Disclaimer: Most assuredly not mine. That's all.
A/N: For Lizzie, who inspired this and gave me the determination to write again. Also, there were so many films I could have chosen – and so many that I love that would have fit – but in the end, this particular one was too irresistibly perfect. I highly recommend it, along with the Maltese Falcon and... oh, so many more!
Summary: An evening of dramatic, cinematic magic to which both of our favourite ladies are invited. Let the sparks fly.
Deep In The Dark
Dear Friend,
Nigel Kipling cordially invites you to an extravaganza of film and excitement at the Royal Theatre on the evening of Friday 9th of November. Formal attire is expected and the theme for the evening's celebration is the spectacular era of the twenties, seen through the delightful lens of film noire. The film to be shown is Morocco, with Marlene Dietrich and Gary Cooper, and it is with great anticipation that this classic is once more introduced upon the glorious silver screen.
It will be a wonderful to see you there.
Nigel smoothed both palms gently down the delicate fabric of his tuxedo, standing very tall and proud as he surveyed the entrance hall of the theatre he'd called in a favour to acquire for tonight. In point of fact, he'd called in rather a few favours in order to make tonight possible, but in an hour or so, he knew each request would have been worth the trouble and much more. It was useful to know as many people as he did and to, for the most part, hold an accord with those people (regardless of what he deemed their fashion "sense" to be). Out of habit rather than a need to actually assess his surroundings, Nigel's eyes danced around the room, taking in the perfectly crafted sconces and embellishments on the ceiling that emphasised the subtle but impressive chandelier. The theatre was not quite as old as the film they were to partake of this evening, but it was full to the brim of exactly the correct atmosphere.
A small, happy smile curled Nigel's mouth upwards as he thought of what was to come. His birthday was not something he relished celebrating usually, but this year was a milestone he – for once – did not feel the need to ignore. He had lived through half a century – fifty years of existing and forging a life that he actually quite loved and he did want to share that feeling of accomplishment and happiness with those he cared for. Those of such a select group were to arrive shortly, friends, mentors, students of his own whom he had guided and now smiled in their success. It was a pleasant variety of people who promised a delicious melting pot of conversation and he would be lying if he said he wasn't looking forward to that as much as anything.
Turning with a flourish he couldn't resist towards the door, Nigel awaited the first arrival, still with the same simple smile. In those moments of thought, his mind caught upon the memory of his friend and the most gifted woman in fashion he'd ever known – would Miranda attend? He'd extended the offer regardless of what the answer may be, because she meant quite a bit to him, as a friend and an inspiration and that was what he wanted to remember of their friendship in later years. He would understand if she did not, because he knew how precious her time was and how much of it she wished she could hold back to give those who truly deserved it – her children. It did not mean, however, that he would not miss her company. When she was not tearing apart hard work of his and those around him, she was a fascinating person to speak to and he valued the time they spent in such an attitude.
Another memory flickered through his mind's eye, connecting Miranda and another woman whom he valued just as highly for vastly different reasons. Andy Sachs – she had called to tell him she would at least try to make it, there was always a chance she would be unable to because of work, but she wanted to be there. That was important to him and she'd known as much. Aside from the child in him that was dying to dress her up, (he'd mentally put together her outfit almost instantly after putting her invitation in the envelope) Nigel had invited her because she deserved some fun and she was precious enough, different enough from others he knew, for him to make an effort at maintaining their friendship. He was also concerned for her – the girl worked entirely too hard.
A chill swept through the atrium of the theatre and the first of his guests stepped inside, huddled into fur and other luxurious fabrics that breathed of another time, other beautifully romantic places. And so, his birthday celebrations began. It did not take much time at all for the entrance hall to fill comfortably with friends, all of whom were congratulating him on a wonderful idea, on the execution of such a grand plan, on his life and career. It was gratifying to see so many wishing him and those around him good will. Several were bearing gifts, insisting that he open them right then, and they were well chosen and meaningful – a pin that went perfectly with his suit, a tie that was exactly his style, a pair of cufflinks that were unique and subtle, all of which he was effusively grateful for.
