Andy arrived a few minutes early the next morning only to find that Miranda's office was already perfectly laid out in readiness for the editor's appearance. Wandering back to her desk, she pulled up the day's schedule to see if there were any last minute details that needed handling, but that too had been done with precise notations on what had been arranged. Her email in-box told hermuch the same story, with all work-related emails already having been responded to and only a few personal notes remained. A few of my duties! What the hell is left? Andy thought.
Before she could figure out what to do instead, a tall blonde walked in with a Starbuck's cup held tightly in one hand. How the hell is she carrying that without getting burned? Andy watched as she placed it on Miranda's desk at a precise angle to the already present schedule. The blonde returned to the outer office and put away her coat and bag. She then placed a call on the office line, murmured, "Hold for Miranda Priestly," and put the call on hold. She finally came to stand precisely at the front corner of the junior assistant's desk just as the elevator dinged. A moment later, Miranda strode into view, removing her coat and handing it to the blonde. Handing it to her? What the hell has been going on around here?
Miranda continued on into her office without acknowledging Andy's existence and seated herself behind the desk. She took a sip of the coffee and almost purred in delight. Andy fixed a cool glare on the blonde.
"Annika," came the quiet voice from the inner office. The blonde immediately moved in response, causing Andy's eyes to narrow even further.
"I want reservations for two at that restaurant that serves the poached salmon I like at one. Call Vera and have her send the dresses for tomorrow's shoot in the next hour. Tell Nigel I need four recommendations for accessories to go with them before lunch. The brunette model will never do. Has no one ever heard of using conditioner on their hair? I need headshots for a replacement. And get me DeMarchelier. That's all," Miranda finished.
Andy expected to hear the usual "Yes, Miranda" and to get her share of the work to do. She was surprised when Annika responded differently.
"Your reservations are noted on your schedule for the day. The dresses arrived 20.2 minutes ago. Nigel Kipling's recommendations for accessories are in the red folder along with images of the dresses, though there are five recommendations, not four. The blue folder contains images of all the available brunette models. Patrick is holding on line one. I will now go move Emily Charlton's newest deadline up by 2.4 hours, unless there is something else you need."
"No, that will do. Thank you," Miranda murmured, already engrossed in the headshots.
Thank you? This woman has killed Miranda and replaced her with a double! It was the only explanation that made sense to Andy.
"Welcome back," Nigel said.
Andy jumped, startled since she hadn't seen him come in, so intent was she on the interaction between Miranda and Annika. "Nigel, you almost gave me a heart attack," Andy exclaimed, placing a hand over her pounding heart.
"Good morning, Annika," he said to the blonde who walked through on her way to terrorize Emily in Miranda's stead. "She's hiding in the ladies room outside Natural Woodsman on the fifth floor, Annika."
"Nigel Kipling," Annika said by way of greeting. "I will seek her there."
"Let me introduce you. Annika Hansen, Andrea Sachs, first assistant. Six, this is the new second, Annika Hansen," Nigel completed the introductions.
Annika looked at Andy, clearly intrigued. "Your designation is Six? That is acceptable as my own is Seven. I prefer it to Annika."
Andy exchanged a glance with Nigel who shrugged in response.
"You like being called Seven?" she asked.
"That is correct," Annika said hesitantly. "I am…used to it."
"Nigel calls me Six because that's the size I wore when I first started working here. You're nowhere near wearing a seven, so how'd you get that nickname?" Andy wondered and could almost see the wheels turning in the blonde's head.
"I was the seventh of nine assistants," Annika supplied after another brief hesitation.
"And who would need nine assistants?" Miranda asked, having come to stand in her doorway, drawn by the conversation.
"My previous employer, Cap-Kathryn Janeway. She is a photographer," Annika answered.
"A photographer who needs nine assistants? That's a rather large staff. She must be extremely successful. Why have I never heard of her?" Miranda continued.
"She does not work in New York, though she is currently in the city. She has opened a studio not far from this location," Annika explained.
"European, then?" Nigel asked.
"She is from Bloomington, Indiana," Annika answered.
"I wish to see her work," Miranda stated unequivocally. "According to Patrick, his staff is decimated by the flu. Were it anyone else, they would never work for Runway again." She gave a pointed look to Nigel before returning to her desk.
