Three months later, Miranda was back to spending full days in the office Monday through Thursday. On Fridays she would go into the office in the mornings, go to therapy appointments in the early afternoon, then pick up the girls from school so they could spend the weekend with her. Andrea was back in her apartment, and she frequently brought the editor lunch or joined her at home for dinner. She went home to spend Christmas with her parents in Ohio, but then returned and spent New Year's with Miranda, Caroline and Cassidy. They were still living with their father, but Miranda and James decided that over the summer, they would move back into the townhouse.

Andrea and Miranda started texting daily, but Andrea made her promise not to send any vague or cryptic texts without a follow-up. And Miranda was good about it. Overall, things were going great

On Wednesday, Andrea brought salads to Miranda's office and they had lunch together. The office was a'buzz with the energy of a print deadline, and Rebecca thought Andrea was crazy when she told her she missed those days. She told Miranda she'd talk to her later, then went back to work.

Later that evening, she got a text message from Miranda:

Can you come by? I'm okay, but need you here.

Andrea replied and told her she was on her way, and when she got inside, she found Miranda in her study, looking very frazzled sitting behind the computer.

"Hey, what's up?" Andrea said as she tossed her bag on the sofa. She noticed right away that Miranda was chewing gum, and that was not a normal thing.

"Good, you're here," she said. "I know I've had too much caffeine today—I don't need a lecture on that. I need to focus. These edits are due by 2:00 am, and that's my deadline, not everyone else's."

"So, you mean the actual deadline."

"Yes."

"Okay, boss. Put me to work."

"Really?"

"Yes. I'm here, let me help. Many hands make light work."

Miranda cracked a smile. "My grandmother used to say that."

"A wise woman."

"I just needed you here. Moral support, or whatever. You don't have to do my job."

Andrea took the woman by her forearms. "Breathe with me."

Miranda took a deep inhale, then exhaled.

"Okay, now what is left to be done?"

"My letter from the editor needs to be written. I have to give final approval of the changes on pages 14 through 27, I want to confirm all the product IDs in the entire issue because we had an error with that last month, I need to copyedit the advertiser-provided pieces, and then just final sign-off."

Andrea tried to make her voice sound as calm as possible. "Okay, you start on the product IDs, page one. I will start with the advertiser-provided pieces, then we'll reconvene."

Miranda nodded and handed her a stack of pages. "Use post-its."

"You know, I worked for you back in the day and didn't forget everything."

"I'm sorry. Of course you know that." She rolled her eyes. "I'm going to sit on the floor for this, take my chair," she said.

Andrea sat and quickly managed to copyedit all the pieces. Thankfully, there were no errors. She knew that it would be a problem if there were, because it would need to go back to the ad agency, then to the advertiser for approval, and 10:00 pm on a Wednesday was definitely outside working hours for most.

Miranda seemed to be making progress on the product IDs, so Andrea reviewed the changes to pages 14 through 27. She didn't see any errors there, but Miranda would still need to weigh in.

"Okay, the advertiser pieces are good. As are the other pages, but I figured you'd still want to give them a look."

Miranda looked up. "This is taking longer than I thought."

"Do you trust me?"

"Yes."

"What do you want to say in your editor's letter?"

"I don't care. Something about spring."

"Okay. I'll have a draft ready by the time you're finished with that," Andrea said. She opened a blank word document on Miranda's computer and began typing.

Nearly two hours later, Andrea was satisfied with the letter, so she printed it out. Miranda, meanwhile, was just finishing her review of page 27.

"Have a read," Andrea said, handing her the letter. "I'm going to make some herbal tea—be right back."

Miranda sat and read the letter two, three times, her red pen in hand, hovering over the page. When Andrea returned and set a cup of tea on her desk, Miranda just stared at her with a blank expression. "I'm speechless, Andrea."

"Really? Thanks."

"I don't understand how you—where this—" She shook her head. "It's like you took barely-formed thoughts from my brain and put it into prose so much more beautiful than anything I could write."