Miranda arrived with a sweeping grace that belied the possibility of her ever not being present, to press a gift bag into his hand accompanied by a warm look that spoke far more than they ever did between them. He'd moved the tissue paper aside carefully to catch a glimpse of a book that he'd been searching for but had yet to find a supplier and flicked his gaze instantly back up to his friend's face, surprise and pleasure flowering up within to flare across his features. The Mediterranean blue iris' before him twinkled with a knowing that made him chuckle lowly and he thanked her quietly, their conversation flowing from there until another of his guests moved and intercepted his attention. He also realised some time after that she had arrived quite early, for her own standards of time, and understood the gesture was meant to communicate the offer had been appreciated, after everything.
It was getting uneasily close to the time when he would have to move the party of people into the theatre proper when Nigel realised Andy had not yet arrived. With a tinge of disappointment, he wondered whether something had come up at the paper and the outfit he'd painstakingly arranged for her to make use of would go unworn. It would be such a shame not to see her in it and for her to miss out on such a gorgeous evening away from work. Slipping away from his current companions, he checked his cell phone quickly, seeing no missed calls or messages – he would have expected something from her if she had not been able to make it.
Just then, naturally – because it would not be a night of true film noire if there was not a moment of last minute tragedy turned to hope (admittedly, that would usually be reversed swiftly as well) – the door was opened and a vision in black satin and what Nigel knew to be faux fur slipped inside. The wealth of dark waves were curled and exquisitely styled behind a gently powdered visage, complete with entrancing bedroom eyes that spoke of heartbreak, seduction and deep, deep love. Nigel felt his smile grow tenfold as he took in the beautiful figure that suited the air around her so perfectly well. In an instant, he was moving towards her, hands reaching for hers, his approval and gladness at seeing her evident.
"Darling, you are magnificent - you could give Marlene herself a run for her money." He winked at her before smiling genuinely, wanting her to know he truly thought she had done the theme more than justice. She gave him a beaming smile and gushed her thanks, as she was want to do when she was given a compliment, before realising the room had become rather more quiet than it had been when she'd entered and looked over his shoulder, no doubt into the wide eyes of his guests, few of whom would recognise her but all of whom would be appreciating her beauty just then. The lights on the walls were soft and gave just the right atmosphere to light her skin, he thought absently, as he turned around and guided her forward into the gathering.
As they reached the first couple of people, Nigel noticed Miranda's gaze and felt a cold shiver pass over his skin. The woman he'd spoken to earlier had been warm, affectionate, even charming in a way that reminded him she could be a marvellous human being when she put her mind to it. Now, the Ice Queen was back in force, the burn in her eyes cold enough to make him really rather nervous and that was not the worst of it. He had seen Miranda in a wide variety of moods, had watched and even partaken of various harangues and monologues, but he had learnt when to take shelter and wait for the storm to pass. Apparently, that time had come, for some reason and he resolved to steer as many of his more sensitive friends away from the impending blizzard as possible – including the young woman who was now animatedly discussing the merits of Ingrid Bergman with a friend of his from a previous employment. Yes, the notion shocked many, but he had worked somewhere else before entering the hallowed glass halls of Runway.
Nigel tried to calculate what on earth could have so radically affected his friend's disposition while simultaneously attempting to extract Andy from the conversation which, under normal circumstances, he would have enjoyed participating in, and guide her to the opposite side of the room from her previous employer. The last thing he had intended through this evening was placing the young woman he was rather fond of in the firing line because of a tenuous hold on a temper and an obvious miscalculation on his part that he hoped to correct, despite not being exactly clear on what the mistake had been. Quietly, he deposited Andy with a friend who would undoubtedly keep her in that space for some time before turning to assess the situation.
Miranda still resonated fury, her complexion rather paler than he was used to, and the berth around her had grown by several feet in the last minute or so. Apparently, the ice was sweeping out noticeably now. With an internal sigh, Nigel tipped back his shoulders and strode across the vestibule, unmistakably heading towards her and hoping that the distraction would save the others within audible distance as she focussed her ire upon his face. Mildly, he took up a stance next to her that invited a lowered tone – not that she ever utilised anything else – and a smaller focus that consisted almost wholly of him.
