Disclaimer: Miranda Priestly and Andrea 'Andy' Sachs are the property of Twentieth Century Fox and Lauren Weisberger, and I am just borrowing them and taking them for a spin. No copyright infringement intended.
Pairing: Miranda/Andy (MirAndy)
Rating: A/U Alternate Universe. PG—NC-17 depending on chapter.
Summary: Miranda Priestly is a resistance leader in the Danish countryside during WW2 with Andrea Sachs as her aide-de-camp. Every new assignment means putting their lives on the line, but other events forcing them closer together on a personal level prove to be just as lethal - to their hearts.
Dark Horizon
By Gun Brooke
MirAndy A/U Fan Fiction
-~o0o~-
Part Three
The local restaurant, or kro, as the more guttural Danish language designated it, was quite fashionable for being a countryside establishment. Miranda, who years ago was spoiled by dining and entertaining at the most luxurious restaurants and clubs in London, thought of the ochre tinted house as a mixture of being cozy and elegant. White tablecloths, dark hardwood floors and dark wooden chairs added to the ambiance. As she made her way among the tables, her eyes locked on two men and one woman at the far corner, she deliberately shook the lingering image of a sleeping Andrea. Sleeping in Miranda's bed, hugging her pillow. Annoyed at herself, Miranda forced herself to focus as she approached her dinner companions. She bent down and kissed the air next to their faces. There was a reason why they'd chosen this constellation; they were meant to appear as double-dating couples. Granted, the men were more rugged than handsome, and the woman very much Miranda's junior, but it had worked well so far.
"You're late. You're never late." Mads, one of the men murmured. "Anything wrong?"
"No. Well, nothing I can't handle on my own. One of my girls ran into the Germans last night."
"What? She get caught?" The other woman, Bente, flinched. "Who?"
"Andrea. And no, she's fine. She's recuperating and the Germans seemed clueless. Still, it's a warning to all of us. Even if it is a clear cut accident, we cannot afford to be careless. Andrea carried vital information on her body when she collided with one of their jeeps."
"Oh, God," Mads said, rubbing his face. "She was lucky, then."
"If you call being concussed and with a sprained arm lucky, yes." Miranda opened her menu. The waiter, a young boy she recognized from their last sabotage mission appeared at her side. "May I take your order, ma'am?"
"I'll have the pork chops, please. No potatoes."
"Very well, ma'am." He gathered everyone's menus and hurried toward the kitchen.
"So, any news?" Miranda glanced around them, pleased to see that the restaurant was practically empty at this time on a weeknight.
"Bad ones." Bente frowned, her grey eyes several shades darker. "They've started rounding people up in Aalborg. You know. Unwanted ones. Jews, homosexuals, anyone with communist beliefs. Word is they're going to ship them to some sort of work camp in Poland."
"I've heard rumors about that for a while now," the second man, Bjarne, said, looking grim. "There are reports coming in from Poland, Holland, and France. Belgium too. Jews are rounded up like…like cattle."
Miranda drew a deep breath, her mind immediately going to her cook, to Rakel. She knew Rakel and her three children lived alone since her husband had left for England to fight. Miranda knew it was most likely just a matter of time until the Germans began vacuuming the countryside and not just the cities, for undesirables.
"We have to get the ones within our territory out," Miranda said, her jaws clenched. "And this can't wait. We can't risk using the usual routes, not when it comes to a large operation like this."
"First, we must have our local people estimate how many people we're talking about here," Miranda said. "Then it's a matter of getting them across Kattegatt." Kattegatt, the part of the Atlantic Ocean that separated Denmark from Sweden, could be rough at times. Still, Miranda knew the fleet of fishermen, sturdy, hardened men, forged by their constant battle with the sea, would not balk at the idea of conning the Germans.