"That's a bit over the top, isn't it?"

"No. How did you know I'd been mulling over the Syrian refugee crisis? Or thinking of Botticelli's Zephyrus? And of all the florals, Marimekko?"

"The newspaper on your desk was open to the second part of today's Times article on Syrian refugees, I remember overhearing you talking to someone years ago about how Primavera was Botticelli's real masterpiece, not Birth of Venus, and I just like the idea of the grim and dark March wind setting things in motion. And then the notebooks you gave the girls last weekend were Marimekko." Andrea bit her lip. "I'm really observant, if you didn't already know that. I promise I'm not a stalker."

"Andrea, you are incredible. I do not have a single change to this."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Then I guess we're done?"

Miranda looked around and found her check-list, scribbled on a post-it. "Let me send this off, and then yes, we are finished, with an hour and a half to spare."

Miranda emailed production her final letter, then signed off on the entire issue and closed her computer.

Andrea stood behind, her, gently massaging her shoulders.

"That feels really good," she said, sipping her tea. After a while, Miranda stood. "It's late, will you stay?"

"Yes, I planned to."

Miranda nodded. "I'm going to take a quick shower."

Andrea took their cups down to the kitchen, made sure the security alarm was set, then went up to the guest room, showered, brushed her teeth, and changed into her pajamas. She knew Miranda probably wouldn't ask, so she went across the hall and knocked on the open door.

Miranda told her to come in, that she was just taking her makeup off.

Andrea leaned against the doorframe and watched Miranda. "Ok if I stay in here tonight?"

Miranda met her eyes in the mirror. "Yes, of course." When she was finished, she turned out the light, crawled into bed, and laid her head on the young woman's shoulder.

"How bad was it? Earlier, I mean?" Andrea asked.

"Half a pack of gum and a warrior two."

"But no NYC sidewalk germs?"

"No. At that point, I'd probably be more likely to die of a staph infection anyway. Thank you, again, for dropping everything and coming over. And working on top of that."

"I was very happy to help."

"Any idea what the trigger was?"

"Too many things to count. The timing, the deadline. I think also the caffeine. It's effect is similar to cocaine. I just felt myself slipping back into that place. All the candy and mints and gum and mindfulness in the world wasn't enough today."

"I'm glad you asked me to come over."

"I am, too. Do you mind if we, uh, snuggle?" Miranda asked, looking up at her.

"I do not mind one bit." She lifted her arm and Miranda curled against the side of her body, wrapping herself around the younger woman. Andrea pulled the covers up, then whispered goodnight. The next morning, she hurried home to her own apartment to get ready for work.

Several weeks later, Rebecca answered a strange call at the office, from Miranda's ex-husband James. She quickly grabbed her cell phone and headed to the stairwell, where she could make a private call.

"Hey Rebecca, what's going on?" Andrea answered.

"James just called and told me he was worried that she was, you know, using."

"What? Why? I just had dinner with her yesterday."

"I know. She seemed fine this morning. Anyway, he said he was keeping the girls this weekend—that they had plans for something and he just forgot."

"He's such a jerk. Miranda will be upset—does she know?"

"He said he told her."

"Ok," Andrea said, "Thanks for telling me. I'll talk to her."

"Thanks, Andy."

"No, thank you for telling me."

As soon as she ended the call, she sent Miranda a text: Leaving early today, on my way over. Dinner? She stood to put her laptop in her bag, and her boss called her into his office. There was a space issue and he needed her to cut down someone else's article. She agreed to do it, and about forty minutes later, she handed him a final copy, trimmed down to 16 column inches. She tossed her laptop in her bag, then rushed out the door and hailed a cab.

They were stuck in traffic when her phone rang: Miranda.

"Hey, I'm so sorry. My boss needed an urgent thing. I'm in a cab now, at 58th."

"Okay… I… I thought you weren't coming," she said shakily.

