Paring: Miranda/Andy
Rating: PG-15ish
Disclaimer: None of the characters belong to me
Love Has Gone And Left Me
The distance had been easy once the girls had moved out to go to graduate school; their parting the final ungluing of the very gradual separation between them. It pierced Andy in a very sharp but distant pain. It was like a knife striking a deadened body: fatal injury inflicted but too numb to feel the sharpened edge of the blade.
They slept in the same bed, but it no longer felt like a marriage bed. It was not a place of intimacy, of shared worries, of past histories, of whispered hopes anymore. It was a cold and quiet place, where inches seemed an unbridgeable gap. The only saving grace to sharing the space was the intermitted heat of passion when they were not too tired or too busy or too self involved.
In those rare moments, their touch burned with heat that had not lessened in the cooling of their interactions outside those touches. When hands and mouths possessed the other, there was no need for words. Their touches expressed what they no longer seemed to be able to express with words. The want, the need, had not disappeared. The love that possessed them to begin their unlikely relationship still smoldered within them; but, somehow, they had lost the ability to express it any other way.
Releasing a soft sigh, Andy let her fingers play with the lip of her wine glass. Her eyes fixed on the light bouncing off the rings on her left ring finger. An aching sadness gripped her heart; she and Miranda had lost something important somewhere along the way. Something she was unsure they could get back. Swallowing down the choking emotion and pushing Miranda out of her mind, she tried to focus on her dinner partner.
Andy's gaze swept up to the woman sitting across from her. She studied Sophia, not really paying attention to what the young woman was saying just how she was saying it. As if really seeing her for the first time in their three year acquaintance, Andy noted the beauty of the compact woman. Green eyes, bright and lively, sparkled against a light brown complexion; the black tresses, cut in a pixie style, accented the curves of her face making her look like a fairy. Brown eyes drank in the sight before her. The vibrant young woman was animatedly talking about their most recent assignment. Andy could practically feel the excitement coming off her. She watched, captivated, as the long, elegant fingers of strong hands painted as much of a picture as her young assistant's words.
Watching her, Andy recalled a time (long ago now) when that had been her; the vibrancy, the seemingly endless enthusiasm, the almost innocent outlook about everything. She sometimes wished she could transport herself back into the ideology of the girl she used to be. That mindset might, perhaps, help her bear the silence in her home.
Andy continued to watch, affection for the young woman warming her. They worked well together. Technically, Sophia was her assistant, but in practice Andy treated her more like a partner. The innate trust and understanding that flowed between them made them quite an impressive duo. Andy was by far the more experienced writer, but the young woman kept up and contributed useful information to all their work.
"It's good you're as smart as you are beautiful," Andy said without thinking after actually paying attention to what her assistant was saying; she was startled at the thrill that went through her at the light blush her words caused, "It will serve you well as you climb the metaphorical ladder."
The words pulled her up short, Sophia smiled. Pleasant warmth spread through her at the compliment from her boss, but it completely confused her, too. "Aah," she cursed her sudden ineloquence, "thank you." Trying to keep her footing in this new territory she ventured a little more boldly, "I'll assume you meant the smarts, and not the beauty, facilitating the climb."
"Hmmm," Andy hummed letting her eyes roam over what she could see of the young woman, her eyes warm and teasing, "Perhaps." She was not measuring her professionally, she was given her a once over for nothing more than the benefit of appeasing a curiosity; for the simple pleasure of looking at something beautiful.
Sophia squirmed in her seat. She was floored by the sudden change in the atmosphere and mood. If she did not know better, she would assume they were flirting. Impossible. She could not help feeling flattered, however; and, tempted, very tempted.
"I'm very good at my job," Andy segued into a seemingly random topic, "I hear the comments around the office." A smile tugged her lips. "And while I don't normally pay much mind to what is said about me, I find some things interesting enough to investigate somewhat," she let the smile tugging at her lips light up her face, "I'm not quite sure how to feel about being the center of such blatant," she paused trying to find the right word, "interest." She watched intently as Sophia looked anywhere but in her direction. "Have you ever thought about it?" Andy asked boldly, smile turning slightly wicked.