More people entered the restaurant, and the four resistance fighters put on their usual show of eating and drinking beer, laughing and flirting. Miranda loathed this part of it, of having to pretend and have one of the men put his arm around her and kiss her cheek. This time, she deliberately cut it short, as she was anxious to get back and check on Andrea. The entire evening, she'd had the feeling she ought to hurry, and though she was far too pragmatic to believe in signs or premonitions, Miranda was relieved when they were done.
"Let me walk you home, Miranda," Bjarne said, and helped her with her coat. "It's not safe for a woman to walk alone at this hour."
"Really. I'm sure I'll be fine."
"I insist." Bjarne offered his arm and Miranda took it with a muted sigh. She wondered if Bjarne took their roles a little too much to heart. Lately he had shown up unannounced at Nordia, and he acted like a true boyfriend around her more and more. Maybe this was a good thing, getting him alone and set him straight.
"You are very kind," Miranda said matter-of-factly, as they strolled down the sidewalk. "I just want to point out that I'm divorced, I have two children, albeit they live with their father right now, and I'm not in the market for a boyfriend, fiancé, or husband."
Bjarne flinched. "We work well together," he said, sounding defensive.
"We do. And we are good friends after all we've been through. Still, I don't want you to think it can ever be more. We are friends and comrades in arms, that's all."
"Things can change." He sounded stubborn, and a little hurt.
"They can, but not in this case. However, I've seen how Bente looks at you. She's not happy that you are walking me home, instead of her."
Bjarne stopped so abruptly, Miranda nearly tripped, her high heels doing little to steady her. "Bente? Looking at me? But, she's—she's with Mads."
"As a front. Like us. We're a front." Miranda resumed walking without holding Bjarne's arm. "If you hurry, you may catch her. I think she's walking home alone. I'm almost at my door, you know."
Bjarne looked doubtfully at Miranda, then he grinned broadly. "Well, you can't blame a guy for trying. Good night, Miranda. Hurry home, it's close to curfew." He dashed off down the street.
Miranda smirked. How fickle men could be, she mused. She was relieved that Bjarne wasn't hurt, though, because he was a nice man and a true asset when it came to the resistance. If Bente saw something special in him, good for her. Miranda knew she didn't. Instead, her mind immediately returned to the wounded young woman, even younger than Bjarne, who waited in her bed.
Waited? Her cheeks burning, Miranda chastised herself for the slip. Andrea was resting, preferably sleeping, in Miranda's bed. She wasn't waiting for anybody. She was healing.
The elevator seemed slower than usual, but eventually Miranda could unlock her front door and step inside her apartment. Her sanctuary. Here, there were memories of the twins, of happier days. There had been many lonely days too, during the last two years, but Miranda forced her thoughts away from that as she hung her coat on the rack inside the door.
She peeked inside her bedroom and found the bed empty. Startled, she gazed around the room, and only then she heard the splashing sound coming from the bathroom. Smiling faintly, Miranda walked up to the bathroom door, which was almost closed.
"Andrea? I just wanted you to know that I'm home now."
"M-Miranda?" A strange shiver in Andrea's voice made Miranda frown.
"Yes?"
"Eh…I, uh, I took a bath, I mean, I really needed one and my knee looked okay enough to soak, and—"
"What's wrong?" Miranda knew she sounded stern and impatient, but she was concerned at Andrea's nervous babbling.
"Nothing. No, not really. I mean, in a way, but I'll figure it out."
"Can I come in?"
"No!" More splashing and now also coughing, as if Andrea had swallowed some of the bathwater, filtered through the barely open door.
"Andrea?" There was no answer. "That's it, I'm coming in." Bracing herself, Miranda pushed the door open, trying to tell herself that they were both female after all. Inside, the mirrors were all misty, and Andrea's nightgown sat neatly folded on the lid of the toilet. Andrea had placed two towels by the bathtub, and there she was, her arms crossed over her chest, shivering.
"Miranda! Please. I can manage."
Miranda merely dipped her fingers in the bathwater. "This is cold. How long have you been in here without being able to get up?" Pulling the plug, Miranda began to drain the tub.
