Here we are, next chapter! Up at the cottage, wind picking up & storm rolling in...makes for good writing weather :) As promised, we interrupt the angst to bring you some well-earned fluff...

Looking forward to reading what you all think later on, curled up with some tea watching the rain. xxx

The next morning, Miranda opened her eyes, lifting her head slightly from the soft, warm, gently breathing pillow. Andrea was still asleep and Miranda spent the next few minutes watching the younger woman whose arms were still closely wrapped around her although her grip had loosened in slumber so that one arm lay draped over her hip. Miranda began to kiss the skin beneath her lips softly, sucking lightly in some places so that the blood rose to the top of the skin.

A low, pleased sounding growl sounded from beneath the covers before brown eyes opened, enveloping Miranda in a warmth even the thousand thread count sheets beneath her couldn't hope to achieve.

"Good morning, my love," Miranda murmured, before lavishing attention once more on the pert nipple between her teeth.

"Good morn – Oh God, yes, Mira, that's it, right there. Don't stop! Don-Oh! Oh…"

Miranda raised an eyebrow lazily at the gasping woman beneath her once she had finished, "I believe you're becoming rather accomplished at giving orders, Andrea. You may yet be more like me than either of us realized."

Andrea arched an eyebrow in an eerie replication of Miranda's before giving a little smirk of her own and tossing her hair over her shoulder affecting nonchalance.

"Well in that case, we might as well skip the second half. We wouldn't want to keep the office waiting," the younger woman breezed, her airy, unaffected tone belied only by light scratching of her nails along the inside of Miranda's thighs in light nonsensical patterns that were driving the older woman crazy with desire.

Andrea could hear the hitch in her breath and feel the irregular tightenings rippling across the lower curve of Miranda's belly that told her the other woman was close. Her fingers drifted lower, skimming glistening curls before moving her hands suddenly to cup Miranda's buttocks and pull her firmly towards her so that more of her centre was exposed and pressed against the silken warmth of Andrea's own skin.

"What do you need, sweetheart?"

"You. Only you. Oh!" Miranda squealed slightly, trying to clench her legs around Andrea and find her release, only to cry out in frustration as the soft, pale expanse of skin kept moving just out of her reach.

"Please," Miranda whispered.

"Ohh, you need it so badly don't you? You need to come so hard." Crouching over her now so that her body formed a protective cage over the older woman, Andy let her hair fall in a curtain of glorious chestnut over Miranda's breasts, teasing her overly sensitive nipples as she pressed wet, open mouthed kisses to the tight belly that rose so invitingly, offering her everything beloved, everything she held dear; love, hope, a future, a family… The hot mouth and worshipful lips that spilled kisses over her skin sprang the final, tight coil curled deep inside Miranda and she arched her back even further, offering more of herself to Andrea until those same lips moved, finally, mercifully to where she needed them most, the gentlest of bites to the swollen nub the final straw as she was sent into the stratosphere by the intensity of her climax.

"Sweetheart. Come back to me. Miranda, Miranda my love, come back." Miranda's eyes fluttered open in response to the siren's voice until the blurred shapes converged to form the sweetly concerned face of her lover, the features now forming a wide, adorable grin that held just a touch of pride and satisfaction at what those same lips had just wrought. "Mmm, welcome back."

Cheeky thing, Miranda thought lovingly before nipping hard at the flesh that spilled invitingly over the top of the nude demi-cup lace bralette the younger woman wore. There, she thought in satisfaction as Andrea gasped and squirmed beneath her, begging for a second release. That was more like it.

"Andrea, you really should show up at work occasionally," Miranda chided teasingly but fondly an hour later as the young woman insisted on walking into the office with her, secretly loving the fact that the younger woman was as loathe to leave her side as she was to have her go.

Enough was enough though, already she feared she depended too much on the young woman, and she worried Andrea's attachment to her meant that she was neglecting other aspects of her life. She couldn't remember the last time Andrea had gone out with friends or colleagues after work.

"Darling, much as you love me, I can't imagine watching me try on dozens and dozens of outfits is a pleasurable or productive pastime."

Andy snorted, "Are you kidding? Pleasurable doesn't even begin to cover it." She leaned in for a kiss. "Though I much prefer 'un'-dressing you."

"Andrea, go! I will be fine, I do NOT need babysitters, especially those already under my employ."

"I love you. Call me if you need me, okay? Nige, Emily – look after her for me."

"Go!"

"Okay, I'm going, I'm going!" Andy backed out of the room, hands held up in mock surrender.

Miranda sighed and turned back to the looming spectacle of garment bags and rack upon rack of designer offerings meant to contain her growing bulk.