"Miranda." His tone was successfully placating and curious, drawing her fully towards him.
"Nigel." The bite of his name almost withdrew a wince and he met her gaze, determined to locate the course of this temper. "I was unaware the guest list for this event was quite so long." The truth was hidden somewhere within those words but the man was a little distracted by the way her eyes seemed to be drawn away from them, despite her habit dictating that she would ordinarily have maintained constant contact with his own bespectacled orbs. Following the movement, he realised that she was in fact examining every feature of Andrea Sachs' outfit that she could from this distance and for a moment, he wondered whether she disapproved. Somehow, after a second or two assessing her expression, he doubted that was the thought drawing such a frozen exterior from the woman he reminded himself was a dear friend.
"Andy is dear to me, Miranda, as much as you are. And this is my birthday." He reminded her gently, hoping she would deter the descending tantrum in his honour, just for this evening. He knew she would seek some form of recompense for this and was resolved that the sacrifice should not be paid by Andrea.
"Nigel." Again, his name was ground between a clenched jaw and he truly couldn't withhold the flinch as just how much venom he heard within the syllable. It was at once a warning that she would not be within the younger woman's company at all during this evening and that she would not be responsible for her actions should such a meeting occur. With a small rise and fall of his frame, he nodded in supplication and moved away, to locate another couple of people who owed him a favour within this group of people whom he valued and had hoped to avoid speaking of this to. After a few whispered words in a few ears that all nodded sympathetically and agreed to do whatever it took to keep the two ladies separated, Nigel began to regain his feeling of calm, if not happiness.
Once the arrangement had been made and he could return to his guests in earnest, he found he could not help but ponder the reason for such a reaction from a woman who had, by all accounts, accepted the younger woman's decision to remove herself from Runway and given her indication that she'd called a cease-fire, if nothing else. Surely the possibility that he would remain in contact with the young brunette had been present within some part of the Fashion Queen's mind? After all, she had known they were confidants of a sort during their time working together. Perhaps he should have mentioned it, but the editor did not appreciate the subject of Andrea being raised at work. That knowledge, he realised in hindsight, should had been an indication of the editor's desire to appear magnanimous whilst, amongst her own feelings, it was not entirely the case.
Arching an internal eyebrow while nodding absently at the conversation around him, Nigel swept his intrigued gaze between the two women he had brought back into close quarters – quite inadvertently – and now felt a twinge of something akin to awareness. Andy had made a very concerted effort not to mention the elder woman, always enquiring about Runway in general and never returning his comments that were directly related to his impossible boss, as if merely invoking the name would call down some heinous revenge that so far had been avoided carefully. Was it possible she had known this might happen? She had grown to know Miranda fairly well within the months she'd ferried her coffee, almost to a degree he'd envied in their synchronicity, so there was a chance she'd guessed at this reaction. However, that did not mean he wanted to confirm the suspicion – Andy still desperately wanted to believe in the goodness of people and he wouldn't chip anymore away from that hope.
The whole guessing game was irrelevant, however, in the face of his current dilemma. How to ensure the two women did not arrive within each other's company all evening? There was only so much good intentions and sharp friends could guarantee and he did not want Andy to face the music when it could be avoided. It was his birthday, he'd brought this situation into fruition and did not relish the idea of Andrea leaving this building with a bruised self-confidence that he could make certain remained intact. Without actually gritting his teeth, Nigel surrendered the last thought of enjoying his evening in a carefree manner and resolved to monitor the situation in detail whilst resolving to have a quiet night to himself next year. Much simpler.
.~*~. .~*~. .~*~. .~*~.
"I had no idea there was such a thing as gourmet popcorn! Nigel, where do you get these ideas from?" Andy laughed, accepting the small bag of the sweet treat she'd mentioned from her friend.
