Anon tumblr prompt: "Andy is a recovered alcoholic, but she doesn't tell people. At a Runway party, it's some tradition to drink a glass of 'whatever'. when Andy refuses it's taken negatively. She later explains to Miranda." Took this in a bit of a different direction, hope you guys enjoy. Oh, and the title is from Regina's Spektor's song "The Party" which was all I could think about while writing this for some reason, so that's where that's from.

Andy took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She hated parties, but had attended more in her tenure at Runway than she ever had at her lowest point. She wanted to be anywhere but here, but manage to hide it well with a wide smile plastered on her face. If it hadn't been impressed upon her that she would come to this party or she would not have a job left to come back to she wouldn't be here. But apparently everyone at Runway absolutely had to come to the party to celebrate the anniversary of the launch of the magazine every year, come hell or high water. Andy didn't quite understand what the huge deal was. Sure it was a nice party and all, but why everyone had to be here was beyond her.

She swallowed as yet another waitress offered her a drink. She waved the girl off with a shake of her head. She had tried her normal trick of asking for apple juice in a champagne glass, but a previous waiter had informed her that all there was to drink was alcohol. Andy thought it was rather short sited of whoever had planned the event. Who only wanted alcohol to drink? Shouldn't they at least have some sort of soda, or even carbonated water just in case?

Andy sighed heavily and walked around the party looking for people she knew. If she involved herself in something it would be easier. She spotted Nigel across the room and headed towards him. He was always good for entertaining conversation. Why Miranda had seen to give her this one night off she didn't know. She could use a list of impossible tasks to complete right now.

She slipped in beside Nigel who are talking to one of his art department colleagues. He finished what he was saying to the blonde who looked a lot like everyone else who worked for Runway, tall, skinny, primped within an inch of her life, and model pretty. Andy smiled at her before turning to Nigel.

"Six!" He exclaimed, air kissing her quickly. "How are you enjoying the party?"

"I feel a little odd since Miranda isn't right by my side asking for names of important people, honestly."

Nigel and the other woman laughed. "Well, I suppose that is a normal reaction, but tonight is the one night a year where she won't call anyone to work no matter what. And the calls to work tomorrow won't go out until about noon. Miranda plans the party every year and she wants everyone to enjoy it, not that she ever tells anyone that." Nigel smiled.

Ah, that did explain the copious amounts of alcohol and nothing else. This party was so Runway employees could get blitzed. Of course it was. She curled her hand into a fist and pressed her nails into her palm, letting the pain ground her. She would just slip out as soon as possible and everything would be ok. She had made her appearance and that was good enough.

"Well that explains all the phone calls she wanted sent straight to her office phone that definitely weren't designers." Andy smiled.

Nigel hummed his agreement. "She should be sweeping in any time now to give her toast before disappearing again. She lets all of us get drunk and she goes off for a quiet night with the girls. Shame she plans this magnificent party every year and doesn't even stay her normal thirty minutes to enjoy it, but she does love her time with the girls."

Time with the little pranksters sounded better than this party to her too. "With absolutely no work getting done, I'm sure the girls love having their mother to themselves for a whole night and morning."

"Mm, I'm sure they do."

As soon as those words were out of Nigel's mouth the whole room practically turned as one to watch Miranda, resplendent as always in a black and silver gown, Valentino by the look of it, swept down the stairs and into the room head held high and smile plastered on her face. She walked over the raised stage and ascended the steps with as much grace as a dancer. Andy found her mouth dryer than the Sahara at the sight. If there ever was a time for a drink it was right then, but Andy held herself back.

Almost instantly waiters were circulating through the room with the glitziest shot glasses Andy had ever seen filled with liquids in colors that shouldn't be real. Everyone crowded around the waiters, snatching shot glasses like they were this season's fashions on sale for sixty percent off.

Andy felt herself being tugged forward. "Come on, Six, before we get stuck with one of the green ones. They're absolutely horrible. The blue, however, are sublime."

