A/N: So, this was an iTunes drabble meme I did a long time ago. It turned out to be really fun. If you want to play along at home, here are the rules/instructions:

1. Open iTunes and put your entire library on shuffle.
2. Use the first five tracks as prompts for five different drabbles.
3. Only write for the length of each song, then move on.

Have fun! :)

#1 Fuel – Ani DiFranco

Andy sat at her desk, typing out her latest article, one about an old slave burial ground some construction workers had found digging around in Manhattan. She looked at the clock, 10pm. She stretched back from her desk for a quick break, looking at the prints the photographer had left for her to look at, pictures of people stopping to stare at the spot. It was a testament to New York's variety, tourists, businessmen, teenagers. She looked at a classy-looking woman in the foreground, a woman in some really fabulous Jimmy Choos. Andy blinked. She hadn't given a thought to fashion since she worked for…since she had worked at Runway. She rubbed her eyes and got back to work, pushing the distraction to the back of her mind.

#2 What Katie Did – The Libertines

Miranda stooped to get into her car, glancing, as she did, across the street, to see none other than Andrea standing there waving at her like a fool. Miranda rolled her eyes, and couldn't suppress her smile at the sight of her former assistant's sweet, innocent face. At the same thought, her smile faded as she remembered Andrea's last words to her, "I couldn't do what you did to Nigel." Miranda sighed through her nose, temporarily closing her eyes. "It's a cruel, cruel world, Andrea."

"Sorry, miss?" came Roy's response.

Miranda snapped her eyes open and sneered angrily, "Go."

#3 All Hands on the Bad One – Sleater Kinney

Andy looked aghast at Miranda, "I could never do what you did to Nigel, Miranda."

Miranda smirked, "Oh, but you already have." She smiled at Andy's confused look. "To Emily."

Andy looked shocked, "No, no, that was different, I didn't have a choice."

Miranda scoffed, "Oh, please, spare me. You stabbed her right in the back. Take responsibility for yourself, Andrea, it's so unbecoming to refuse it." She sniffed and turned back to Paris sweeping by her window.

#4 Fundamentally Loathsome – Marilyn Manson

Miranda sat back against the couch, home for once instead of at the office. The girls were at their father's for the weekend, and she was alone with her silence, to scheme her way out of losing her job, again. It appeared as if her only way out of check was to fire Jocelyn. She sighed. It was regrettable, but in the grand scheme of things, there were millions of Jocelyns, and only one Miranda Priestly. She sipped at her glass of wine, considering her next move. Her eyes fell on the newspaper laying open on the coffee table, and caught sight of a familiar name under one of the bylines, Andrea Sachs. Miranda raised a manicured eyebrow and suddenly could hear the sweet voice of her former assistant as though she were there in the room, "I don't think I'm like you." Miranda thought of the life her attractive young castoff; Miranda couldn't admit to herself that Andrea had gotten away, rather than been fired, must be leading at that very moment, how very uncomplicated it must be. Andrea probably wasn't losing sleep over stabbing yet another loyal employee in the back. Breaking yet another friendship, losing another confidant. She was probably sleeping like a baby, wrapped around that scruffy kitchen boy, Mike, or whatever his name was, with the curly hair and laughing eyes. She had seen his picture on her desk, overheard her gushing about him to a highly irritated Emily. The memories brought a rush of something – surely not jealousy – back to Miranda, and she frowned and closed the newspaper, refusing to envy her former assistant of her simple, glamour-less life. After all, what was it she had said to the very same raven-haired girl? Everyone wants this. Everyone wants to be us.

#5 For Martha – Smashing Pumpkins

Miranda turned, looking for Andrea, as flashbulbs went off in her face and reporters peppered her with questions. She frowned slightly, irritated at more incompetence, when she didn't find her waiting for instruction. Her frown deepened when she saw her running across the street. Setting her mouth in a thin line, thinking there must be some sort of explanation, she stepped to the side upon entering the building and speed-dialed Andrea, already thinking up some kind of heinous task for her assistant to complete as punishment. She watched through the glass doors as Andrea looked at her phone, then tossed it into the fountain. Miranda felt her stomach sink, but smoothed her face into a mask of perfection and turned back to her job.

Later, alone in her hotel room, she would cry more bitterly than she ever did for any husband demanding yet another divorce, more than she did for her girls, feeling her own loss like a deep, jagged hole in her chest.