"I…I don't know. An hour?"
"An hour?" Miranda shook her head. "Silly girl, are you determined to kill yourself?"
"N-no." Her teeth clattering, Andrea was blushing profusely. "I just felt so…unclean and I stayed in too long. I got dizzy."
"All right. Water's gone. Let's get you out of there." Miranda took one of the bath towels and, bending down, wrapped it around Andrea. The tub was of the old type, with lion's paws, and fairly high. Lifting gently, Miranda tried to support Andrea as she struggled to get up. "Place your arms around my neck," Miranda said.
"Your dress. I'll ruin it."
"It's just water, for God's sake." Impatient, and a bit flustered, Miranda eased Andrea over the edge of the tub. "There." She held on while Andrea steadied herself.
"Thank you. I'm so sorry." Andrea sighed. "I just wanted a bath so badly. It's such a rare thing for me—" She broke off and yanked her hands from Miranda's shoulders.
"Baths are rare?" Miranda kept the towel securely wrapped around Andrea, trying to keep her own breathlessness in control.
"I normally use the shower in the staff's restroom area here. I don't have running water at the cabin." Andrea tried to take hold or the bath towel, but Miranda had the ends meeting behind her and didn't let go.
"I cannot believe that you live under such primitive circumstances." Miranda scrutinized Andrea's full lips, her golden brown eyes and the masses and masses of damp chocolate brown hair tumbling down almost to her waist. She smelled of Miranda's favorite soap. Miranda lowered her eyes, embarrassed, which was an emotion she detested, but her eyes fell upon a madly fluttering pulse on Andrea's neck. The urge to press her lips at this enticing sign of life, of excitement or nerves, startled Miranda. She tugged at the towel, and directed Andrea to the white leather stool over by the vanity. "Sit."
Andrea sat obediently, and gasped when Miranda let go of the towel, which made it open up in the back. Pulling at it frantically, she eventually gave up and shrugged, her cheeks pink.
Miranda fetched her first aid kit and knelt in front of Andrea, who inhaled with a gasp. Ignoring her, Miranda pushed the towel up over Andrea's sore knee and examined it closely. "I think you didn't do too much damage to it. A small bandage should be enough." She proceeded to cover the broken skin on Andrea's kneecap, grateful that she was able to keep her hands from trembling. She was well aware of the soft skin of Andrea's naked thighs only inches away. "There." Miranda didn't know what to think. She had done this to her girls more times than she could count and it had nothing in common with how this felt. She looked up at Andrea who stared down at her, eyes wide, looking, if possible, even more taken aback than Miranda felt.
"Did you find a new nightgown? I think we need to put you back into bed immediately." Miranda rose on unsteady legs.
"No. I thought I could use the same one."
"Absolutely not. Wait." Miranda hurried to the bedroom and pulled out a fresh nightgown, this one sleeveless, of pink cotton. She pulled it over Andrea's head and helped her move her injured arm through. Andrea quickly wiggled into the nightgown and stood, looking less pale, allowing the garment to fall around her legs.
"Thank you. I can never repay you for taking care of me this way. I'm sure this wasn't what you had in mind for tonight at all." Andrea looked sad.
"Don't be ridiculous. I'm only doing what anyone would do."
"I'm not so sure." Andrea tilted her head, chewing on her full lower lip. "I mean, sure, help a person out, but this, letting me stay, in your bed and everything." She shrugged.
"Ah, that." Miranda coughed. "You don't want to tell other people that. Rakel knows, but she is very trustworthy. Other people might not understand, though."
"Eh, what? What do you mean?" Andrea looked confused.
"Some would argue it was morally questionable."
"Why?"
Andrea was indeed an innocent in many ways, Miranda mused, groaning inwardly at having painted herself into a corner. "What if I was a man?" Miranda guided Andrea to the bed and helped her get back under the covers.
"I can understand why some would think that was morally wrong." Andrea nodded pensively.
