"Without You"

A The Devil Wears Prada Fanfic

by JennedyJLD / JKSophieJane


Miranda stumbled into the kitchen on Sunday morning, feeling immense guilt about sleeping through most of the night. The fact that most of it had been plagued by nightmares did little to alleviate the burden on her conscience. Andrea was still out there in the middle of who knew where; it was doubtful any progress had been made; and Miranda was sitting in their comfortable home, unable to do anything that could help bring her home. Miranda had no idea what she should be doing, but there had to be something more than this.

Judy, Richard, and Jonathan had been up and moving for an hour, and although the coffee in the pot was old and lukewarm, Miranda poured herself a cup and didn't complain.

Caroline wandered into the kitchen and gave her mother a small hug. "I want to go outside," she said, purposefully affecting the whining speech patterns of a child much younger than herself. Dr. Robinson, who had seen the girls briefly during the divorce from Stephen, had told Miranda that children often adopted this behavior during times of immense stress, when they needed more affection and greater assurances than usual. Miranda doubted that she was in very good shape to provide either right now, but managed to give her daughter a gentle hug and leaned to kiss the crown of her head.

"I know, Darling," she said, her voice quiet. "But we can't do that right now. There are a lot of people outside the house."

Caroline frowned. "I don't understand why they want our picture."

Miranda shook her head. "I don't either," she said. "The same reason people can't tear their eyes away from a horrible wreck…" She put the coffee mug down, hating that she had just compared her life, their lives, to a fatal accident. But that was what it had become, and the world was looking in. The public's interest in the scandal of Andrea's affair with Miranda was far eclipsed by its ignominious appetite for evidence that her loved ones were suffering.

Caroline fixed her mother with a serious look. "Do you really think they're going to let Andy go?"

Miranda took a deep breath. She felt her façade begin to chip, and fought with herself to hold her emotions in check. At what point did trying to provide strength and direction for her child become sheer naivety? "I don't know," she confessed, and took Caroline back into her arms. "I just don't know."

Caroline sniffled, and whispered, "It's not fair. They can't have her. She's ours."

Miranda hugged her tight, and heard a shuffling of feet in the doorway. She looked up, and saw that Jonathan was standing there, watching the scene, obviously unsure whether he should speak up.

"Miranda," he said quietly, "they're… um, they're going to have something on the news. They said something before they went to commercial break. We have maybe two minutes to get up there – Judy and Richard are in the living room."

Miranda nodded at him. "Take the girls to Cassidy's room?"

"No!" Caroline wailed. "No! I want to see. It isn't fair!"

"Come on, Caroline," Jonathan said, his voice strained. He obviously hated having to be the last to know, but understood that he was the least involved, and so the task of protecting his daughters from potentially devastating news fell to him. "Let's just get Cassidy. They'll let us know in a few minutes, won't you?"

Miranda nodded. "Of course. Caroline, go with your father."

Caroline spun on her. "This isn't right," she said. "We love Andy, too. Just as much as anybody else."

"I know," Miranda said, kissing her head again as they vacated the kitchen. "But I don't want you to see anything upsetting."

Caroline shook her head as Cassidy was summoned from the downstairs study, where she had been reading the same page for the last thirty minutes. "Like you're not going to be upset? You get to watch."

Miranda silently conceded that point to Caroline, but still gave Jonathan's arm a thankful squeeze as he directed the twins to Cassidy's room.


The news was good; but it wasn't easy to receive.

Another network had beaten Leighton to the punch, and Miranda planned to give him absolute hell for putting her in a position to learn about this on television. The "proof of life" video included on the encrypted CD was airing, in its entirety. Miranda, Richard, and Judy sat on the sofa watching Andrea's captors rant about certain Pakistani detainees at various offshore prisons run by the U.S. military, calling for their release.

"The journalists, Clayton and Sachs, are alive," one of the captors was saying, looking into a handheld camera. He turned the camera from his own face, and zoomed in on the back of the dark room in which he stood.