"Are you crying? What's wrong?"

"Yes. It's a rather blue day."

Andrea sighed. In some ways, a blue day was a relief. "Will you do me a favor?"

"Yes."

"Take a deep breath. Inhale, 2, 3, 4, and exhale, 2, 3, 4. Okay?"

"Yes. I'm not doing fucking yoga right now so don't even start."

Andrea chuckled. "Okay, no warriors. How about you use one of those sheet masks on your face?"

"The ones I bought for the girls?"

"Yes. I think there were unicorns and tigers."

"Okay, fine. If I look ridiculous, it's your fault."

"Happy to take one for the team," Andrea said. "We're at 80th. I'll be there soon."

Miranda ended the call, and Andrea decided to get out and walk the remaining four blocks.

When she got to the townhouse, it was quiet, but she found Miranda in her bathroom, staring at herself in the mirror. Or rather, a version of herself with a panda bear rice paper face mask on.

"Can I take this off now?"

Andrea smiled and nodded. "You do look pretty adorable as a panda."

"Panda bears are vicious, Andrea."

"And vicious. You looked adorably vicious. Viciously adorable?"

Miranda finished rubbing the excess product into her face. "Now what?" she asked.

"Let's talk, okay?"

She sighed. "Sure, lead the way." She gestured out of the room with her arm.

"So, how was your session today?"

"Fucking Thelma," she said. "He told me to 'live a little'? What the fuck does he think I do all day, every day? If I go around throwing caution to the wind, he'll lecture me on carelessness. It's like he doesn't want me to succeed."

"Tell him to go drive off a cliff."

Miranda smiled and laughed, and Andrea couldn't help but join in. "God, I needed that," Miranda said after a few minutes. "James made up some unbelievable story about how he forgot they had tickets to some show this weekend. I still don't think he trusts me."

"I think he does, in general. I wonder if there was anything about today in particular…" As soon as she said it, she realized what it was. And judging by the look on Miranda's face, she did, too.

"Happy anniversary to me, huh?" she said, her eyes full of tears.

Andrea moved closer and hugged her, holding her tightly against her own body. "I'm so proud of you, Miranda," she whispered. "You are fighting each day, and you are winning. Don't forget that."

"When he told me that he was keeping them this weekend, I wanted to use. It was like a switch flipped. I don't want to want it anymore, but I do. I did."

"I know," Andrea said.

"Is it too hard for me to talk to you about this?" she asked, looking up at the young woman. "I know you can be sensitive."

"It's okay, go on."

"I couldn't think about anything else. Like the world was all blurry black and white and a hit would make everything spring to life in vivid technicolor. Then you said you were coming over, and I thought that would help. I wanted to look forward to seeing you, but then you didn't come when you said you would and I started panicking. I thought you didn't want me either, and then there would be no one and I was going to be useless and obsolete and—"

Andrea took the woman's face between her hands and she finally stopped talking. "You're spiraling, and it's scaring me a little. I'm here. I'm not leaving, I just don't know what I can do right now."

Miranda started crying again. "I'm sorry."

"No. Please, I'm sorry that I can't help you," Andrea said, releasing her.

Miranda leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her cheek. "You do help me. Most of the time, my brain cooperates, but that's not happening today. I think I'm going to take a hot bath. I'll leave the door unlocked, just knock first.

"Okay, that sounds nice. Can I make you some tea? Maybe some kava?"

Miranda nodded and went upstairs.

Once she heard the water turn on, Andrea called Dr. Wright's office and was able to catch him before he left for the day. She explained what was going on, and asked if there was anything she could do or any medication.

"She's already on a mild anti-depressant, and I don't really want to make that any stronger. What you describe sounds like a form of anhedonia, which is more or less an attitude of lifelessness. It's common when someone's dopamine receptors go haywire, which is what we've been dealing with for the past year—to the day. Wow."

"So what can I do?"