"This isn't much different." Miranda cursed her own insecurities.
"But you are a woman. I mean, we both are."
"Your power of observation is amazing." Miranda's frustration made her cynical side reappear.
"But we are!" Andrea looked unhappy, half sitting against the pillows. Her damp hair lay in large, messy locks around her. Miranda had never seen anyone more beautiful.
"Have you ever kissed a boy, or a man, Andrea?" Miranda couldn't believe they were having this conversation, but she had to make Andrea understand. She sat down on the side of the bed, looking intently at Andrea.
"Yes." Andrea was breathing deeper and faster now, her full breasts moving the pink cotton fabric of the nightgown.
"Have you ever kissed a girl or a woman, I mean, on the lips?"
"No? No." Andrea gasped. "Oh."
"Yes. Oh."
"I didn't even think, I mean, that anyone would…I see. I see now what you mean."
"It never occurred to you that people might suspect something like that? Maybe because of the age difference?" Miranda became rigid, clasping her hands on her lap.
"No, not that. Because there was no way someone like you would ever see me like that," Andrea blurted and then slammed her uninjured hand over her mouth, blinking rapidly.
Miranda opened her mouth and closed it again, trying to decipher what Andrea had really said. It was sort of a compliment, wasn't it? "Why wouldn't I—I mean, someone like me?" Miranda asked against better judgment.
"You're joking, right?" For the first time, Miranda detected anger in Andrea's voice, or was it perhaps frustration?
"No."
"You're rich, successful, stunningly beautiful, elegant, and influential." Andrea's eyes were nearly black as she glowered at Miranda.
"And old enough to be your mother."
"Age has nothing to do with it."
"Sure it does," Miranda maintained. "Sex has to do with attraction, and you can only be so much attracted to wealth and influence."
"You conveniently skipped beauty and elegance."
"Inconsequential."
"Then what about love?" Andrea, less angry now, but all the more eager to make her point.
Drops of perspiration ran down Miranda's spine when Andrea leaned so close to her, the neckline of the nightgown billowed out, showing Andrea's breasts. As hypnotized by the enticing view of the perfect, pale, rosy tipped globes, Miranda couldn't tear her eyes away.
"Miranda?" Andy was beginning to worry as Miranda merely stared at her; or rather at her chest…she glanced down and saw that she had inadvertently exposed herself. "Oh, I'm sorry. I simply can't behave properly, can I?" Naturally Miranda was shocked since Andy kept flaunting her nakedness the whole time. How was she going to be able to convince Miranda that it was not deliberate?
"It doesn't matter." Miranda pushed an errant silver-white lock away from her forehead. "As long as you realize why you can't tell anyone that you're sharing my bed."
"Eh…Miranda?" Andy didn't know how to put it any other way than directly, even if she was cringing. "Why am I in your bed? I mean, still? You have several bedrooms."
"Because you are still suffering from concussion, and you have only been fever free for half a day. Only a few minutes ago you were unable to stand on your feet. I can't keep going up in the night to check on you. It makes perfect sense to keep you near."
"Perfect sense." Obediently echoing her words, Andy still wondered about the tremors in Miranda's hands and the slight flustered look. "I understand, Miranda. I won't breathe a word to anyone that we sleep together."
"Oh, God." Miranda winced and shook her head. "Either you are completely innocent or you enjoy tormenting me, Andrea."
"Tormenting you?" Andy lost track of the conversation yet again. "I…I…"
"You meant it literally."
"Yes. Of course." Andy finally caught on. "Oh."
"Indeed. Oh." Shaking her head, Miranda stood and left for the bathroom.