"I knew your philistine ways may prompt a question about refreshment so I decided to intervene with a better alternative before you could give yourself away." Nigel returned with a haughty life of his chin, affecting a smug look that rapidly deteriorated into a friendly smile. The teasing was a pleasant sojourn for both of them, having both been on their best behaviour with some of the others, all of whom had filtered into the theatre a few moments prior. Then they heard a door to the facilities open and both turned slightly in that direction. Apparently, not everyone had moved into the viewing hall and Nigel felt a chill run into his veins as he witnessed a very familiar silver head rise and pierce them both with a lance of ice.
He saw Andrea's mouth twitch, then open, as if to speak and decided it would be much preferable for all of them if he intervened before the words were allowed air.
"Miranda, we're about to begin the film," he began calmly, stepping slightly away from his brunette friend – a calculated risk – so he could open the door through which they could all hear a low murmur of excited voices. A pale pink mouth pursed but neglected to reply, gliding past both of them, the shimmer of a stunning silver and dove gown drawing a flicker of chocolate eyes that Nigel found very interesting before Miranda vanished into the darkened room beyond, negating the completion of his sentence. He briefly considered following without another word to Andy, but his compassion for the journalist held him in place and he met the now worried orbs that seemed to widen with every second. The perfectly reddened mouth beneath them parted slightly and he realised she had been watching Miranda progress down the isle to a seat, seemingly entranced. "Curiouser and curiouser" indeed.
"I'm in trouble, aren't I?" Andy finally muttered, drawing her attention back to Nigel and giving a small, reluctant smile. For a moment, he entertained the idea that she had not meant Miranda's frosty attitude and actually was alluding to having given away a certain weakness for her former boss. Then he decided that if that was the case, the last thing he needed was to be involved just then, so settled for a non-answer.
"Are you coming darling? The film shouldn't be made to wait." He gave her a gentle smirk, which drew a chuckle from her in return and she moved past him into the hall, head tipping up to admire the architecture of the beautifully designed building. Unable to help himself, Nigel located Miranda and decided that no matter whether the seats were perfect, he would be sitting somewhere behind her, and he realised it was not so he could keep an eye on her for her composure, but rather that she did not make a move to upset his other young friend. As it happened, it was rather easy – the editor had taken a seat in the middle bank, virtually in the middle of the room – the best seats, of course, and he would have expected nothing less – but slightly to the right. Andrea chose to sit on the row behind her, still in the middle section but far over to the left. It was a calculated position, he knew, so she could make note of the older woman's behaviour and position without seeming to avoid her or aggravate her with too much proximity.
The only flaw with this idea, as he could see it, was that Miranda could now also regard Andrea, should she choose, in her peripheral vision. Nigel wondered if that had been deliberate and doubted the notion – Andrea was capable of very little deception and he suspected she simply wanted to be closer to the editor than she was entirely comfortable admitting to herself or anyone else. How had he not seen it? With a brief shake of his bald head, the man spotted a couple of friends whom he knew adored this film to the same degree he did and made his way to them, conveniently keeping both women in view in front of him.
.~*~. .~*~. .~*~. .~*~.
It was around three quarters of an hour into the film when Nigel noticed Andy shifting slightly in her seat before standing swiftly and moving up the isle towards the door into the atrium. He guessed that she was most likely ducking out to use the facilities, since she didn't get the chance before and was pacified when the younger woman flashed him a smile on her way out, letting him know she was adoring the film in the way he had known she would. That, he considered normal. What was not within his frame of reference for the behaviour he was expecting was Miranda rising within a minute of Andrea exiting and following the brunette, her focus absolutely upon the door and the vestibule that he suspected would be the battle ground for a rather dramatic thrashing.
When neither woman returned within another five minutes, he sighed minutely and stood also, throwing his friends an apologetic look before following their path to the doors. Through the small, round panel of glass set into the wood, he glimpsed a sight that sent him rapidly turning and hurrying back to his seat. The pink colour of his ears as a result of the vision refused to recede for a full twenty minutes.
