Disclaimer: See part 1.

A/N - Heads up, people. Some violence implied and briefly described. Just in case it triggers something, OK?

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After Paris

By Gun Brooke

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Part 7

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Miranda padded over to the bed and peeled back the covers, careful to not wake Andrea. She had worked for more than two hours on the 'Book', and even if it was Saturday tomorrow, there would be hell to pay for some unfortunate Runway employees. They were going to thank which ever deity they worship that they had to answer to Nigel and Emily, and not Miranda.

Crawling into bed, Miranda glanced over at Andrea who was sleeping with her face deeply buried in her pillow. Only the firm grip of the corner of the pillowcase showed that she wasn't entirely relaxed. Miranda yawned and turned out the light, leaving the room faintly lit by a nightlight in the bathroom.

Something nudged Miranda, waking her. She snapped her eyes open, trying to figure out where the tormented sound came from.

"N-no. No!"

A lanky arm pushed at Miranda again and this time her brain kicked in. A quick glance at the radio alarm clock told Miranda it was 4.24 AM, which meant she had gotten three hours of sleep.

"Andrea?" Miranda turned on the bedside light on its lowest setting before turning to Andrea. "Andrea. Wake up. You're dreaming." She ducked the flailing arms, her heart breaking at the frightened whimpers and the pleading tone.

"No. Please, don't…don't…" Andrea shook so badly, Miranda wrapped both arms around her and held her close. "Don't."

"Andrea. Open your eyes and look at me. You're safe. Andrea."

"What?" Andrea's voice sank to a whisper. "Miranda?"

"You were dreaming."

"I…yes. Oh. Oh!" Andrea shifted, scooting closer. "He's here!"

"What are you talking about?" Miranda rose on her elbow, looking down at the pale face beneath her.

"Dieter. He's here in the house." Andrea's eyes darted around the room. "He…he still has the knife. A long knife."

"As I said. A dream. Nobody's here but you and I." Miranda could tell she wasn't convincing enough for Andrea. "Andrea. Look at me." She hated doing it, but using her dragon lady voice might just work.

"Yes. I'm sorry." Andrea blinked several times and then refocused on Miranda. "Oh, God, it was so real. I'm sorry. Did I wake you?"

"Yes, but I'm glad you did." Miranda moved to lie down on her pillow again. "Try to relax again. You're fine."

"Yes, of course. I know." Andrea bit on her lower lip and fiddled with the corner of her pillow case.

Miranda watched Andrea for a moment, hoping that she would settle down. When she saw how Andrea became increasingly agitated and doing her best to conceal it, Miranda couldn't bear to watch it. "Come here," she said and held out her arms.

Andrea's eyes opened and she looked shocked. "Miranda?"

"You can't relax. I can't sleep if you fiddle like that. So—come here." She waved impatiently, which she hoped would make Andrea scurry across the bed. As it turned out, she was not reading Andrea right. She scurried all right, but away from her.

"No. Oh, no. This was a bad idea. I knew I'd be keeping you awake." Andrea stood up next to the bed. "I…I'll use one of the guest rooms. Third floor, right? You've been so great to me and the least you deserve is a good night sleep—"

"Andrea." Miranda knew this was sheer panic talking. "Please. Come back to bed. Don't you see? I need to have you here. I can't sleep at all if you're not here." Uncomfortable with letting her true emotions show, Miranda clenched one hand around the duvet to anchor herself and reached out for Andrea with the other. "Please."

Looking like a tousled elfin, Andrea stared at Miranda with huge eyes. She drew a deep breath and crawled back into bed. "Really?"

"Yes. Really." Trying again, Miranda held out her arms. "Come."

This time there was no hesitation. Instead, Andrea gave a shy smile and moved into Miranda's embrace, and then hid her face against her neck. "I was so scared."

"I know. I was too."

"I believe you. If the situation had been the reverse, if Dieter had you at knifepoint, I would've been going absolutely crazy."

"I think I did for a moment. I hurt Nigel."

"What? You're joking."

"I most certainly am not. He held me back on Bradley's orders when the snipers shot Dieter and the two of you went down. I was furious and very, very frightened. Altogether horrible."

"Poor Nigel." Andrea pressed her lips against Miranda's neck and then seemed to hold her breath. "Oh. Wasn't thinking. I meant it as, 'and poor you'."

"Ah. A kiss out of pity. I see."