It was impossible to tell anything about the room or its location from the video, which was grainy and dim. But there were four people in the back of the room, and the two in the middle were very clearly the missing journalist and his researcher.

"My arm is broken," Clayton said. "Andy needs a doctor. But we're okay. They're feeding us."

Andrea, who looked tired and shaken but otherwise all right, kept her head down, clearly not cooperating with them, not going along. Miranda didn't know whether to be proud of her or jump through the television and throttle her.

"Oh my God," Judy gasped at the moment her daughter looked up and into the camera.

"We just want to go home," she said, her voice strong.

The camera whipped back around and focused on the spokesman. "The journalists will be returned upon the release of the prisoners we have identified. If we have not received confirmation of release within three days, our hostages will die."

"Three days," Miranda said. "That video was filmed more than twenty-four hours ago."

"She's alive," Richard said, standing and wringing his hands.

Judy stood up next to him, burying her head on her husband's shoulder. "They said she needs a doctor. She's hurt."

Miranda grabbed the remote, and reversed the image on the screen, freezing it on Andrea's face. She had never seen that anxiety before, but she'd seen the resolve. She'd seen the fire.


Andrea had been Miranda's girlfriend for eight months, and living at the townhouse for two, when it happened.

Miranda stormed into the townhouse in a perfectly rotten mood. The sounds of three happy voices laughing in the kitchen did absolutely nothing to change it.

"Andrea," Miranda said, sticking her head into the kitchen.

"Hmm?" Andrea turned and smiled at Miranda, a dollop of cookie dough on her nose.

"What is that?" Miranda demanded, as her daughters looked up. The awful dough was caked in Caroline's hair and hung from Cassidy's ears. Great. Another food fight.

Andrea smiled at her. "We're making cookies." She looked Miranda up and down, appraising her foul mood. "And welcome home."

Miranda scowled. "I need to speak to you for a moment."

Cassidy exchanged glances with her sister, and then regarded Andy warily. Andy was clearly in troooouble… but why? If it was the food fight, she resolved, they were all in this together, and would go down that way.

Andrea wiped her nose and then her hands, her cheeks pinking. She nodded at the twins. "Okay, kids. About two dozen silver dollar sized cookies on the tray. I'll be back in a minute to put them in the oven when you're done."

"We can do it," Caroline said, rolling her eyes in true Priestly fashion.

Andrea rolled hers right back. "Wait for me," she instructed, and took Miranda's hand as they left the kitchen.

Seconds later, in the study, Andrea was the first to speak. "Could you please not do that, like, ever again?"

Miranda arched an eyebrow. "Do what?"

Andrea huffed indignantly. "Speak to me like I'm five in front of the kids."

"I did no such thing. I said that I needed to speak with you because I need to speak with you."

Andrea shook her head. "Forget it. But if you want them to think of me as anything other than a glorified babysitter, then…"

Miranda sighed, exasperated. "Would you stop?" she entreated.

Andrea put her hands on her hips and glared at Miranda.

"Have you seen this?" Miranda asked, reaching into her leather attaché and producing a folded up Page Six.

"No," Andrea said immediately. "I don't read – hey, I didn't know you read that crap, either."

Miranda sighed. "The second Blind Item is about us," she said, slumping miserably onto the small sofa. "They say I'm having a midlife crisis. Want to know what they say about you?"

"No," Andrea said, firmly. "I do not." She sat next to Miranda. "How obvious is it?"

Miranda shrugged unhappily. "Plenty," she finally admitted. "I know we haven't been going out of our way to hide anything, but I suppose I thought that it would be up to us in the end. How we chose to… present this…"

Andrea stared at her. "Present 'this' what?" She put her hand on Miranda's shoulder. "I think 'this' is pretty special. I don't care if people know about us."

Miranda shook her head. "It's not that I'm embarrassed or ashamed, Andrea, but you must understand that this is about more than just us."

"The twins," Andy said. "Kids can be mean, sure. But times are changing – you heard Cassidy that day, right? It's normal for them."