Andy snuggled down and reached for Miranda's pillow like she had all day, only to catch herself at the last second. Miranda would need her pillow, of course. Yawning, Andy felt exhaustion flood every part of her body, including the injured parts. She carefully patted the bandage on her head, relieved that she hadn't lost it in the tub. Closing her eyes, she pulled the covers up over her shoulders. She'd thought she knew Miranda. Strong, feared, even disliked sometimes, by her staff, but also admired. Beautiful, of course, and definitely unapproachable. Cold even, many times. Certainly not the type that would take an assistant, who also happened to double as her right hand when it came to their work in the Danish resistance, into her bed because she was hurt and had nobody else to take care of her. Neither would Andy have guessed that Miranda would stir entirely new, confusing feelings inside her. Granted, Andy was inexperienced, but she had not even responded this way when Peter Larsen kissed her after the cinema. Peter was the most handsome young man in Stavnsdal, which it turned out that he knew better than anybody, which efficiently extinguished any tiny flutters of pleasure. Andy wondered how merely being close to Miranda, having her tend to a sore knee, would cause a whirlwind of flutters? How could this make sense?
Miranda came padding back to bed, switching off the light as she walked through the bedroom.
"Can we leave a tiny light on?" Andy asked. "The curtains are up and secured. Rakel saw to that before she left for the day."
"Very well." Miranda left a small window lamp on; its pink velvet shade rendered the bedroom a soft glow. Crawling into bed, Miranda sighed, sounding as exhausted as Andy felt. "Think you'll be able to sleep?"
"Yes." Now that Miranda was there, next to her, Andy could finally relax. She turned one her side, facing toward Miranda. Closing her eyes, she let sleep overtake her.
Miranda slept erratically, waking up with her heart thundering in her chest several times. Andrea slept in the same position for so long; Miranda had to feel her forehead twice. This time, Andrea had shifted, moved closer, her arm flung across Miranda's belly. Suddenly Andrea whimpered and her arms twitched.
"Andrea?" Miranda murmured. "You all right?"
Another whimper, another twitch. Miranda felt Andrea grab a fistful of her nightgown and pull.
"Andrea!" Worried and concerned at what was going on, Miranda turned in bed, taking a gentle grip of Andrea's hand since it was the injured one.
"Oh, please, please…" Andrea moaned, clearly having some sort of nightmare.
"Wake up, Andrea. Come on now." Miranda leaned closer, gently shaking Andrea's shoulder. "Wake up."
"No, no, no…" Andrea tugged at Miranda's shirt, pulling it up along her thighs.
Miranda was starting to worry that Andrea would actually manage to disrobe her entirely before Miranda woke her up. Just as she felt her nightgown slide up over her hips, Andrea finally opened her eyes, tears clinging to her eyelashes.
"Andrea. Stop it. You're fine. It was just a dream," Miranda said, acutely aware of Andrea's hand on her hip on top of the bunched up nightgown.
"I saw them," Andrea gasped, her body trembling. "I saw them and there was nothing…nothing, I could do." She took a few deep, raspy breaths. "Nothing."
"A dream, Andrea. Listen to me. A nightmare." Miranda's heart ached at the sight of the panic in Andrea's eyes.
Andrea moved and was suddenly lying with her face pressed into Miranda's neck, her shoulders shaking. "I wish it was. Oh, Miranda, I wish it was." She clung to Miranda, who now knew this was going to hell. She couldn't push Andrea away, not when she was in complete agony from the dream, or perhaps from whatever caused the dream. The disastrous part of it was that Andrea had not only pushed her nightgown up above hip level, but actually was touching the naked skin of Miranda's left thigh.
Not sure how else to handle this, Miranda let Andrea rest against her until the tears dried up. Eventually she calmed down, and this, Miranda knew, was when things became really embarrassing. Her heart was torn between thundering due to the accidental touching, and painful contractions because of Andrea's distress. Now when Andrea had stopped sobbing, she had to go into damage control mode.
"Miranda," Andrea whispered, her voice broken. "I didn't mean to do this. I'm so dreadfully sorry. I really am, and…oh, God, what did I do?" Andrea's voice became shrill and she pushed back, her eyes huge. "What? Did I hurt you?"