"No!" Andrea gently touched Miranda's cheek with a bandaged hand. "A sympathy kiss."

"There is a difference?" Miranda didn't like how haughty she sounded, but knew no other way.

"Of course there is." Andrea ran her fingertips along Miranda's face. "Pity has a tinge of condescension and sympathy is based in compassion and understanding."

Miranda could hardly believe that it was now Andrea consoling her. Was there no end to this woman's strength? She risked her life to save strange children, chose to remain with an armed madman, and now, after being seriously traumatized and physically hurt, she showed Miranda such compassion. "You are amazing," Miranda whispered. "I think I always knew that."

"What? Me?" Andrea looked up at Miranda, smiling. "Don't be ridiculous, Miranda. I think you're the amazing one."

Grateful for the obvious teasing remark, Miranda raised an eyebrow. "And you are the one for stating the obvious too, as usual."

"Trust me to be redundant." Andrea resumed her position with her head on Miranda's shoulder. "Honestly, if anyone had told me this morning of today's events, I would've thought, hm, well, this is New York, anything can happen. Had the same person told me I'd be in Miranda Priestly's bed and on her shoulder, I would've had them committed to the closest psychiatric ward."

Miranda snorted. "You're not the only one. If the same, clearly delusional individual, would've told me I was going to be lucky enough to have you back in my life, let alone in my arms, I would've…fired them."

"And yet, here we are." Snuggling closer, Andrea sighed. "I chickened out."

"What?"

"I never called my mom. I texted her and told her I was all right. She didn't force the issue."

"You have a falling out?"

"Not entirely, but we've been arguing a lot. I mean, my Dad and I have, and Mom's been trying to not take sides. She hates it when dad and I butt heads, which makes me feel so guilty."

"Not guilty enough to do as he wants though." Miranda hoped not.

"No. I think Mom is glad that I love working at the Mirror, and when the topic of my career isn't the main event, she and I feel as close as we ever were. I've confided a lot in her, and I'm sure she hasn't told Dad about that. He'd freak out completely, since that would only reinforce my standpoint."

Miranda wondered if had anything to do with what Ginny Sachs had let slip while on the phone with Miranda. Andrea cares about me. If that was the case, if Miranda was part of the reason Andrea chose to stay in New York, yes, Mr. Sachs wouldn't be thrilled. "You should call them in the morning."

"I know."

"Good." Miranda pressed her lips in a gentle kiss against Andrea's hair, mindful of her sore scalp. "Let's try to get some more sleep."

"Yeah." Andrea hid her face against Miranda's neck again. "I feel safe with you."

When you're awake. Miranda held Andrea close and soon she knew from the young woman's deep and even breathing that she had fallen back to sleep.

Andy clasped Miranda's house phone tightly, even if the rigid grip hurt her hands. She had just dialed her parents' house in Cincinnati and it was ringing. Perhaps they weren't home. That'd be great. If she had to call their cell and keep the conversation brief—

"Sachs' residence."

"Mom?" Andy was relieved that it was her mother who'd picked up the phone. "It's me. Andy."

"Andy!" Ginny sobbed. "Oh, baby-girl, so wonderful to hear your voice. How are you feeling?"

"I'm doing fine, Mom. I'm being totally pampered by Miranda and Sandy, her housekeeper. I don't have to lift a finger, which is good. I kind of hurt my palms a bit. Must've fallen."

"We'll be there tomorrow. Miranda texted me early this morning. She's arranged for a hotel room for us. I told her we could stay in your apartment, but she said the hotel was just a block away from her townhouse."

"Take her up on it. She's really being amazing and generous. How's Dad?"

"He's worried. Naturally."

"Worried enough to give me a break tomorrow when he gets here? Or?"

Ginny sighed. "I think you might want to prepare for this fortifying his idea that New York is unsafe for a single young girl."

"I'm not a girl." Andy sighed. "I'm not a child." She frowned, and regretted it as it tore at her sore scalp. Again. "Maybe if he's going to let his visit be about this constant nagging, he should stay home."

"Andy…I'll talk to him. Of course he's worried and he's afraid for you. We've seen the events run over and over on CNN."

"Don't look at it anymore." Andy felt fatigue fill her. "Please, Mom. You know I'm all right with superficial, minor injuries. No need to torture yourself."

"All right. I'll just watch the press conference at 2 PM, and that new footage they talk about. Then that's it, I promise. Tell Miranda we're grateful."