Andrea had been wrapped in a rather tight-looking clinch by none other than Miranda Priestley herself, her respectable half-up-do thoroughly ruined by the silver-haired woman who appeared to have buried a hand in the long brunette locks while the other hand clasped the side of a pale face, holding them both within a very determined, passionate kiss. Andy's hands had been resting on the editor's hips, fingertips beginning to dig into the material of the dress she'd admired earlier and if there had been an inch of space between them at all, Nigel was damned if he'd seen it. Definitely an evening in next year, he thought resolutely, before forcibly turning his attention back to the film.
.~*~. .~*~. .~*~. .~*~.
Andy had just exited the bathroom back into the entrance hall when she noticed a familiar, stunning figure standing directly in her path back into the theatre. The position was too pointed not to be deliberate and a small quiver of anxiety ran from the nape of her neck to the base of her spine. For a moment, she gave into the urge to lower her head, to fuss with her dress, anything that meant she didn't have to meet the coldly furious gaze that she'd hoped so badly would not be directed at her again. The distraction did not last long, as she knew it wouldn't, because the scathing voice was soon bridging the space between them.
"What are you doing here, Andrea?" Miranda practically hissed the question at her, as menacing as the proverbial snake in the garden, all the more for being lowered and dangerously controlled. Andrea straightened her spine, knowing cowardice would only withdraw more fury.
"Nigel invited me." The brunette answered simply, unwilling to provoke any further reaction when the current climate was already supremely uncomfortable. Conversely, the words seemed to cause a quiver through the impossibly tense frame before her that began with a flaring of delicate nostrils and Andy knew there was no escaping this encounter unscathed.
"Indeed, and you thought it wise to accept?" The words were snapped from the mouth, cut off sharply, clearly questioning what possible thought process could have produced such a conclusion.
"I – I had no idea you were going to be here." Andrea faltered, the stutter so natural even after all this time apart, and she wondered abstractly whether she should have asked Nigel ahead of time who would be here and whether it would have done any good anyway. She should have assumed the editor would be in attendance, she knew how much Nigel admired her.
"And if you had?" Miranda questioned fiercely, taking one step closer, her eyes riveted upon the brunette's face.
"I might have... reconsidered." The admittance was reluctant, because she resented how much influence Miranda's mere presence could still exert over her life and decisions, but it was the truth. She avoided Miranda in person as carefully as she avoided mentions of her in conversation.
"Might have?" The prompt was sharp, though there did seem to be genuine curiosity in the cobalt eyes this time.
"I had thought – hoped, I guess – that we were past this." Andy almost shook her head at the innocence and disillusion of her answer, wondering how she could have ever forgotten the ruthlessness of this woman.
"You thought that one good word from me, and a pathetic little wave from you across a crowded street would cure everything? Did you fall down and smack your little head on the pavement again?" The reply was vicious, the mock-playfulness nowhere near as prominent as it had been the first time those words had been employed; this time the intent was perfectly clear.
"No, I just – I hoped the reference meant that you might be willing to talk about my leaving, let me apologise, without taking my knees out from under me. Clearly, I was wrong." For the first time since being faced with the woman who still left her reeling, Andrea felt a flash of anger, of resentment, of her own fire and she pulled her head up to her full height, her voice regained the surety she normally maintained.
"You always were a little slow on the uptake, Andrea." Miranda returned with a malicious gleam to her expression and the brunette narrowed her eyes minutely.
"Look, Miranda, if you want to take your shot, get it over with, I'd actually like to see the rest of the film." Her own anger was giving her the strength to throw a glare of her own back at the blazing sapphire she knew so well.
"You ungrateful – do you comprehend at all what you have done? All the disruption? The consequences, for not only Runway but me, of not having an assistant for the remainder of fashion week?" Andy wondered whether Miranda was conscious of taking another step towards her or if it was simply a product of how urgently she seemed to need to make her point.
"Oh please – I left everything, instructions and all the details required, whoever you had step in could have done so easily – I didn't want to ruin anything!" There was determination and insistence in the words because no matter how she had left, she hadn't wanted to hurt anyone else with her actions, she didn't wish anyone ill because of her decision.