Miranda breathed deeply, and looked at Andrea. "It's not merely that, either. It's whispers about whether we were involved when I was married to Stephen, when you worked for me. It's ennui about your getting further than you deserve because of me. It's jokes about whether Runway will start featuring flannel shirts and Birkenstocks in its layouts."

Andrea squeezed Miranda's hand and looked at her earnestly. "Why don't we just beat 'em to the punch? Let's go make out in Central Park. We can skip the speculation stage entirely."

Miranda glared at her. "Don't be ridiculous."

Andrea frowned. "What? Okay, maybe making out in Central Park isn't the way to go. But I'm ready to run the gauntlet. I'm ready for the world to know I'm yours. Are you… are you ready?"

Miranda looked at her warily. "I don't know."

"Miranda, we live together, for God's sake," Andrea said, her eyes flashing. "You're meeting my parents in two weeks. I'd say we're pretty committed to this, right?"

"Don't ask stupid questions. Of course I'm committed to this."

Andy shrugged. "So what's the difference between coming out now and doing it later?"

Miranda sighed. "I've been trying to tell you. Now isn't the best time."

"There's never going to be a 'good time' to do something like this," Andrea insisted. Her voice was level, but her bottom lip was trembling. This was always a sure sign that she was either about to cry or about to raise hell. Miranda found herself wishing for the latter. Anger could always be met with iciness. The crying, though - she couldn't deal with the crying. She was not equipped for that.

"What, do you want to wait until after we get married?" Andrea asked, continuing her rant. Miranda stifled a relieved smile – good. Mad. She had been hoping for mad. "Or maybe after we have a baby? Are you going to send out engraved invitations to a baby shower… 'Andrea's pregnant. Oh, guess what? It's mine! By the way, we're a couple.'"

Miranda huffed. "You are a lunatic."

"Am I?" Andrea asked, looking at her imploringly. "Tell me, then. When's a good time? Six months from now? Six years?"

"We can't get married, it's not even an option," Miranda said, looking for ammunition and going with the most obvious option. "And we haven't exactly decided whether to have a child. You're very young and I'm very… not."

Andrea glowered. "I can't fucking believe you sometimes."

Miranda's eyes narrowed. "I do not appreciate that."

Andrea shook her head. "Don't make this about my reaction. You're panicking. You have nerves of steel, Miranda, but one little blind item, and maybe a few people are gonna figure it out, and look at you funny tomorrow, and you're getting cold feet."

Miranda looked away from her. "I am not," she said cooly, "getting anything. Except a migraine. Stop yelling at me."

"I'm not yelling," Andrea said excitedly. "My voice isn't even raised."

"It's all high and agitated," Miranda said, waving her hand dismissively. "Anyway, I just wanted to warn you that our lives are about to be completely upended. I thought you might have an interest…"

Andrea was in the middle of forming a comeback that looked like it might sting when the kitchen timer went off. She glared at Miranda. "I am going to the kitchen," she said, "to finish making cookies with Caroline and Cassidy. We're not going to fight in front of them. And you're not going to talk to me like that in front of them, either." She looked at Miranda. "Okay?" She knelt in front of the couch, and touched Miranda's cheek. "I know you're panicking, because that's what you do," she said. "But I'm on your team. So you don't have to freak out."

Miranda looked up, her gaze locking on Andy's sincere brown eyes. She was so beautiful that it almost hurt.

Andy kept her gaze focused on Miranda. "You came through that door tonight, Miranda, and you walked into a happy home." She kissed Miranda's lips chastely. "Don't go out of your way like this to make things miserable just because you're not used to being happy. You're allowed to be happy, and who cares what anyone thinks? Fuck 'em if they can't take a joke."

Miranda rolled her eyes, and felt a smile forming through the façade. "We're a team," Miranda said quietly, feeling like an idiot.

Andy beamed at her, her bright smile returning as she offered her hand and led Miranda back to the kitchen, where the cookies went into the oven. By the time they came out fifteen minutes later, all was well.