"I will—wait, what new footage?" Andy drummed her fingertips on Miranda's desk.

"The news anchor just said they have some new surveillance footage they're releasing with hope of finding little Beth Donovan, since she's apparently visible. I think you might be too."

"Oh, God. Oh, God, oh God…" Andy hid her face in her arms. "I can't believe that. Surely there must be great pictures of Beth, much better quality than some grainy surveillance film? They're just doing this for fuc—damn ratings. Mom. I gotta go. I really do. I'll see you tomorrow. Call me when you land, okay?"

"But Andy—"

"I really am very tired, Mom."

"Of course. I understand." Ginny sounded hurt, but Andy couldn't take it in.

"Mom, don't be upset. I'm doing fine. Tomorrow when you get here, I'll be doing even better. We'll visit a few days, and you can go back to Cincinnati knowing I'm healing and doing just great."

"All right. Rest up, baby-girl, and we'll see you tomorrow."

Andy hung up and curled up in Miranda's leather desk chair. "I can't believe it."

"Andrea?" Miranda stood in the doorway, one hand on the door frame, the other one on her hip. "What's the matter?"

"What's not the matter? Mom is absorbed by the news reel, and oh, by the way, they'll be showing yours truly—new footage—at 2 PM. Surveillance footage. I have no idea what that will show. Why didn't Bradley or your buddy McCoy tell us?"

"He did. I just found out. Seems the decision was made by the Chief of Police. Jack wasn't too thrilled, but he saw the potential value in getting as many people looking at footage of Beth Donovan as possible. The thing is, people want to see you, and since this shows Beth and you—"

"And Dieter." Andy barely managed to get his name across her lips. "Let's not forget that it shows the maniac…"

"We don't know that."

"Miranda. You're the one who hates when someone tries to bullshit you. So don't do it to me."

Miranda sighed. "All right. Let's watch it together and then we'll know." She walked over to Andy, leaning her hip against the desk. "The most important thing is that they find the girl, isn't it?"

Andy gasped. "Are you insinuating that I'm so self-absorbed that I'd prevent them to air it if I could, and not take any chance of finding Beth? You're joking right? Don't you know that I'd be walking the streets, all of them, up and down, as long as it took to find her? And you're saying I'm so selfish…how can you want me here if you think I'm that selfish…?" Tears of anger and disappointment ran down Andy's cheeks and she could hardly breathe.

"Andrea, darling, don't. Don't." Miranda cupped her cheeks, brushing away tears from her cheeks and her eyelashes. "I would never call you selfish and neither would anyone else. You are anything but selfish. As a matter of fact, I wouldn't mind if you were just a little more selfish, for self-preservation reasons for instant."

"What? Oh? Oh." Andy sobbed and snorted at the same time. "Oh, boy. I—I think I panicked."

"I would have to agree." Miranda's blue eyes were warmer than Andy had ever seen them. "I came to get you. Sandy has made sandwiches and coffee. You up for something to eat?"

"Yeah. Coffee sounds great." Andy stood, feeling dizzy. "Whoa."

"Careful." Miranda held on to her with both hands around her shoulders. "You're not entirely steady yet."

"Uhm. Miranda…" Andy hesitated. "You realize you just called me darling?" She hardly dared look at Miranda, not sure how she would take the reminder. What if it had been a mere slip, or even said without any meaning to it whatsoever. Andy regretted bringing it up.

"Well. Do you object?" Miranda spoke cautiously, still holding Andy in place by her shoulders.

"No. No, no. On the contrary." Andy smiled, because she knew Miranda well enough to know she wouldn't hide any displeasure. "I liked it."

"What a relief." Miranda tucked Andy's left hand into the crease of her arm. "Let's go to the den. Sandy put everything out for us on the coffee table so you would be comfortable."

"She was always nice to me even when I was a mere minion at Runway."

"You were never just a mere minion. Trust me, you stood out from day one."

"As the smart, fat girl with good work ethics and a bad haircut—and a grandmother skirt."

"Who said that?"

"You and Emily, and even Nigel remarked that my size was the new fourteen. He even threw out my corn chowder, right in front of me. Granted, it was so I wouldn't miss your run-through."

"Oh, my. Don't tell me. The Cerulean blue debacle?" Miranda helped Andy lower herself onto the love seat. "There. Comfortable?"

