Reality Check

By: Odainath.

Summary: When Miranda and Andy meet again a year after what they deem to be the Paris 'incident', their relationship quickly changes. However, neither wish to admit it's anything more than physical.

"Maybe successful is the wrong word. She's an accomplished woman, perhaps not successful." – Meryl Streep on Miranda Priestly.

Chapter 1: First Encounters

Andy paid little attention as she weaved her way through the Manhattan traffic. She was on her way to a charity benefit, held out of town where she would be reporting on the various speakers. It wasn't entirely what she had envisioned when she had left Paris that fateful day nearly a year ago, but she was still trying to make her ascent through the back-stabbing field of reporting. She took a deep breath as she neared the hotel which was hosting the benefit.

The carpark was nearly full and she was forced to park well away from the front entrance. People were already entering, men in suits, women in perfectly cut dresses and she glanced down at herself, grimacing. Her wage didn't allow for such trivialities as couture clothing and she no longer had access to Chanel and Valentino with a mere phone call. To put bluntly, she was remarkably underdressed. Still, she was here as a reporter, not as a fashion employee so it shouldn't be of too much concern.

Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and opened the door before stepping out. Her attention was caught by an all-too-familiar silver Mercedes and her stomach fell. She supposed she shouldn't have been surprised that Miranda would be attending; New York's rich and famous were all going to be there and … well, it went without saying that the woman considered to be leader of the fashion empire who was worth millions of dollars would be here. She was likely a guest of the Mayor.

She slung her bag over her shoulder as she walked towards the front steps, showing her media pass to the security guard. It was still early evening but the sun was falling quickly, leaving her surroundings almost pitch black. No one spared her a second glance as she made her way through the crowd, sitting down at a small table assigned for reporters. She fished her notebook from her bag, waiting as a speaker called them all to attention and giving a perfunctory round of applause for the first guest.

To be honest, she hated reporting on matters such as charity benefits. It wasn't 'true' investigative reporting and would be condensed to a tiny article on page six. She thought of her bold statement to Nate so many months ago. "Then I can do what I came to New York to do…" Almost two years later, she still wasn't there yet. And no longer had Nate to listen to her evening rants, she added. They had barely lasted two months after he moved to Boston.

"Hello, everyone," a soft voice she sometimes heard in her sleep uttered.

Andy dropped her pen to the ground and scrambled to pick it up. So, Miranda was a speaker at the benefit. No doubt Runway had donated money to this charity, perhaps trying to improve its image of accommodating only the very rich and famous. And very thin, she added sarcastically. It was a smart move, trying to improve their circulation numbers. Though she was certain Runway continued to make huge amounts of money. She thought back to her conversation with Nate again. "They can waste another $300,000!"

She shook her head, her pen flying across the page as she wrote down what Miranda was saying. The woman never once raised her voice but no one spoke a word and everyone leant forward as they listened, wanting to hear every word she said.

The woman knew how to hold people's attention.

"Thank you," Miranda concluded, nodding once as there was a huge burst of applause before walking off-stage and sitting down next to an obviously frazzled Emily. Miranda was dressed simply in a black pencil dress, nothing too ostentatious; the jewellery all understated, but Andy found herself not looking away.

-o-

"What the hell are you doing here?" a British voice demanded as she sat at the bar after the different speeches had concluded.

"My job," she answered drily, waving over the bartender and asking for a gin and tonic.

"And how's that going?" Emily snapped sarcastically. "Writing big political pieces? Wasn't that why you up and left?"

Andy scowled as the tumbler was placed in front of her. "Not yet," she admitted. "But I'm getting there…"

"Oh, really?"

"Yes, really!" she hissed before she took a sip of her drink. "What does it matter to you?" she asked. "You'll be going to Paris this year, won't you? I would have thought you'd be ecstatic."

Emily gave a bitter laugh. "Not after your little stunt. You left the woman a note, Andrea! A note. You couldn't even give a proper resignation? Who the hell does that?"

Andy closed her eyes for a moment. It seemed that two cases of designer clothes hadn't completely softened Emily's attitude towards her or heightened her opinion.

"You left her entirely alone," Emily was continuing. "I had to try and find another assistant from over here!"

Andy took another sip of her drink. "Perhaps I could have handled it differently…" she admitted. "But, I just…"

Emily raised her eyebrows. "Differently, indeed," she hissed, spinning neatly on her stiletto heel and marching through the crowd.

