short while later, the doctor and nurse came downstairs, heading for the door.
"Are you leaving?" Andrea asked.
"Yes, the nurse will be back tomorrow. She's awake if you want. She might be a little disoriented, but it should be fine once she gets some rest," he said.
"What do I do if she has another episode?" Andrea asked.
"Exactly what you did today. Calmly try to guide her out of it and make sure she doesn't injure herself. You'll be fine," he added.
She said goodbye and followed them to the door, locking it after they left. She quickly returned to Miranda's room upstairs, and seeing the light on in her bedroom, she carefully entered.
"Hi, how are you?" Andrea asked.
Miranda shook her head and covered her eyes. "I wish you hadn't seen that."
"Don't worry about that. I am just glad you are okay," Andrea said, approaching the bed and gently brushing her arm. She locked eyes with the young woman and for the next few minutes, neither of them spoke.
"What are you thinking?" Miranda asked.
Andrea frowned. "That I want to ask you more about it, but I know you're a private person."
Miranda sighed. "In the last forty-eight hours, I think my privacy went out the window. I don't feel like talking about it much tonight, but I will say that I've been experiencing mild partial seizures for the last few years, so this was nothing out of the ordinary." She reached for Andrea's hand and squeezed it. "As I said, I am sorry you saw this, but thank you for being here and for being so calm through it all."
"I'm only calm on the outside," she muttered.
Again, the editor squeezed her hand. "Oh, Andrea. Come rest with me for a while, will you? I want to try and get some sleep while this cough syrup is working."
The young woman nodded and turned out the light before walking to the other side of the bed, joining the editor. Her mind was racing and there was no way she could fall asleep, but she knew Miranda needed to rest, so she stared up at the ceiling and tried to keep still.
After some time had passed, Miranda turned to her side and her hand found Andrea's. "Are you awake?" she whispered.
Andrea squeezed her hand. "Yep," she said.
"That night, after you left in Paris, I sort of collapsed. It was a combination of stress and fatigue, and no doubt the strong emotions I was feeling over the divorce, everything with the Holt position, you leaving. I was alone in my room when it happened. Nigel found me on the floor—I had hit my head on the desk when I fell and was bleeding and unconscious. He could have left me there to die after what I had just done to him, but he didn't. He called the paramedics, gave them some fake names, and went to the hospital with me. I stayed in Paris for a few weeks, recovering from the concussion. When I finally returned to New York, that's when the seizures started," she said.
Andrea squeezed her hand tightly. "Oh, Miranda, I had no idea."
"You wouldn't have known. I kept it private, kept it out of the American press, thanks mostly to Nigel."
"But he never said anything to me."
"I asked him not to," Miranda said.
"So there isn't anything they can do about the seizures?" Andrea asked.
"No, unfortunately. I can usually tell when one is coming on—so if I'm at work, I send everyone out of my office without explanation and ask for the door to be closed," she said. "Or if I'm somewhere else, I try to make it to the car. Between the coughing and medication, I just wasn't feeling myself and couldn't feel this one. You know," she said, "you're the only one who's actually seen it."
"Really? Not even the girls?"
Miranda chuckled. "No, they don't even know. They hate being called 'the girls,' too. And it's Cass and Lina—they are living in London with their father now, attending university at Oxford."
"Oh, wow. You must miss them. Oxford, though, that's amazing, and I'm sure it will be a great experience for them," Andrea said.
"Yes, well, I really don't want to talk about them. I—I don't want you to leave," she blurted out. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say that," she said, quickly pulling her hand away and turning to the other side, away from the young woman.
Andrea moved closer and hugged the woman from behind. "I know this is going to sound crazy, but actually, I don't want to leave," she said as she pressed a kiss to the older woman's cheek. "I feel terrible that I didn't know."
"Why?" Miranda asked. She gripped Andrea's hand and held her close.
"Because I would have been here."
"You can't know that. It's easy to say—"
"No," Andrea said, hugging her tightly and burying her face in the woman's neck. "I swear to you. If I had known, I would have—I would have done anything, Miranda. I would have done anything," she cried.
"Darling, please don't get upset," Miranda said. "We can talk more in the morning, let's just go to sleep," she said, gently patting Andrea's hand. "I need to use the bathroom. If you'd like to change into something more comfortable, help yourself."
"I actually, um, I sent Stefan to my place to pack a bag. It should be downstairs."
Miranda laughed. "Oh my, I guess you have changed a lot in nine years. I am glad you were thinking ahead," she said before shutting the bathroom door.
The next morning, a coughing fit woke Miranda, and by proxy, the young woman whose arms were wrapped around her.
"Breakfast in bed for the queen," Andrea said as she set down the tray loaded with coffee, tea, fruit, toast, and yogurt.
"You are too good to me," Miranda said, accepting the cup of hot tea. "I actually feel much better this morning—and no, before you say anything, I know, I will not overdo it."
Andrea smiled. "You know, I really missed you."
"Oh, are we having that conversation again?" Miranda asked. "I thought we settled it last night."
"If I remember correctly, we said we were going to finish that talk," she added, sipping her coffee.
"What else do you want to know? I think I told you everything."
"What names did you use?"
"Huh?"
"At the hospital in Paris, you said you used fake names. What were they?"
"That's what you want to know?"
Andrea nodded behind her coffee cup.
"George and Martha Kipling," she replied.
Andrea grinned. "I love that play."
Miranda set her cup down. "Andrea, what are we doing here? Why are you still here?"
"I am here because I am in love with you, Miranda Priestly, and because I care about you more than life itself. Seeing you again, being near you—I couldn't walk away again," she said.