"Chocolate can trigger some dopamine. As can sexual pleasure. I'm not sure how or if you can suggest that one, but even a few minutes of masturbation would be advisable."

"And that would be okay, for her heart?"

"Yes, her heart will survive even an earth-shattering orgasm," he said. "If things get worse, give my office a call and they can page me."

Andrea thanked him and said goodbye, and couldn't get the image of Miranda touching herself out of her mind. "Tea!" she remembered, and quickly went downstairs to turn on the kettle.

A while later, she sat on the floor, her back against the bathtub. "Have you thought about dinner?"

"I'm not very hungry," Miranda said. "Whatever you choose is fine."

"Okay, good. Because I called an order in when I was downstairs. It should be here in 30 minutes."

Miranda flicked some bubbles at her.

"I was thinking, depending on when James is taking them to that show, there is still time for them to come over this weekend."

"That's very thoughtful of you. It's fine. It was more the way he brought it up. Stephen would never have done that to me."

"Stephen who sent you divorce papers instead of showing up in Paris? Stephen who tried to get you to give him twenty million dollars in the divorce?"

Miranda chuckled. "The one and only."

Andrea thought about that for a few minutes. "Do you still love him?"

"No," Miranda replied quickly. "There are little thing that I sometimes miss, but not love."

"Like what?"

"Well, he was always careful around me. I don't know how to describe it. He knew how to hurt me and made sure not to."

"Until he did."

"Until he did," Miranda repeated. "And that's why it hurt more, because I knew the timing was intentional. He was also very good with—oh, I don't want to say this."

Andrea turned and looked at Miranda. "You can't leave me hanging like that!"

"Okay, turn back around though." Andrea did. "He enjoyed performing oral sex."

"Ooh!" Andrea said.

"More like oooh god!"

Andrea was glad her back was still to Miranda, because hearing her say that so breathlessly set her torch aflame. "Well, then, I am sorry for your loss."

"For richer for poorer, for better for worse, in sickness and in health—thank you so very much for your good wishes at this time." Miranda chuckled. "It's from The Ph—"

"The Philadelphia Story. I love that one, I was just surprised to hear you quote it."

"I am full of surprises, Andrea."

"I have no doubt. Can I tell you a funny story on this topic?"

"Sure."

"So for college applications, I had to write all these personal statements, and it was, I don't know, some trendy thing to pick a quote you liked that you thought described you or your outlook on life and kinda open your statement with that quote. Guess which one I chose?"

"Uncle Willie is a pincher?"

Andrea rolled her eyes and laughed. "You do know I actually went to college, so there was some degree of success with my statement, right?"

"Yes, yes, I just couldn't resist. I promise to be yare?"

"No. 'You're lit from within. You've got fires banked down in you, hearth fires and holocausts!'"

"And it never occurred to you that maybe the words Mike used to profess his love to Tracy were awkward for a personal statement?"

"Not until years later," Andrea said, laughing. "I tied it to my inner passion for chemistry."

"Chemistry?! I thought you majored in journalism."

"I did. I changed my major after the first semester when I realized I hated relying on other people in lab."

"You are full of surprises, too, my dear. And while I would love to continue this conversation, the bath water is getting cool and I need to get up, so shoo! Out you go!"

Andrea went downstairs to wait for their food to be delivered, and while she was waiting, she sent a message to Emily and Rebecca: Either of you nearby? I'm at Miranda's. Trying to find a dvd of the 1946 movie The Philadelphia Story, apparently her favorite. Help?

Seconds later, Rebecca replied. I'm close and just passed a Blockbuster. If they have it, I'll run it over.

Andrea replied, You are the best. I'll make sure she knows it! She grabbed two forks from the silverware drawer, two napkins, and two champagne flutes and set them on the tray, along with a split of champagne from Miranda's wine fridge. She heard the front door open and went to the foyer to see Rebecca carrying the food and DVD.

"Thank you so much. That was so fast!"

"I really was close by. Is everything okay?"

"Yes. James is an idiot," Andrea whispered.