"You miss her already, don't you?" Nigel smirked, watching as the older woman pursed her lips in what could only be called a pout and he found Andy was right – it was freaking adorable.

Deciding that enough of her persona had been eroded by the pregnancy and the younger woman's presence in her life, Miranda shot a decidedly lethal glare in the man's direction that despite their close friendship, made the collar of his Missoni oxford damp with sweat and he quickly disappeared down one of the aisles to pull forward the first selection of outfits. Nope, not adorable, NOT adorable…

Miranda leaned back in the comfortable wingback chair that had been dragged in from one of the sets and sat back, taking a sip of scalding hot, decaf Starbucks before lacing her fingers over her belly, satisfied that things were once more going her way. That was more like it.

Across the city, Andy leaned back in her own chair, reading over her assignments for the week that had been handed to her on an actual sheet of PAPER, rather than over email – and she had to admit it felt pretty good.

Andy emerged several hours later, having gotten a good head start on her articles and decided enough time had passed that she could text Miranda, despite the editor's warning that she was likely to be insanely busy with both the wardrobe try-on and the showings later that day.

A: "Got to work okay, not too many reporters. There is one problem though…"

Miranda was instantly on guard as she waited for the younger woman's next text, which chimed soon after.

A: "I miss the belly :( "

M: "You are ridiculous…"

A: "How are you feeling?"

M: "If you are simply going to text the question I've forbidden you from calling to ask, I'm simply going to refuse to answer you or ignore you."

A: "Then I'll have to come to Runway and knock down the door during a run-through or something equally as drastic."

M: "You wouldn't dare"

A: "Try me, Priestly"

M: "…"

M: "Fine."

A: "?"

M: "I'm fine…"

A: "See? Wasn't that easy?"

M: "If you're going to patronize me, I am ending this conversation."

A: "Don't be mad, Mira"

M: "Don't Mira me…I'm turning off my phone"

A: "Alright, alright…"

A: "…I love you."

M: "…As do I. I'll see you at home tonight, I'm going to try and be out of the office by 6."

A: "Have a good day sweetheart. Maybe start with the easy stuff and try to teach the babies the difference between two identical blue belts."

M: "…"

Andy chuckled to herself at the lack of a response from Miranda before getting back to her story on the city's collection of paving bids for the boardwalk.

Miranda's lips twitched upwards in a smile as she read the last incoming text from Andrea. She didn't respond however, knowing that her silence was more telling than any 'last words' she could add to the exchange.

Several hours later, Nigel Kipling stood behind the glass topped table in his office, examining several prints when his phone lit up showing the young journalist's picture.

"Andy, it's been less than 8 hours…"

"Nige, I need you to go check on Miranda for me."

"And what have I done that warrants such abuse?"

"I assume you were there during the second half of the designer showings today?"

"Actually I wasn't, there was a crisis in the printing department – the mockups were coming out a semi-tone darker than what was shown on screen."

"Well whatever happened wasn't good, I just got off the phone with her and she was so angry she could hardly speak or tell me what was wrong. I'm stuck in a meeting so I need you to go and try and calm her down."

"Six, I don't know that I can."

"Oh come on, you know if she fires you she'll change her mind."

"That's not what I meant. How does one even soothe a dragon?"

"Hey! That's MY dragon you're talking about, and she's carrying two little dragons in her belly; and if anything happens to them it will be on your perfectly polished head."

"Point taken,"

"Seriously, as much as I would love to get out of here, I just can't. So since I'm stuck here for now YOU are the one who has to man up. She's only going to get herself more worked up if she's left alone to sulk and one more episode of high blood pressure will put her back in the hospital."

"So what do I do, oh great and powerful dragon tamer?"

"First make sure one of the 'Emily's' is out getting her a fresh coffee and getting it right, then just knock lightly before going in."

"And should I manage not to drop dead in the wake of her glare?"

"She'll probably be pacing, get her to sit down on the couch. Say whatever you have to to get her sit down and give herself a rest. If you can get her to put her feet up it is worth my weight in free drinks."

"YOUR weight? Well that is saying something." The older man teased.

"Mmm," Andrea rolled her eyes and Nigel laughed at the short silence, knowing exactly what was happening on the other end of the line.

"If her breathing is still rapid and shallow, just keep talking to her softly, about anything. If at any point she objects to this, which we both know she will, tell her you are doing this under my orders, and if she still complains…" Andy paused for a moment, "tell her to think of ways she'll get me back when we're alone tonight." Now it was Nigel's turn to roll his eyes.