She watched as Emily crossed the room, stopping at the side of a familiar platinum-haired woman. Miranda Priestly appeared to have seen the entire conversation between herself and Emily but, apparently didn't consider it of any true value as she promptly turned her back, not sparing Andy a second glance.

-o-

Another five gin and tonics later and Andy knew she was well and above the legal driving limit. It went without saying, she would likely be sleeping in her car as she doubted she could afford even the cheapest rooms here. She rose to her feet, stumbling slightly but managed to keep herself upright. The receptionist at the front desk gave her a look of disdain as she approached.

"Have you anything available?" she asked.

The woman laughed snootily. "No."

Andy nodded, unsurprised and headed towards the entrance doors. To her surprise, she glimpsed Miranda about to head into the elevator. She had assumed that with the chauffeured car, the editor would be heading home tonight.

It appeared not.

She remembered Emily's words from not too-long-ago. "You left her entirely alone!" and her admission she could have handled it differently. Perhaps she should apologise … make amends with someone she considered to have been of a huge influence? Dutch courage ran through her veins and she rushed forward, managing to slip inside before the elevator doors shut.

To say Miranda looked angry was an understatement.

"What on earth do you think you're doing?" she spat.

"I just wanted to say something," Andy said hurriedly. "About what I did, and …"

Miranda took a deep breath as she folded her arms across her chest. "Spit it out, then," she snapped.

"Look, I'm sorry," Andy said. "It was wrong, but I just…" She shrugged her shoulders. "I can't even really explain."

Miranda gave a false laugh. "Not everyone," she recited. "I think that explains everything, don't you?"

"I don't want to be a person that crushes others," Andy said quickly.

The editor pursed her lips. "And how's that working out for you in the reporting world?" she asked sarcastically. "You've got very far in the past year, haven't you? And look now, reporting charity benefits. Ground-breaking."

It was cruel, cutting, much like Miranda always had been, but also absolutely on-point. Even Andy couldn't deny the truth in the other woman's words. The elevator door opened and Miranda stepped out, not sparing Andy a further glance. For reasons unbeknownst to herself, Andy followed.

"Look, maybe you're right," she said, "but…"

Miranda halted outside the penthouse suite and reached inside her bag for the swipe card which she pressed against the lock. "Just go, Andrea," she said softly. "What's done is done." She opened the door but hesitated, frowning as she looked to the side. "How much have you had to drink?" she demanded.

It wasn't what Andy had expected and she faltered. "Too much," she admitted.

"And how are you getting home?" Miranda asked.

Andy shrugged. "I'll sleep in my car. Go back in the morning."

Miranda rolled her eyes as she grabbed the other woman's arm and pushed her inside the suite. "That's hardly safe. You can sleep on the sofa," she said, nodding towards the living room.

Andy tried to protest but Miranda had already turned in the opposite direction and headed to the bedroom, closing the door firmly behind her. Clearly, she still didn't like taking 'no' for an answer. Though she should feel flattered that Miranda still seemed to show some level of concern. From the reference to the couch, it was clear the woman wasn't entirely cold-hearted, despite the rumours.

-o-

She woke the next day, curled up in a ball on the sofa. Her head throbbed as she looked around the suite, not entirely sure where she was or how she had got there. She remembered the bar, remembered Emily, remembered the conversation with Miranda…

Andy sat up; it was still early with the sunlight barely gracing the horizon and the suite was silent. She slowly rose to her feet, wishing she had ibuprofen and staggered towards the kitchen to get herself a glass of water. She kept silent, not wanting to wake Miranda and headed to the other bathroom of the suite, stripping and letting her clothes fall to the floor. She turned the water on as hot as she could stand before stepping inside, letting the hot water pound against her back and making her feel slightly more human.

Now what, she found herself thinking. She turned off the shower and dried herself off, cringing as she dressed herself in the clothes from the previous night. The scent of alcohol made her feel slightly nauseous. A quick hair fluff later and she went back into the living room, her eyes falling immediately on the note in the centre of the coffee table with 'Andrea' written in a familiar hand across the folded page.

Andy walked across the room and picked up the note, steeling herself for what the other woman might say.

Unsurprisingly, it was harsh and an echo of Miranda's words from the previous night.

A-

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Author's notes: Hope you liked. Please review!