"Where's my wandering parakeet?" Miranda called from upstairs.

Rebecca raised an eyebrow.

"It's from the movie," Andrea said, holding up the box. "Coming! Food just arrived!" she called back. Rebecca quietly let herself out, and Andrea quickly plated their dinner and carried the tray upstairs. Seeing as Miranda wasn't on the second floor, she went up one more flight and found Miranda in her room, regally reclining against her pillows.

"Dinner is served," she said, setting the tray on the bed and walking around to the other side. "We have caprese skewers, mozzarella sticks, and dark chocolate french silk pie for dessert."

"And this?" Miranda asked as she carefully opened the small champagne bottle and poured it into the two glasses.

"This," Andrea said, taking a glass and holding it up, "is to you. I'm so proud of you."

"I wouldn't be here without you, so this is also for you. For giving me my life back over the past 365 days." She clinked Andrea's glass and took a sip. "The irony of celebrating my one year with a glass of alcohol is not lost on me."

"Thelma's in support, we know that."

"Indeed. And I'm glad. It makes me feel more normal, even though this is probably my first drink in six months. Ok, so what are these mozzarella sticks? How does one eat them?"

"Watch and learn," she said.

After they had their fill, and after Miranda finished the pie, Andrea said, "I have to confess something—don't get mad. I called Dr. Wright earlier, when you were drawing your bath."

"I almost expected you to. What did he say?"

"Well, he, uh, passed along some suggestions for you to increase dopamine. One of them was chocolate, which is why I ordered the pie."

"Excellent choice," Miranda said. "What was the other?"

"Masturbation."

"What?!"

"Touching yourself."

"Good lord, I know what that is!"

"I'm sorry! It was a very awkward conversation but I promised to relay the information."

"Did he say anything else?"

"Umm, to call him if things got worse. And, uh, that your heart could withstand even the most earth-shattering orgasm."

Miranda was speechless. "Are you sure you had the correct Dr. Wright?"

"Yes! I know, it was not what I was expecting to hear, but anyway, I did my duty and would like to remove myself from any further conversation on this matter."

"No, no. If I have to talk about it, you have to talk about it. You're not joking, he really said that?"

"Yes. I'm certain." Andrea laid on her back, staring up at the ceiling, hoping the awkwardness of that moment would pass. Then Miranda spoke again.

"Do you ever do that?"

"Occasionally. You?"

"Maybe twice, like thirty years ago."

"Why just once? Sorry—you don't have to answer that."

"Andrea, we are sharing details about our sex lives. I don't think any topics are off-limits between us anymore. And to answer your question, because it didn't really work."

"But you said Stephen—"

"Oh yes. It works when other people do it."

"Have you ever used a vibrator or something?"

"Me personally? No. But it's been used on me."

"I'm getting a very 'lie back and think of England' image of you, you know."

"That couldn't be farther from the truth. I've always been quite participatory."

"Participatory. Okay then."

They both laid there in silence. Andrea could think of nothing other than pleasuring the woman next to her, but considering they had only kissed that one time, she thought it unlikely to happen tonight.

"What are you thinking about?" Miranda asked.

"You."

Miranda chuckled. "Care to be more specific?"

"Not particularly. I did have your favorite movie delivered with dinner, if you're interested."

"That was quick."

"Rebecca. She's better than I was."

"Maybe at the office, but not when it comes to me. You've got no competition there."

"Good."

"Yes. It is, good."

"So, movie?"

"I'd like that. Do you want to shower and get your pajamas on? You're overdressed."

Andrea looked down at her jeans and turtleneck sweater. "Yeah, I guess I should. Will we watch it downstairs on the couch?"

"Why? Is there a different dress code?"

She smiled and elbowed the other woman. "No, it's just colder and I'd want to dry my hair first."

"Ahh, that makes sense. How about we watch it in here."

"You have a TV?"

Miranda sat up and pointed to the wall directly in front of the bed.