Feeling the heat of a fierce blush on the back of her neck, Sophia drained her wine to lessen the embarrassment she was desperately trying to keep from coloring her face. Definitely uncomfortable now, she stared hard at the table, not daring to meet the chocolate eyes she knew were piercing her at the moment. At the continued silence, she finally steeled her courage and answered, "Everyone's thought about it." She looked up through her long lashes, a different kind of heat kindling low in her abdomen at the predatory gleam in Andy's eyes and the Cheshire smile spreading full lips.
A small tilt of a brown crown telegraphed an explicit do tell command which Sophia followed with trepidation. "I mean," she licked her lips, green eyes raking up Andy's body to meet inscrutable but intense brown eyes, "you're gorgeous, brilliant and generous. You get things done without resorting to walking over people. You have a backbone of steel, but you don't need to be bitchy to enforce your authority. That's quite impressive." Green eyes shifted away again, and the brunette had to strain her hearing to pick up the very quiet conclusion to Sophia's assessment, "You're amazing."
Andy felt herself shifting, presenting herself in such a way that she knew was a direct come on. She was unashamedly flirting with her assistant, and she could not find it within herself to stop. It felt good to be talked to; to be wanted, and told so. To be flattered and complimented. To be paid attention to. To be acknowledged. "That doesn't answer my question, Sophia," Andy automatically lowered her voice, pitching a seductive purr to the woman across from her.
The young woman fidgeted in her seat, her right hand rubbing the back of her neck, cheeks pink with a lovely blush. Andy thought the awkward shyness was very becoming her young assistant. "Well," she gulped trying to decide how honest to be, this behavior was very uncharacteristic for her boss, "to be completely honest any thoughts that veer in that direction I instantly stop and kill. You're something to aspire to, certainly. A dream woman anybody would be lucky to have. But, you're married; there's no having you without some serious changes first." Sophia cleared her throat, wishing she had more alcohol she could swallow, "Andy," she made sure brown eyes locked with hers before continuing very quietly, "what, exactly, are we doing?"
The question felt like someone dumped ice cold water on her. Andy knew that when Sophia said we she meant you. Leaning her elbows on the table and rubbing her eyes with one hand, Andy internally gaped at her behavior. Tense, guilty, and very uncomfortable she pinched the bridge of her nose to stop the sudden onset of a headache. "Nothing," she finally said, voice snapping. "Nothing," she repeated gently, opening her eyes, "That was me acting extremely unprofessionally. In fact, it was downright inappropriate. I'm sorry."
"Hey," Sophia reached over to grip Andy's free hand in her own, "it's okay."
"God," mortified now, the brunette nonetheless accepted the comfort of what she realized was a very good friend, "I'm so sorry."
Sophia knew how to be a friend and felt comfortable to be back on familiar ground. She squeezed the hand clasped in hers. "Enough of that," she waved the waiter over and ordered more wine, "I plan on plying you with drink until I get a heart-to-heart out of you."
Inserting the key in the lock on the second try, Andy considered that perhaps she had drunk too much with Sophia. Admittedly, she felt marginally better. She had not realized how much she missed talking to someone about personal things and unburdening overwhelming feelings with another human being. It was cathartic.
Letting the door close with a soft click, the brunette turned and stiffened in surprise at seeing Miranda putting her coat away. The shock quickly slipped away and warmth spread through her. The editor looked stunning in a black, sleeveless gown that revealed a tantalizing amount of skin while leaving enough to the imagination to make the woman irresistible.
"Miranda," Andy breathed her name out reverently, still captivated by the grace and beauty of the enigmatic woman.
Catching the tone in Andy's voice, Miranda's eyes flashed with satisfaction a small smile tugged at her lips. The editor was pleased to see Andy. She found she had sorely missed the brunette's presence that evening- as she had missed her at every event they had not attended together. Frowning as she slowly glided to where the brunette had stopped, Miranda wondered when not attending events together had become the norm.
Coming out of her stupor, Andy smiled radiantly at the editor. Whatever their issues were, she was always happy to see the other woman. She stepped into Miranda wrapping the editor in a gentle hug. The brunette also tried for a kiss on Miranda's mouth but miscalculated and sloppily hit her cheek instead.