"Um, Nigel, I don't actually feel like drinking," Andy managed to get out while trying not to fall on her face in five inch heels.

"Nonsense, Six, it's just one shot. Everyone takes one with the toast Miranda gives. It's tradition. She started it a few years after she became editor-in-chief. Sale tripled that year. Ever since no one wants to jinx it so we all just take a shot, not that many of us mind, mind you."

"Nigel, that's great and I'm all for tradition, but really,"

"And you should see the party after Miranda gives her toast. The stuffy atmosphere completely dissipates and DJ starts playing music. It's a beautiful experience, Six, all the Runway people letting loose at one time," he barreled through her protests, still dragging her along.

A second later Andy found herself with a shot glass full of bright pink liquid. Even if she wasn't hell bent on not drinking she wasn't sure something of that color would pass her lips. Jesus, what did people even drink these days.

"Sorry, Six, this was all they had." He held up another shot of the same color. "Someone should have moved faster," he sing-songed. "But I've heard the pink isn't terrible, so we're all good."

The ruckus around them died down slowly and everyone had a shot in their hands. Andy suddenly felt very, very uncomfortable. This wasn't exactly going to end well. Nothing like this ever did.

Miranda cleared her throat from the podium. "Everyone settled then? Good." She smiled out at them all. Andy had gotten good at reading Miranda's smiles and this one wasn't as fake as the one she normally wore at social functions, but it still wasn't genuine.

"Another year has gone by at Runway. Our fashion icon has lasted eighty-seven years as of today. I'd say that's quite an accomplishment, wouldn't you."

The room called out their assent. Andy herself remained completely silent. Every word she said brought Andy closer to a very awkward situation.

"And with accomplishments come celebrations. I expect you all to enjoy this party thoroughly of course. A year's worth of partying must be fit into one night. I'm sure you all will manage."

The room laughed, a low ripple of sound running through the room.

"I expect you all back at work on Monday ready to continue making Runway the best fashion magazine there is, but until then." She grabbed a glass of champagne from under the podium. "A toast to this year and all the ones to come after."

"Here, here," the room called before everyone as one slammed back their shots.

Andy stood frozen, still holding the noxious pink liquid in her hands. She needed to get rid of it somehow, but she wasn't sure how. Dump it on the floor, she decided quickly. But not quickly enough.

Nigel looked over at her, slight grimace on her face. "Well, not as bad as the green ones, I will say that." He looked down at her hands. "Six, why didn't you drink?"

"I told you, Nigel, I didn't want to drink." She begged him with her eye to understand.

Something in her gaze must have clued him into what Andy was feeling. He took the shot from her and slammed it back for her quickly.

"Well, problem solved then."

Andy breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you."

"And if you want to go home, Six, as soon as our Queen disappears into the ether, trust me, no one is going to notice if you're here or not."

Andy nodded and sighed, relaxing for the first time all night. She looked up at the stage. Miranda was already off, talking to a few people, but Andy could tell by her body language that she was saying her goodbyes. La Priestly slipped from the room with little fanfare and Andy thanked her lucky stars. Home and Chinese food and a cheesy romcom were calling her name.

As soon as everyone noticed that Miranda was gone music started, something straight out of one of the newest clubs. Andy smiled at Nigel, excused herself, and fled the room just as people started kicking off their heels and migrating to a place in the middle of the room suddenly designated the dancefloor.

She stepped out into the night and took a breath of air. Thank god. Thank. God. It was over. She started to walk towards the nearest subway station to go home, but was stopped by an all too familiar voice.

"You didn't drink."

Andy turned around and saw Miranda leaning against the Benz as if she had not a care in the world.

"Um, uh, No, I guess I didn't." She cursed that Miranda had the capability to render her temporarily dumb and tongue tied.

"Why?" She arched an eyebrow. "Surely Nigel explained the importance of the toast to you."

"He, uh, did, Miranda, but I don't really drink anymore."