"You did, nonetheless!" The tone had lifted, from the carefully smooth contralto to a slightly more hoarse version that Andrea couldn't remember hearing before and she began to examine the face before her with renewed interest, wondering what else would be new about this conversation.
"How? Anyone with half a brain could have finished fashion week by your side and have done everything you needed them to do." The vaguely insulting statement was out of her mouth before she could think better of it and Miranda's jaw clenched visibly, the muscle clearly pulsating for a moment in the defined cheek.
"No, Andrea, they could not." That sentence took a moment to be released, control once more exerted over the pitch as it was once more within the normal range for the editor. However, Andy was conscious that in this case, the words were more significant – the insult had not been returned and instead, a statement that was tantalising in its vagueness had been given instead.
"Why?" It was Andy who took a step forward this time, suddenly needing to examine the face she had missed so much, hope flickering within her chest that she tried not to allow air.
"Because they were not you." The words were low, as if Miranda was somehow... ashamed? A long few seconds of silence passed between them, that spark flaring a little higher, warming the top of her decolletage and forcing her to take a breath.
"Excuse me?" Andy was proud of how steady her voice emerged, determined not to concede any kind of ground now.
"The girl they arranged for from Runway France was a complete moron and managed to transform a week that is usually pleasant into a nightmare in three days! That is your fault!" The recovery from whatever emotion had gripped the older woman for an instant previously was shoved away, the familiar anger re-emerging and prompting a similar response from Andrea.
"If I had stayed, I promise you the rest of that week would not have been any more pleasant." There was a definitely drop in the pitch of her voice, the threat inherently true, as the brunette levelled her gaze at Miranda.
"You would have been there." There was a definite thread of something unknown and possibly exciting weaving into the conversation now, Andrea could almost taste it and she pushed toward it.
"I would have hated you by the end of it. I already hated myself quite a bit by then." It was acidic on her tongue, that statement – her outlook and view had been so positive up until her employment at Runway and part of her did resent the time she spent there for changing that.
"And you do not despise me already?" Expertly shaped eyebrows rose disbelievingly at the implication and Andy sighed, unwilling to believe that Miranda didn't know the answer to that but hopeful – it meant she had not been quite as obvious as she feared in dark moments.
"No, Miranda. I felt many things while working for you, but hatred was not one of them and that has remained the truth since." The affirmation rang with a kindness that wasn't quite obvious against the resonance of brittle politeness.
"Then why did you leave?" Once more, the editor hissed a question across the gap which had so shrunk between them, clearly invested in the answer quite deeply, so much so that it drew honesty from the younger woman that was not planned.
"Because I didn't want to hate you. I didn't want to hate myself anymore either. It was... too much." Another whip-sharp glare was lashed at her and Andrea felt her face crinkle into a stern frown. "I don't care whether you believe me, that's the truth. I'm going back inside now." Andrea made to walk past her but a sharp grip fastened around her wrist and pulled her back, away from the door.
"No, you are not." Low and forbidding, the warning was breathed into the space next to her, a gaze that was tangible resting on her cheek.
"What else do you want to say?" Andy ground out, keeping her eyes focussed upon her exit, wanting to believe this evening hadn't been ruined beyond all measure.
"I want you to tell me why you attempted so desperately to warn me when you knew better than anyone that help from others is something I neither need or want. Why did you keep reaching out to me, and then all of a sudden run off with your tail between your legs? Was the comparison between us enough to finally shake that seemingly endless compassion you have for humanity?" The words were scathing and sarcastic, vicious in their attempt to draw a reaction and Andrea snatched her arm away from the vice-like grip that was so tight Miranda's ring had begun to bite into her flesh as she spun to face the editor, colour flushing the tops of her cheeks.
"Everyone has a limit, Miranda, and you make a game of finding that in everyone around you – I'm waiting for the day Emily finally reaches hers because I can tell you now, it's going to be spectacular and you'll never see it coming! I couldn't take it anymore, is that what you want to hear? You pushed me too far! You won!" Her eyes blazed, copper flashing in the smooth light as full lips tightened with anger and Andrea threw her very best glare in the direction of azure eyes. The reaction to her words caught her off guard – Miranda practically snarled and grabbed her forearm once more, pulling her closer.