"Be firm but gentle. She knows this is all for the sake of the babies, so she can't STAY mad at you."

"This IS Miranda Priestly we're talking about, Six,"

"When it involves our children, there is no more La Priestly, it's just 'mom', now go be the White Knight I know you can be."

Nigel knocked on the frosted glass door before entering the 'dragon's' lair, earning incredulous glances from both Emily's in the outer office.

Technically, there were three Emily's altogether now. Two, neither of whom were actually named Emily, who acted as the traditional first and second assistants, as well as the original Emily. The latter was now dividing her time between acting as an 'uber-first assistant' to Miranda and shadowing Nigel in the art department as she transitioned into her post-promotion role. Technically she should be the assistant art-director full-time, but Miranda's pregnancy had changed that for the moment.

Emily knew Andy had been prepared to beg her to stay, and much as she would have enjoyed the brunette's groveling, she had come forward with the suggestion of staying on her own. The younger woman had pulled her into a tight hug and she had waved her off saying that she couldn't possibly expect the 'new her' and her 'new her's new her' to be able to perform their duties with any sort of efficacy without further training – but the reporter knew, and Emily knew for herself, truthfully, that she didn't trust anyone else to take care of Miranda. Of course none of this had been voiced out loud, and none of it could be voiced or discussed around Miranda who would insist she could take care of herself and would resent any implication of the contrary.

As it was, the faux Emilys would take care of Runway business, while the real Emily coordinated with Andrea to accommodate and organize the more personal aspects of the editor's schedule. Then, once Miranda had stepped away for the birth of the babies, Nigel would take over as interim Editor-in-chief and Emily would take on more of the responsibilities of the art director.

But for now, Nigel found himself with the happy task of facing down a dragon, and a hormonally supercharged one at that. "Miranda?"

"Unbelievable!" the older woman spat, her arms crossed as she paced back and forth in front of the panoramic window that looked out over the city.

"Is it really so much to ask that seasoned, experienced designers present a cohesive, well-thought out collection instead of a tawdry, rag-tag mish mash of poorly-executed garments? Am I reaching for the stars here?"

"So the showings didn't go well then I take it."

"I believe they would have gone better if the showrooms had caught fire."

Nigel whistled through his teeth.

"Is it so outrageous that I'm expecting at my age? Based on today's results, one would think I should be netted and taken to some lab for study and experimentation. The industry surely must remember it has catered to celebrities who have found themselves pregnant in their forties and fifties; Geena Davis, Halle Berry, Martin Scorcese's wife at 52!" Miranda listed.

Miranda paused, turning to eye the bemused looking man suspiciously before moving to sit on the couch and gesturing for him to pour a drink from the nearby table and join her, waiting for the art director to take a sip before her next comment.

"Have you come to offer your letter of resignation then?"

Miranda watched, looking unfazed as the better part of a measure of scotch was sprayed across her carpet.

"My wha-what?" Nigel sputtered, doing his best to sop up the liquid from his blazer before the stain set.

"I can only presume that's why you're here instead of making sure the issue with printing is resolved. Besides, I'm sure your new position as chief spy for Andrea will take up much of your time."

Nigel slumped back against the cream suede, covering his eyes with his free hand and breathing a sigh of relief as he saw the spark of amusement in the older woman's eyes that meant he wouldn't be dusting off his resume.

"My God, Miranda don't scare me like that!" He exclaimed, looking wistfully into the tumbler in his hand, despairing of the waste of its contents.

Miranda actually laughed out loud. "Really Nigel, did you not think I wouldn't see right through your little ruse?"

Now it was Nigel's turn to smirk wryly. "It worked though, didn't it? I've gotten you sitting and I can tell your blood pressure's gone down."

Both individuals realized they had been played, albeit lovingly, and the two friends looked at each other. Each knew the other was thinking the same thing; that they were owned by a certain brunette.

Nigel let the brunette know as much when he called her later that afternoon to tell her that her plan had been seen through almost instantly.

"So what was the problem? Were the showings really that much of a disaster?" Andy propped her feet up on her desk and looked over her notes from the meeting as she talked.

"James Holt and Ken Ubi were actively forbidden from maternity and attempting to enter the market for the next two years."

"Ouch," Andy hissed through her teeth. "That bad, huh?"

"Mmm," Nigel agreed. "I saw the sketches from them, and yes – that bad. The Ken Ubi showing centred on a single kind of wrapped outer-layer that could be draped and knotted different ways, and his suggestion was to use that in conjunction with a collection of tight, knee length sheaths in a scuba knit in every colour of the rainbow."