"In the diptych?"

"Yes. I had it custom made to hide that hideous screen on the wall. My girls used to like watching movies and Saturday morning cartoon shows in here when they were younger. Occasionally I'd turn the news on. I didn't realize you were an art afficionado. First the Botticelli, now diptychs. What other secrets do you hide?"

"All in good time," she said with a wink. "I'll go get the movie."

"Let me. I'm feeling a bit too taken-care-of and need a bit of independence."

"Alright. I will go shower," Andrea said as she got up and walked across the hall.

After the movie, Miranda sighed. "Thank you. I hadn't seen that in years, and to share with someone who knew the lines almost as well as me—I loved it."

"What are your thoughts on High Society?"

"Grace Kelly aside, it should never have been made."

"Glad we agree on that. Although I prefer Grace Kelly in the hands of Edith Head."

"I have so many thoughts on Edith Head," Miranda said. "You know, I met her once, very early in my career. But this is a conversation for another day."

Andrea agreed. "You have a very comfortable bed, you know?"

"I do know that. I've actually been thinking," Miranda began. She was nervous, but continued. "I've been thinking about that rather chaste kiss we shared."

"That was four months ago—can you believe it?"

"Yes, because I've thought about it practically every day since."

Andrea took a sharp intake of air.

"I have a sense that I'm not alone in these feelings, but I need to be absolutely certain. I adore you as a friend, and—"

"You're definitely not alone," Andrea said quickly. She turned onto her side to face the woman.

"Good." Miranda gently chewed her lower lip. "I'd like to do that again. With some motion. And with increased frequency."

Andrea grinned at the other woman's word choice. "Miranda, I love you. I'm in love with you. And I have been since at least before Paris. You don't have to say it back. I just—you have no idea how much I've wanted to tell you that, to say those words."

"Show me," Miranda whispered.

Andrea leaned forward and pressed their lips together, running her fingers through silver-white hair as she deepened the kiss. She gently pushed the woman down into the pillows, taking her time and letting her tongue explore the perfect mouth that was the subject of so many of her fantasies. "Is this okay?" she asked when she pulled away to catch her breath.

"Golly Moses, yes!"

Andrea grinned and pressed a kiss to her cheek. "You have an enticing personality." Kiss. "I can't wait to explore that later." Kiss. "After we get you some dopamine." Kiss.

"You mean you don't—ahh—want me to keep—ohh—reciting the movie?"

"Less talking, more kissing." Andrea covered her lips and continued her exploration.

After a while, Miranda pulled away to catch her breath. "That was wonderful," she said, sighing happily.

"It was," Andrea agreed, curling up against the editor's body.

Miranda softly stroked Andrea's back and ran her fingers through the woman's naturally wavy hair. "So that thing we were talking about before—I was thinking of giving it another shot. A lot can change in 30 years."

"Oh yeah?" Andrea asked as she scrambled off the bed.

Miranda sat up. "Will you please come back here and stop acting so awkward? Sit, please."

Andrea sat on the bed next to Miranda. "You know, I would be more than happy to do that for you."

Miranda grinned. "Time and place for that." She pressed a kiss to the woman's cheek. "I thought maybe you'd like to stick around and offer support?"

"Given your participatory nature and all," Andrea said, "I pledge my support to this endeavor. If you just point me in the direction of the viewing gallery…"

Miranda pinched Andrea in the ribs, causing her to shout in surprise. "I'm being serious. I don't know how to do this!"

"Well, I'm not exactly a pro here! Everyone is different."

"Will you just give me some tips?"

"Fine," she said.

"Where should I sit, or should I be laying?"

"Are you comfortable laying on your back?"

"Yes."

"Ok, then start there. And you're right handed?"

"Yes."