Annika turned to Nigel and asked, "Why is DeMarchelier an exception?"
"Because he's saved Miranda's bacon more than once," Andy commented.
"Why would preserving a cured meat make him exempt?" Annika asked.
Nigel laughed, already used to Annika's literal turn of mind.
"Six means that DeMarchelier has helped Miranda when other photographers have failed in their duties," he explained. "You better go destroy Emily's day so you can contact this Janeway. Miranda waits for no one."
With a nod, Annika left in search of Emily, already contacting Janeway on her handheld.
"What are you thinking, Six?" Nigel asked in the quiet tones he used so as not to be overheard by Miranda.
Andy knew her eyes would reflect the hurt she was feeling, though she tried to stuff it behind her carefully constructed walls. "I've been replaced, Nigel."
He reached out and took one of her hands, patting it with his own. "Not where it truly counts, Andy," he assured her enigmatically. As a softly spoken "Andréa" filtered into the room, he nodded toward Miranda's office. "She hasn't been happy with you gone the last few days. You better get in there."
Janeway was perfecting her technique with airbrushing a photo in the twenty-first century computer that sat on the desk in front of her while B'Elanna was adjusting the lighting for one of the many set-ups she had practiced so far that morning.
"Is there a reason we're doing this?" B'Elanna asked, kicking at yet another cable that meandered across the floor. "We couldn't just fake it?"
"From what I've read in the family journals, added to what Seven has reported concerning Miranda Priestly, she'd see through us before we even begin. We need to be as authentic as possible, B'Elanna, and that takes practice. The actual photos we'll create using our own resources and the replicators to save time, but it will help to know how far from perfectly accurate we need to be in the finished product. I'll have Seven evaluate these tonight to calculate the right error ratio," Janeway said as she delicately manipulated the stylus on the digital pad under her hand. "Actually, I'm rather enjoying this. I may program a similar arrangement in Master DaVinci's studio once we're back on Voyager."
With a sigh B'Elanna adjusted the tilt on yet another lamp and compared the result to the photo she held in her hand. She looked up as Janeway's handheld chirped, glad of anything that would interrupt the tedium.
"Miranda Priestly wants to see my portfolio. I suggest we get changed. It's show time," Janeway grinned with that unholy glee that usually led them all straight into trouble.
A short time later, they materialized in the same small alley that Janeway and Seven had used the previous week. As she tottered along in the ridiculous heels the doctor had replicated for her along with the outfit she now wore, B'Elanna growled under her breath.
"I'll never understand how you and Seven walk in these things," she grumbled.
"Every added inch helps when most of your crew is taller than you are," Janeway replied, laughing.
"Yeah? What's Seven's excuse? Easier to look down your nose at everyone when it's a foot above their heads?"
Janeway sighed. "B'Elanna, Seven doesn't feel superior to you."
"Sure, she does. Just ask her sometime," B'Elanna disagreed, irritated that as always the captain sided with the tall Borg.
She noticed Janeway glancing at her from the corner of her eye before the captain continued. "I seem to remember someone who felt that being the first to lash out would protect her from anyone else doing so. Not the best way to make friends, but given enough time her fellow crew members saw through that, and she made a place for herself on Voyager. Seven's just trying to do the same."
B'Elanna didn't respond, preferring to concentrate on not breaking her neck in the ludicrous shoes. She did have to hand it to Seven. B'Elanna could barely walk in them on a level surface, and she'd seen Seven running over uneven ground in similar shoes many times. Even with Borg enhancements it was quite a feat, but then Seven was always performing miraculous feats to save one or more of the crew, including her. Like this mission…there was no overt danger that they were aware of, but even if there had been, Seven would still have marched in ahead of the rest of them, ready to do battle to protect her collective. B'Elanna realized with guilt that it didn't even matter how the Voyager collective treated her back, Seven would always sacrifice herself for them without question. She sighed to herself as the thought that a half Borg might have more honor than a half Klingon left her with a decidedly uncomfortable feeling. She was extremely grateful when they walked into the Runway offices, and she was able to push the thoughts away for more immediate concerns.