Miranda titled her head, looking her over slowly. Andy felt herself flushing. She was wearing one of the dresses she had gotten in Paris, all black, sinfully tight and low cut, verging on not appropriate for a formal occasion, but still managing to walk the line, however shakily. She had paired it with a string of pearls, black high heels, and a black clutch with her hair up in a loose bun to complete the look.

"A bit conservative, but acceptable." Miranda met her eyes again. "Why don't you drink anymore. I know at the beginning of your employ you had no problem and certainly not in Paris."

"It's just been since a little after Paris." Andy felt her face heating.

Miranda looked like she wanted a better explanation than that, but Andy wasn't about to give one.

"Why, Andrea?"

The way she said her name sent shivers through Andy every. Damn. Time. She shifted from foot to foot. She really didn't want to tell Miranda this. It would kill any chance she had with the woman. Not that she did in the first place. But it would kill any hope that Andy herself had and she, like Miranda, lived on hope.

Miranda pushed off the car and opened the door of the Benz. "Come, I'll drop you at your apartment."

Andy's eyes widened. Surely she wasn't hearing right. But she was walking forward and around the Benz and slipping in her normal side. When she sat down Miranda was rolling up the privacy screen. Andy was not getting out of telling Miranda why she hadn't drank tonight. She swallowed hard. The woman was far too tenacious when she wanted to be.

When the car started moving ice blue eyes found her and pinned her back into her seat. Andy exhaled heavily and blinked a few times. Oh God.

"I, um," she shook her head. "My Dad is an alcoholic. Not one of the horrible, abusive ones, he's a great Dad if you take the alcoholism out of the picture, and he's still a pretty ok Dad even with that. But you know, finding him passed out on the couch when your little is scary and finding him passed out when you're older is pathetic. I knew that kids of alcoholics stood a higher chance of becoming alcoholics themselves. I was careful about it. I didn't drink until I was in college and did it sparingly, a couple beers here and there and a glass of wine with dinner, that sort of thing."

She started fiddling with the beads on her clutch just to have something to do with her hands. She could feel Miranda's eyes still on her, but she couldn't bring herself to meet her eyes. She looked past the older woman instead.

"But after Paris, after Nate left, I found myself slipping into the same habits that my Dad has, drinking just a little too much in front of the TV, saying that one glass before bed makes me sleep better, that sort of thing. I realized it before it got out of hand, but I knew that I had to nip it in the bud right then. I poured out all the alcohol in my apartment and haven't drank since."

She took a deep breath and finally made herself look at Miranda. There was nothing there that she thought would be, no disgust, contempt, any of a thousand negative emotions she had imagined. Miranda's eyes were soft, but they weren't full of pity. Andy wasn't quite sure what the emotion was, maybe understanding? She couldn't put a finger on it.

"I see." Miranda nodded. "Thank you for telling me that."

Andy was torn between pointing out that she hadn't had much choice and marveling over the fact that Miranda had said thank you to her.

Miranda reached out and took Andy's hand and Andy slightly died in that moment. Was she sure she wasn't on a bender? Was she dreaming? How was this happening.

"Next year you may skip the party if you wish. I would excuse you from my social functions as well, but as an assistant there you are invaluable."

Andy shook her head. "When I'm working it's fine. No one expects me to drink and half the time I just carry around apple juice in a champagne glass. It looks real enough that no one questions it." She shrugged. "I've figured some stuff out."

"Alright, but if you are uncomfortable you will tell me." It wasn't a question, but a command. Andy didn't mind in this instance.

Miranda squeezed her hand and Andy reveled in how soft her skin was. She looked up again and it looked like Miranda wanted to speak but kept hesitating.

"Perhaps, if you are interested, that is, you would spend the evening with the girls and I? I know we're going to order Chinese food and they had a sudden urge to watch The Proposal. Silly movie if you ask me, but I always let them dictate everything we do on nights like this, so I suppose I'm stuck with it."

Andy smiled widely and genuinely for the first time that night. "Yeah, I'd really like that."