"Stop it." Miranda could see Andrea's mind racing, no doubt conjuring up all sorts of conclusions. "I said, stop it." She wrapped an arm around Andrea's waist, fearing the girl might scurry back so fast she'd fall onto the floor on the other side of the bed. "You didn't do anything wrong. Do you hear me? You didn't do anything wrong."
"I—I—really? Nothing? But you're, uhm, half naked."
"So true. Mind if I rectify that?" Miranda pushed her nightgown down with her free hand. "There. Better. Now listen to me, Andrea. You had a nightmare. A quite horrible one, as far as I could tell. You reached for me, well, I guess for someone, and my nightgown slid up. It doesn't matter."
"May I ask something?" Andrea tensed as if she braced herself for something. "I mean, it's personal and I don't want to offend you, or come across as inquisitive."
"I suppose you can always try," Miranda said cautiously. Deep down she was actually curious what Andrea was so eager to know that she broke two cardinal rules. All Miranda's employees knew never to ask questions, especially stupid ones, and if there was any golden rule, it was to never try to get personal.
"Have you ever kissed a girl? I woman?" Andrea's eyes had never been bigger, and her full lips quivered as she fidgeted with the top bed sheet.
"No." Miranda felt the question like a sucker punch. Still, there was no sensationalism in Andrea's expression; instead Andrea held her breath, looking paler. "Why do you want to know this?" Miranda countered.
"I suppose I could blame the concussion, but that would be a lie, because I've had all these strange feelings lately…for months, really, and I'm thinking there might be something wrong with me." Andrea took a deep breath.
"You've wanted to kiss another girl?" Miranda was shocked at her own body's reaction to Andrea's words. Her belly warmed and the heat spread to her chest and to the inside of her thighs.
"No." Andrea swallowed hard. "A woman."
"Ah. Well, I understand. There is indeed a difference." Who did Andrea want to kiss? Emily? No, she was hardly a woman, more a girl close to Andrea's age. Who else? I had to be someone among Nordia's staff. Or perhaps a fellow resistance fighter? Bente had inquired about Andrea today, quite pointedly. Her mood darkening, Miranda burrowed her eyes into Andrea's. "Do I know her?"
"Uhm, yes." Andrea seemed to bitterly regret bringing up the subject, but Miranda was concerned now.
"Has this woman tried to, you know," Miranda waved a hand in the air, "take advantage of you?" She felt ridiculous about her choice of words, but she was worried.
"No, no, no. Nothing like that. On the contrary. It's the fact that she hasn't, despite everything, that makes it so hard to understand." Andrea sounded sad. "It was to be expected of course."
"Why? What do you mean, Andrea?" Miranda shook her head, which did little to clear her thoughts. "You're not making sense."
"It doesn't matter. It really doesn't. Nothing will ever come of these emotions." Andrea yawned and sighed deeply. Her eyelids grew heavy and Miranda could tell Andrea was falling back asleep.
"Go to sleep, Andrea. Things will work out in the end." Miranda hoped that was the right thing to say.
"I doubt it," Andrea murmured. "She's fed up with me by now. Can't probably wait to get rid of me, having taken up most of her bed…used her clothes…her tub…everything."
Miranda flinched. "What?"
"Mm, so beautiful," Andrea slurred and curled up next to Miranda. "So out of my league, but…part of me keeps hoping she'll see me, like I see her." Andrea murmured something more, something inaudible, and then her even breathing showed she was fast asleep.
Staring up at the ceiling, Miranda's thoughts kept repeating Andrea's words, over and over. Had she misunderstood, or was Andrea hoping for Miranda to kiss her? And, if so, what kind of kiss were they talking about? Would Andrea be this embarrassed and worked up if it was all innocent? Miranda doubted it. Sure, Andrea was inexperienced, she'd admitted to that, but it was pretty obvious that she had talked about a romantic, lovers' kiss. The heavy, sweet sensation in the lower part of Miranda's abdomen surged again, making her moan silently. Did she want to kiss Andrea's full lips?
Oh, yes.