Miranda stiffed in the embrace, Andy smelled of alcohol and perfume that most definitely did not belong to her. Jealousy burned through her so quickly and fiercely that the editor felt lightheaded. "Where have you been?" She asked with as much aplomb as she could muster, her blood running cold and hot leaving a decidedly bad taste in her mouth. She was simultaneously angry, confused, and hurt; unbelievably hurt. So, in the manner learned to mitigate further hurt, she latched onto anger, she reveled in it and ignored the hurt.
"I had dinner with Sophia to talk about our next assignment," Andy replied honestly, though slightly confused at Miranda's reaction.
"Of course," Miranda replied evenly canting her head to the side and pinning Andy with inscrutable blue eyes.
"What is that supposed to mean?" Andy hedged cautiously, heart sinking at the direction she suspected this conversation was heading. A heaviness intensified by the fact that she was now realizing that she had lost the innate ability to read the other woman. Her blue gaze was hard, cold and completely closed off to her.
Miranda's lips quirked into a cruel smile, her fingers tracing down the column of Andy's throat, thrilling at the shiver the touch caused. "Come now," her voice was low and condescending as she bent close to the brunette and sniffed, nose crinkling in disgust, "you smell of cheap wine and even cheaper perfume." Dull blue eyes slid across Andy's jaw and stopped on what looked to be an imprint of lips. Feeling a very unpleasant sensation slither up her spine and momentarily paralyze her, Miranda could only clench her jaw shut. "And," she said coldly, with no inflection, trying to remove herself from the brunette's grasp, "what looks to be cheap lipstick, as well."
"God damn it," Andy ground out, enunciating each word sharply, "listen to me." She held Miranda firmly, not allowing the older woman to break out of the embrace. They already had too many unspoken misunderstandings to allow this to continue. She did keep her touch as non sexual as possible in deference to Miranda's obvious lack of enthusiasm at being in her direct presence at the moment.
"I drank wine," she continued when Miranda stopped struggling, "but I'm not drunk." She dropped her head to the older woman's stiff shoulder, closing her eyes, "And, I didn't do anything. With anybody." But she had wanted to for just a moment. She had wanted to do something, even though she was not exactly sure what, and her heart weighed heavily at the implication. "I would never," she whispered fiercely trying to quiet the voice of descent ringing inside her own head.
"I am many things, Andrea," Miranda's hard blue eyes bored into her, quiet voice laced with poison, "but a fool is not one of them."
Unexpectedly, Andy released a mirthless laugh, "You realize this is the longest conversation we've had in months?"
Angry, jealous and hurting, Miranda struck with her most formidable weapon, "It does figure that the only thing you would inspire out of me is contention." She immediately regretted the words as she felt Andy deflate against her.
"How did we get here, Miranda?" Andy breathed into the editor's neck, voice breaking. "We don't talk. We don't accompany each other anywhere. We barely even see each other." She squeezed her eyes shut to keep the tears threatening to fall at bay. "How is it possible we love each other so much and there's such an immense chasm between us? Such a lack of trust?"
After an interminable silence, in which Miranda tensed further, Andy let out a defeated sigh. Disentangling her arms from the lithe frame, the brunette smiled ruefully into cobalt eyes. Impulsively, Andy softly kissed Miranda's cheek, "I'll go bore someone else with the details."
Suddenly bone weary, Andy turned slowly away from the silver headed woman. Before she could take more than one step away a strong hand gripped her wrist desperately. The touch conveying the things the editor refused to say. Andy did not want to give in to the plea of soft fingertips against her skin; not this time. They were broken and they needed more than physical touch to fix it. Not turning around, the journalist tugged her arm trying to break the hold Miranda had on her.
The editor held her grip firm with almost bruising force. "Andrea," Miranda said softly in such a way that melted any resistance the brunette may have had.
Andy stopped. She was held immobile by indecision. Taking advantage of the hesitation, Miranda pulled the brunette into a crushing kiss. And Andy acquiesced, like she always did, to the woman who was slowly killing her.
Pushing the journalist up against the nearest wall, the editor did not bother undressing either of them. She was in a hurry to reassure the other woman, and herself, the only way she knew how: by touch. Hands roaming and teasing over clothing quickly found purchase on bare skin under a loose shirt.