Andrea crawled over to Miranda's right side, wondering whether Miranda really needed to know this information or if she was just making Andrea say it out loud. "So, you can do whatever you want with your left hand—grab the sheets, squeeze your breast, reach back for the headboard, whatever feels natural. But this hand," she said, taking the woman's right hand and laying it flat against her body, just below her waist, "is going to do all the work. Try holding your hand like this," she said, holding up her index and middle fingers. "You'll find that the middle finger usually works best."

"Okay. And what exactly should I do?"

"Depends on what gets you off. Is it usually more external or internal stimulation?"

Miranda's eyes widened. "Huh?"

"Do you like fingers inside, penetrating, moving in and out? Or do you prefer a nice massage to your labia and clitoris?"

"I uh, I haven't thought about it that much." At Andrea's raised eyebrow, she added, "Really. I don't know."

"So start with the outside stuff first and go from there. I sometimes like to softly make circles or just like stroke the whole area. Then after a while, it's more about the pressure and motion."

"Is this too weird for you? It's too weird, isn't it?" Miranda said. "I shouldn't have suggested this."

"The weird part was saying all that. But this doesn't have to happen if you don't want to. I can go busy myself downstairs. Or we can just go back to kissing."

"No, I want this." Miranda took a deep breath and slid her hand beneath the elastic waistband of her pajamas, into her soft satin underwear. "Oh, my hand is so cold."

"It'll warm up quickly."

Miranda's eyes were closed. Her lips parted, and the softest sigh escaped.

"How does that feel?" Andrea asked, pressing a kiss to her shoulder.

"Mm-hmm."

Andrea watched the expressions cross the woman's face and it was insanely arousing to see. At one point, she noticed Miranda was holding her breath. "Don't forget to breathe."

She took a deep breath, then her right leg twitched and her eyes shot open. "I—I wasn't expecting that."

"Keep exploring," Andrea whispered. She pressed a kiss to her forehead and then to her cheek. She could hear the slick sucking sounds coming from Miranda's fingers under the covers.

Ohhhh-ho-ho, she gasped. She seemed to be moving in a swift rhythm. After a while, her hips jerked forward and her back arched off the bed. Oh god, oh god, oh god, uhhnghd!

"If you need a break, just still your hand. You're setting the pace," she reminded her. She fought the urge to touch herself, instead wanting the focus to be on the other woman.

Miranda's rhythm picked up and Andrea could see her arm moving quickly back and forth. She was close. "Andrea… I can't," she gasped.

"What do you need?"

"Harder… faster… I don't know…" Her left hand was tightly gripping the sheets.

"I'm going to put my hand here," she said as she reached down and applied pressure to Miranda's hand over her pajama bottoms. It appeared to be just enough friction to push her over the edge.

Miranda silently and breathlessly cried out her pleasure as her body jerked involuntarily all the way down to her toes.

"Keep your hand there for a bit," Andrea whispered, moving her own hand away. She reached up and brushed the lock of hair off where it fell over Miranda's eyes and softly stroked her cheek. "You're so beautiful," she whispered, pressing kisses to the corner of her mouth until she responded.

"That was incredible," Miranda said. "My heart is racing, and it feels so good. I feel alive again."

"You are so wonderfully alive, Miranda. I love that you let me share this with you."

"And you, I suspect you have more experience with this than you let on. Not that I'm complaining." Miranda slid her hand out and held it up in front of her. "My fingers are so wrinkly."

"Mmm," Andrea said, nuzzling her neck. "Because you were so wet, they were practically underwater."

"Oh! Um, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to use the bathroom."

The next morning, Miranda woke feeling refreshed. Andrea's arm was draped across her waist, and soft brunette waves spilled over her shoulder. She carefully extricated herself and went down to make coffee.

Almost an hour later, Andrea came downstairs. Miranda was reading the Times, and smells of coffee and bacon wafted up the stairs.

"Good morning. Would you like something to eat? I saved you some bacon."

Andrea leaned over the editor and kissed her softly. "Morning. Bacon sounds delicious."

"Do you want an egg or toast with it?"