"Oh, my. That's quite the declaration," Miranda said, clearly flustered at the young woman's words. "I must admit the past few days with you have stirred something, but," she paused and took a deep breath. "I need time to think, Andrea. Time away from you. Between the pneumonia and that public video and the seizure, I am particularly vulnerable, and it would not be fair to you if I said something now that I might later regret. I hope you can understand," she said, reaching out her hand.
The young woman was surprised at this response, and hesitated before taking her hand.
"It's Saturday, right? How about this—stay for the weekend. On Sunday night, we'll say our goodbyes and reconnect in exactly one month," Miranda said. "We'll both go back to work, and we won't speak of this to anyone—not even Nigel. Deal?"
"If that's my only choice, then yes, of course," she said, wiping the tears from her eye. "Whatever you need."
"Darling, I promise you, if we decide to pursue this, it will not be all about me and what I need. You had nine years. Give me one month."
"You had nine years, too! How is that fair?"
"Life is not fair, Andrea. What I had was nine years of wondering what I did that made you hate me so much. I don't think that counts," Miranda said.
The young woman sniffled and nodded. "Okay, I see your point and I agree. One month. Where shall we meet?"
Andrea's eyes widened.
"No. No, I know what that look is. We are not meeting at the top of the Empire State Building. Andrea, I know too many people who work there. My lawyer has an office there, in fact," Miranda said. "What about your place? Or would you rather meet in public?"
"Well isn't that the point of a public place? That both parties have a choice of whether to show up or not."
"I could never do that to you. Regardless of what I decide, I want to see you and talk to you in person. So we can meet anywhere, because I will be there, or we will rearrange our schedules until we find a date that works. Would you rather meet here?"
Andrea smiled and shook her head. "My place is perfect." She picked up the tray and moved it to the other side of the bed so she could sit next to the editor. She gently reached up and cupped her cheek, and before Miranda could say anything, Andrea's lips were on hers. She pulled back, but Miranda quickly grabbed her shirt and pulled her closer, pressing their lips together once more.
They got carried away and Miranda began coughing, so Andrea brought her the inhaler the doctor left and waited until her breathing was back under control.
"What was that for?" Miranda asked. Her hair was mussed and her lips were swollen.
"If I only have the next 36 hours to persuade you, I thought I should make the most of it," she said.
The rest of the weekend was spent in bed, Andrea waiting on Miranda and making sure she got her rest. Rest, which, for Miranda, now included nonstop kisses, to which Andrea did not object.
It was difficult saying goodbye, but Miranda reminded her that four weeks would go by so quickly compared to the past nine years. They had plans to meet on Saturday, October 18th at Andrea's place for dinner.
They both returned to work, and both found it difficult to concentrate. Miranda had an excuse; Andrea did not.
At the risk of jeopardizing her career, Andrea tried to block out Miranda and focus on her job, on the paper, and on doing the hard work that got her there in the first place. Sure enough, two weeks flew by and she was already halfway there.
Miranda was able to hide behind her recuperation. If she seemed distracted during the day, it was because she was still recovering from pneumonia. She had another episode in the car on the way to Elias-Clarke. Luckily, when the security guard opened the door for her, he saw that something wasn't right and quickly got in the backseat with her, instructing Roy to drive around. She had passed out in the backseat, but thankfully there were no photographs. After circling the block, she was feeling fine and was able to exit the vehicle and enter the building.
The following day was October 1st, exactly two weeks and one day before she was to meet Andrea. She had her driver drop her at the Mirror offices, and when she found Andrea's office, she shut the door.
"Miranda, hi. What are you doing here? Is everything okay?" she asked, coming around the desk to greet her guest. Her office had a wall of windows with no blinds or curtains or anything. No privacy whatsoever, and she could see that the entire newsroom was watching this exchange.
The older woman just shook her head and reached for Andrea's hands. "No, it's not okay. I am in love with you, Andrea Sachs, and I don't want to spend another minute of my life bein—"
Before she could finish, Andrea leaned forward and captured her lips. Miranda deepened the kiss, hugging her tightly. Andrea wrapped her arms around the woman and laced her fingers through her hair. That caused the older woman to shiver and moan.
"Are you…free…for a few hours?" Miranda asked, panting between kisses.
"Mm-hmm," she replied. "My place…or yours?" she asked.
"Let's start with the town car," she said with a smirk. "Come on," she tugged her arm. "You can have Stefan come gather your things later," Miranda urged. "I need you—now," she mouthed.
Andrea grabbed her coat and followed the woman out of the office. As expected, her entire staff was watching. Someone, somewhere in the back corner started a slow clap, and it turned to cheers and hollers "Get her, girl!" as they made their way through the news room. Andrea reminded them all that she was not news, and that she expected top notch work from them when she logs in that night.
Nine years was way too long. Four weeks was even longer. Weeks later as they shared dinner with Nigel and David, they couldn't help but talk about how the two worst fashion weeks of Miranda's career brought the two together.
"I'd like to propose a toast," Nigel said, "to the past nine years, and the next nine, ten, twenty, fifty. When you came into our lives in frumpy sweater smelling of onion bagels, I think I speak for both Miranda and myself when I say you changed our lives. Now, as both of your friends, I can say I have never seen either of you happier—you especially, Miranda. Seeing you happy makes me happy and…well, to think it all started with an unauthorized video. To our happiness."
"Cheers!" they said, clinking glasses.
.
.
The end.
A/N: Thanks - hope you enjoyed. Please leave a review and let me know what you thought! (note that i will delete any negative political reviews, because this is not the forum.) Thanks! xoxo