Possessive mouth and hands marked Andy. They burned trails of fire on her skin. Fingers slid on her, through her, in her. She gasped her head smashing back into the wall behind her. A hot mouth obliterated the mark Sophia had accidentally left in her inebriated state as she tried to kiss the brunette's cheek good night. Andy felt the desperation, the want, the need, the love hidden in the nuances of each press and touch. And, for the first time, it was not enough.
She felt dirty and used. A deep, aching sadness washed over her. Squeezing her eyes shut to staunch the threat of tears for the moment, she wrapped her hand around Miranda's wrist stopping her movements. "Stop," she whispered roughly through a constricting throat.
Miranda lost in the feel of the other woman did not understand what Andy was asking. Her hand was held still by the brunette, but her mouth kept kissing the exposed neck before her. She felt Andy press her face into her silver hair, full lips touching the shell of her ear. Confusion filled her as she felt something warm and wet land on her bare shoulder.
"Please stop," Andy whispered against Miranda's ear, tears finally escaping her tight control falling onto alabaster skin. Miranda immediately stiffened and stopped. A second later, with surprising alacrity, the editor pulled away. Blue eyes hard and dead, any light completely extinguished from them by the rejection. Without doing much more than stand there staring at the brunette, Miranda looked like a wounded animal: injured, scared, in pain, but unwilling to allow anyone near.
Andy could empathize; she felt the same. Turning away from the broken mess their lives had devolved into, the brunette's shoulders slumped, a defeated sigh escaping her. "I'm going to bed," she offered not turning back as she quietly made her way to their bedroom. Exhaustion pulled at her, but force of habit had her going through her nightly routine. It all seemed so normal; but the normalcy itself was surreal.
Slipping under the covers and putting her head on the pillow, Andy felt the numbness slip away. Gasping at the crippling pain that lanced her chest, she curled into herself, sobbing her pain and hurt into the darkness enveloping her. She knew once she cried herself out she would feel better; everything would be a little clearer. But, at the moment, she felt like she was drowning in sorrow and disappointment. It clutched at her chest, piercing the fragile organ nestled between her lungs with hot skewers that left it tattered and bleeding. Andy felt like she was dying of loneliness, her despair leeching the hope she clung to.
Feeling the opposite side of the bed dip with Miranda's slight weight, Andy had a momentary urge to flee and release her grief in private. A warm hand on her upper arm stopped her. Andy stiffened but she did not pull away.
"Andrea," was spoken so brokenly that Andy knew Miranda had been crying as well. Despite feeling hurt and injured by the editor, Andy could not help the guilt that gnawed her insides at causing the woman any type of pain. The overwhelming emotion made her curl further into herself, but Miranda followed her.
When the editor molded her frame to Andy's back a dam broke in the journalist's resistance. She turned and practically ploughed into Miranda's embrace. Seeking solace and comfort from the very person tearing her heart apart; wanting the editor to mend the brokenness inside her.
And Miranda, who never apologized, who would figuratively hem and haw around the three small words, who would give favor and gifts as appeasement, who never could admit a mistake, wrapped Andy in strong arms and hugged the brunette tight against her thin frame. "I'm sorry," she breathed sincerely, penitent, prayer-like, "I'm so sorry."
"Me, too," Andy uttered into the ensuing quiet, "I'm sorry."
They clung to each other.
And there was a long way to go to fix their problems, but even broken and jagged they fit. Their broken pieces interlocking in a, sometimes, painful configuration. Their edges rubbing and poking, but it was a symmetry wholly theirs; and Andy would rather die fighting than exchange it for anything else.
Tangled in a mass of arms and legs, pressed heart to heart, the women breathed each other in. Miranda burrowed her head into Andy's neck, taking a deep breath, hands fisting in the soft fabric of the brunette's pajamas, she whispered tremulously, "I love you, Andrea."
Tears, she had no strength to cry, threatened again. Andy squeezed Miranda closer to her. She dropped a delicate kiss on the editor's neck. "I know," she expelled on a soft sigh, "And, I love you."
And those few, haltingly exchanged words sparked anew that thing they both lived on: hope.