Andy tugged a pillow into the small of her back. "Now I am. And yes, that was the time you wrung me out and hung me to dry."

"It was a lovely color on a deplorable poly-blend shirt." Miranda shuddered. "And you were really quite snobbish." Miranda sipped her coffee and regarded Andy over the rim. "So certain you had us superficial people pegged?" Her eyes sparkled.

"And you're teasing me. Goading me even." Andy bit into the decorative cucumber sandwiches, tilting her head. "Why is that? You know I saw the errors of my ways when I understood what this multi-billion dollar industry really is about, and how many jobs are involved. You're up to something, Miranda Priestly?"

"I have not the foggiest what you are referring to." Miranda now smiled openly. "You did see the light in the most amazing ways. I didn't get to see you in those stunning boots up close and personal, but Nigel confessed he gave them to you, to keep, since, and I quote 'you made even him reconsider his sexual orientation'."

Andy had just sipped her coffee and barely swallowed it before she burst into laughter. "What? Oh, you're making that up."

"I am not."

"Nigel was being silly then." She shook her head. Again, she rewound the conversation. "Wait. You…You said you—hm, did you mean you wished you'd seen the boots?"

"On you, yes. I heard from Serena what an impact you made on everybody."

Serena was Runway's best makeup artist and hopelessly in love with Emily. "Oh, she only said that to get under Em's skin."

"Why would she want to do that?" Miranda's eyes glittered now and she looked like she had a hard time remaining serious.

"Because she wants to get into Emily's heart as well as her pants," Andy deadpanned.

"Andrea!" Miranda's eyes widened and she looked scandalized. "You're being outrageous."

"And you're avoiding the issue."

"Issue? What issue?" Still hiding behind her coffee mug, Miranda all but batted her perfectly mascara-darkened eyelashes.

"The issue of why you would like to see me in thigh-high leather boots, which by most is regarded as an overtly sexy accessory."

Slowly placing her mug on the coffee table, Miranda leaned back against the armrest. "I am very partial to aesthetically pleasing visions. You, darling, are that and more. And I know enough now of your legs that I can picture how you'd look in those boots. I can see how they would change your walk, how even a fresh and natural girl like you can become sultry with just the change of footwear."

"S-sultry? Me?" Andy wondered now what Sandy had put in Miranda's coffee. "I'm—I'm just me. I look okay, but I'm not a Runway model. Not even close."

"Oh, Andrea." Miranda smiled broadly. "Thank God, you're not. You're stunning, and normally I wouldn't call you sultry, but you're most certainly sensual and with an innate sexiness."

"You deduct that from how I might have looked while wearing tall boots?" Andy was skeptical.

"No. I deduct that from how you make me feel when I look at you right this moment, bandages and all." Miranda slid closer. "And no, before you go off on another suspicious rant, I'm not saying this to distract you from noticing the time is 2 pm now." She held up the remote to the 42 inch flat screen television on the wall. "Do you want to see the news?"

Andy sighed. "I guess we better. You will watch with me, right?"

"Try to stop me," Miranda murmured and switched the television on.

"Afterward, unless I'm angry enough to shoot someone, or perhaps if I'm angry enough to shoot someone, may I ask a favor?" Andy scooted closer to Miranda.

"You may."

"I might require a diversion."

"Yes?"

"I think I will need you to kiss me. A real kiss. Unless it freaks you out. Or repels you."

"It doesn't. Nothing can 'freak me out' or 'repel me' when it comes to you Andrea."

CNN's signature for breaking news made Andy jump. "Guess this is it. I'm just going to keep my fingers crossed that they'll tell us Beth is safe."

Miranda placed her arm around Andy's shoulders. "I will cross mine as well."

The news anchor came into view. "Yesterday's hostage situation when five children were stabbed and severely wounded, and a young teacher fatally injured, has a new development. One other girl, who wasn't physically hurt after being rescued together with one of the stabbed children, has gone missing."

"Damn." Andy wiped at new tears as Beth's picture was shown. The anchor woman gave Beth's description and what she wore when she was last seen. "And we have new footage, released by the NYPD, where we'll see just how brave the young New York Mirror reporter Andrea Sachs was when she came to the rescue of the young children."

"Oh. My. God." Andy pressed her cheek against Miranda's shoulder, gazing at the TV between the tresses of her hair.

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Continued in pt 8/?

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