"One piece?" Andy tried to picture what the art director was describing. "How could one kind of garment or even garment combination work for an entire pregnancy, even if you did pair it with the sheath dresses?"

"Ah, there's the best part," the man's sarcasm was clearly audible as he continued, "the outer garment's main structural centre-point consisted of a band of fabric with a hole in the middle, meant for her belly to go through. 'Like an enormous, lewd bulls-eye' as I believe Miranda called it."

"Oh Dear God."

"Not sure about that, but she did have a good many men on their knees praying for forgiveness…"

"Any bright spots?" Andy queried.

"DVF of course, Stella McCartney, Donna Karan, a few pieces from Moschino. Most of the major design houses came through. On the special occasion side, Zuhair Murad and Zac Posen both sent some stunning sketches for evening wear and we've sent over her latest measurements. It'll be a rush job, but both have promised to come through in time for Paris. Valentino will be doing her gown for the MOMA Black & White Ball as usual. One last instruction I need to send on though is whether Miranda will be wearing heels at any of the gala events."

"So the Z's really came through, huh? That's something at least. As for shoes, if she's in a floor length gown I'm going to try my best to convince her to wear flats or wedges. But even if she insists on a heel it won't be higher than 3 inches, max."

"And how do you expect to accomplish that?"

"Mmm, she knows what her body can take and she also knows that I'm not afraid to withhold foot massages if she ignores the doctor's advice."

"Ohh, you are evil," Nigel chuckled.

"Don't laugh," Andy warned, "If I don't care to her podiatric needs, I wouldn't put it past her to enlist YOU if she can't make time for a pedicure or a foot massage outside of the office."

But when Miranda finally made it home that evening, the older woman looked so completely and utterly exhausted as Andy met her at the door that she didn't have the heart to tease her about the showings or that she owed Nigel a new suit for making him spew scotch all over one of his favourites.

"Meeting ran late," Miranda murmured into Andrea's shoulder, forgoing hello as the younger woman met her at the door and she leaned gratefully into young, strong arms. "Girls eaten?" She swayed slightly where she stood and Andy cupped the pale cheek as she met the older woman's lips in a kiss.

"Yes, and you need to as well."

"You're so tired. You're so tired, my love. Come and sit down before The Book comes. Come on, now tell me about your day." Andy wrapped her arm around Miranda's waist and led her over to the sofa in the downstairs study, watching over the older woman protectively as the editor curled her legs beneath her and leaned into Andrea's chest with a tired sigh.

Miranda began to speak, but the feel of her head, heavy as it rested on the soft shelf of Andrea's breasts, was impossible to ignore and she felt herself begin to slur her words slightly as the lure of sleep became overwhelming.

Now that Andy had gotten her to sit down, Miranda was flagging fast, succumbing to the exhaustion Andy knew she must have been fighting all day. Not wanting to leave the woman to sleep on the couch, Andy roused the older woman as best she could and lead her upstairs. The Book could wait till tomorrow, she only wished she had been able to get Miranda to eat something.

Miranda watched, aware but too tired to protest as Andy tenderly removed her stockings and unbuttoned her blouse, undressing her and readying her for bed before leaving her sitting on the edge as she disappeared into the bathroom.

Andy reappeared with several makeup remover cloths and proceeded to wipe Miranda's face and remove any traces of foundation or mascara that would stain her pillow.

"The Book…"

"Will keep till tomorrow, I promise."

Blue eyes opened wearily & attempted an eye roll through half closed lids. But then she nodded, eyes closing again as her head nestled into the pillow and made a sound between a hum and a sigh that Andy knew by now meant she was almost unconscious.

Andy stared down at the sleeping woman, gently brushing a curl off the beloved face and covering the pregnant form with the comforter before slipping out silently to return to the study and finish her articles before rejoining her almost would-be fiancée in their bed.

Andy smiled, absently rubbing the knuckle of her bare ring finger as thoughts of her fiancée interrupted any serious contemplation of subject material for her article. She couldn't wait until she could call Miranda her wife. In the privacy of her own mind she already did. She had almost been caught saying it out loud but she had managed to cover it up each time which was good, because the times it had almost slipped out of her mouth were the evening of the confrontation with her parents and in the reporter-filled offices of The Mirror. She already spoke of Caroline and Cassidy as her daughters; she thought it was important that they know they meant just as much to her as the babies coming, even though she hadn't been there during their earlier years.

She would have to go looking in the study for Caroline and Cassidy's old baby books, Andy thought sleepily as she lay in bed that night, her hand moving over Miranda's hip to rest overtop the babies who weren't quite asleep yet even as their mother was dead to the world. Maybe this weekend…