"No Andrea, I didn't." The older woman spat between her clenched teeth before drawing her forward with a strength that was entirely unexpected and crashing her mouth onto the brunette's, her hands immediately grasping both sides of her face as if to prevent the younger woman from moving at all, desperation clear in the rapid movement of bruising lips and sharp teeth, nipping at full red lips, drawing open the mouth she seemed to frantically need. Andrea could only restrain herself for so long, not wanting to give to this, knowing how horrendous this idea was, but the first brush of Miranda's tongue along the inside of her mouth broke through the logic and a moan flowed up her throat, her hands instinctively reaching out to Miranda's waist as she tilted her head and surrendered to the insistence that they share this.
With a lack of care that seemed at once alien and perfectly Miranda, a manicured hand slid behind her ear and threaded into her pinned hair, pulling on the strands and loosening the style, the pain minor but enough to register as a sensation above the general frenzy that was this kiss they were fighting between them. The fingertips of the other hand had begun scratching at the edge of her face, catching on the underside of her jaw, another element of this madness, the vague impression of nail marks enough for Andrea to return the favour and curl her nails into the fabric under her hands, drawing Miranda even closer, feeling the hint of hip bones, needing the pressure to be sure this was truly happening.
"You were gone – and I couldn't stop – thinking about you – all those days afterwards – and you were everywhere – the clothes on Emily – the stationary you left on your desk – the note you left for Nigel – I hated that you weren't there – hated that you were there – hated that you were in New York and not with me!" Miranda finally began muttering between returning to Andrea's lips, her hand finally scraping away the last of the pins and flowing through the full length of Andrea's hair, before returning to tangle in the roots, catching her nails on the scalp and the younger woman knew she had to slow this down, before they went too far.
"Miranda-"
"No, don't talk, I can't bear to hear your voice, especially not if you're about to say stop, because I can't, don't you see that? I've tried, I've done everything to stop this ridiculous connection with you, but-" All through this, Miranda had been glaring into chocolate eyes but it seemed some other compulsion was driving her and she lowered her mouth once more, to Andrea's neck this time, lowering her hand to dance over a clavicle as she bit lightly along a tendon she stretched by guiding the dark head back with the grip in her hair. The sensation was somehow new, had never before called this deeply to Andy's need, and she surrendered to it briefly because she had to before the urge to fight resurged.
"I don't-" Andy tried but Miranda would not be defied, swiftly moving to the shoulder of her dress and nudging it aside so she could bite and suck a piece of skin that could be hidden again, pale skin giving easily under her fervour, the bruise no doubt going to make itself swiftly seen. A sharp moan of pleasure was gasped into the atmosphere from the action, and Miranda paused at the sound, seemingly amazed that so wanton a noise had been emitted. Slowly, she raised her head to find Andrea's eyes, now hooded from pleasure, and she looked shocked at the sight. Andy took her chance. "I don't want you to stop." She finally admitted, shakily and with a residual tremor running through her frame as the bruise began to pulse slightly. Miranda stared at her, lips parted, cheeks flushed with a bright, rose pink and her tongue flicked quickly over her mouth, drawing Andy's gaze with another quiver of her own mouth.
Gently, sensing this moment was truly the knife edge, Andrea lifted one of her own hands and stroked one finger down the side of Miranda's signature forelock, brushing it slightly to the side from where it had fallen at the rapid movements that had consumed them both just a few moments ago. The sensation was enough to hitch both of their breathing, so Andy lightly brushed her fingertips down the edge of the older woman's cheek, marvelling in how incredibly smooth and satin-like the texture was, before cupping around the corner of a jaw and leaning forward, ever so softly pressing her lips against Miranda's. The hold in her hair loosened slightly as the mouth beneath her own softened and opened, welcoming another kiss, and another, until they were swelling and falling together, in an altogether different but fulfilling rhythm than before.
Gently, Andrea eased them both back from the contact, gliding her hand down the elegant column of a marble neck to drape over the strong, fine shoulder. Her eyes sought out those startled, wide, wave-crashing blue orbs, a shaking smile beginning to twitch both of their mouths upwards as they beheld each other with this marvellous new knowledge for the first time. A thumb that belonged to the older woman caressed along the edge of Andy's face, slowly and softly, the contact creating flickers of electrical current through both women that snapped at their nerves in delicious ways. A wider, brilliant smile stole across Miranda's face briefly before she leant back in and pressed a gentle, long kiss to the full, rose petal soft lips, a definition of the certainty that they faced.
"Andrea." The name spilled from the older woman, awash with warmth and tenderness, as she moved to once more let their gazes meet. The brunette shivered at the sound, her smile tremulous in return. "Will you come back to the townhouse with me, after we are finished here? We have so much to discuss." The possibilities that sprung into life from the offer swam behind the younger woman's eyes, lighting her up and causing her fingers to reflexively tighten fractionally upon Miranda's shoulder and hip. Then, with a sigh of distaste, practicalities and reality began to bleed into her mind and Andy's head tipped downwards as she realised what she wanted was not the wisest course. Within a moment, a soft hand curled underneath her chin and raised her attention back to the woman before her, as the distance was breached again and a light kiss was fluttered upon her lips. "Please." Such a plea would have crumbled her defences regardless but the fact it was released against her mouth, in a breath that she wanted to take inside herself to protect the precious sound, was the dissolution of any remaining defiance.
A small nod was enough to communicate her agreement before Andrea moved forward swiftly and pressed her own kiss to those lips that seemed to have a direct connection to her heart rate. The urge to remain where they were and enjoy this new found luxury was growing, the revelation still profound and burning through their consciousness' but they both knew it would be distinctly unwise to remain absent for any longer than they had. It was a little surprising Nigel hadn't come to enquire after them already. With regret expressed in every inch of her body, Miranda lifted her hands from around Andrea's face and neck, capturing those on her own body and moving them to the warmed air between them.
The lack of contact should have made thinking clearly that much easier, but there was a definite pang from losing that skin-to-body heat. Andy slipped her bottom lip between her teeth, nibbling lightly on the surface, swallowing back her need to wrap her arms around the woman she cared for so deeply. Miranda smiled gently at her, as if commenting on an endearing trait in her own mind, before squeezing the hands within her own lightly. The promise of things to come, joyous, wondrous things, was unspoken but very much felt.
"I missed you." Andrea found herself speaking out loud without true conscious thought but she didn't regret the words – knew somehow that Miranda needed to hear them as a wave passed across the expression opposite her own that was happiness and relief. "So much." She added in a whisper, finally not needing to deny the truth and the older woman tugged her forward, pressing a meaningful kiss to her cheek before pressing her forehead to the edge of the brunette hair, her imperfectly perfect nose fitting just so against Andy's cheek. They remained in that space of honesty and gladness for a few seconds, needing the memory in order to wait the required time until they could do so again.
All too soon, Miranda was once more stepping back, dropping one of the pale hands in her grasp but retaining the other, turning Andrea to face the door to the theatre proper, a quick glance at the smile blooming over darker lips enough to provoke another before they moved together to return to the film. Miranda opened the door and Andy held it open for them both to pass through, all the while keeping their hands intertwined as they slid into the flickering darkness. Within a pace of each other, their fingers still together, they strode to their rows of seats. The brunette took a second to find Nigel in what light there was, and noticed with a dip of her eyebrows that he was studiously not looking in her direction – she would have to ask why later.
Miranda did not look back at her as she slipped her hand from the younger woman's, nor as she re-took her seat from earlier, but Andrea could barely drag her eyes away from the silver-clad form – it was fortunate that she'd chosen to give her impulses free reign and picked a seat that allowed her an unimpeded view of the editor. A few seconds after they had both settled once more into a comfortable position to finish out the rest of the film, the brunette caught a movement and turned her head slightly to meet Miranda's twinkling eyes, the curve of her lips saying so much, and mocha eyes were forced back to the screen before the temptation to do something more than look became overwhelming.