Andrea shook her head, pouring herself a cup of coffee and bringing the plate with three slices of bacon to the table. "How did you sleep?"

"Do you even have to ask? Incredible."

"Well, next time you see Dr. Wright, you can tell him all about the efficacy of his suggested treatment." She took a sip of coffee to hide her smirk.

On Sunday evening, Andrea was back in her apartment, and James brought the girls over for dinner with Miranda. When he came to pick them up, she invited him inside for coffee and they talked in the living room while the girls were clearing the table.

"I thought Andrea would be here," James said.

"She moved back to her apartment after my daily treatment ended. I still see her regularly, and that's what I wanted to talk to you about. I'm exploring a sexual relationship with her."

"Good for you," he said. "If you're looking for my approval, you've got it."

"I wasn't, but thank you. I was more concerned with the girls and what they might think."

"Well, they saw you in bed with her one morning when they slept over."

"What?! When?"

"A while ago. They said you got sad in the middle of the night and she helped you. They slept in her room, I think."

"Oh. I had an awful dream about my father."

"I guess they went to wake you up in the morning but you were asleep and 'cuddling' with her."

Miranda blushed and looked down at her coffee. "She helps me feel safe. But nothing was going on then. I wouldn't—with them in the house, before talking to you. No. This just started a few days ago."

"Really? She lived with you for nine months and you two didn't—"

"No, it was purely platonic. I wasn't really in the right place for that emotionally, at least in the beginning."

"How are you doing now?"

"Really good." She smiled. "I feel good physically, my head's in a good place. I still get sad or anxious from time to time, but I've learned a lot of coping strategies that help." She prayed he would not ask for details.

"That sounds great. Look, I'm sorry for being a dick about this weekend."

"Thank you for acknowledging it. It all worked out. I'm glad they were able to come for dinner."

Just then, the girls came into the living room and said they were finished cleaning up.

Miranda set her coffee down and they sat down next to her, one on each side. She wrapped her arms around them and pressed kisses to the tops of their heads. It was so good seeing them and having them back in her house, in their home, she couldn't hold back the tears in her eyes.

James met her eyes. "I'm going to go bring the car around while you three say goodbye, he said.

Miranda was grateful for the privacy, because she wanted to talk to them about Andrea.

"Mom, why are you crying?" Caroline said.

"Happy tears, darling. It is so good to see you two and hold you. I really missed you yesterday. Did you have fun? What show did you see?"

"Dad took us to Billy Elliot!" Cassidy said. "It was really good."

"Oh good," Miranda said, wiping the tears from her eyes. "I want to talk to you about Andrea."

"Are you a couple now?" Cassidy asked.

"Maybe? I don't know. We were just friends before Friday. So when you saw us before, she was just helping me to feel safe after I had a bad dream. But this weekend we explored our relationship in other ways."

"Ugh, mom! We don't need details. You like her. That's cool. 'Nuff said."

Miranda smiled. "And you, too, Care?" she asked. "Are you okay with me seeing Andrea like that?"

Caroline nodded. "She really cares about you. She makes you happy."

"She does. Not as happy as you two, though!" Miranda said, hugging them tightly. "Now, you better not keep your dad waiting too much longer."

Miranda answered the door and brought the food into the kitchen.

"What are we having?" Andrea asked, setting out two forks.

"Roast chicken with asparagus."

"You know, I can cook. We don't have to order in all the time."

Miranda glared at her. "I am quite capable in the kitchen as well, but I would rather us spend our time together outside of the kitchen."

"Fair enough. Here, let me get that."

"No!" Miranda shouted, pulling the bag away. "Stop doing this!"

"Doing what?!"

"This! Doing things for me. Treating me like I'm a goddamn patient!"

"Because I was going to plate our dinner? Come on!"

Miranda set the bag on the the kitchen table. "You know, I'm not even hungry." She turned around and walked upstairs.

Andrea watched it all happen in disbelief. She had no idea what happened or where that came from, but she knew she had to do something to fix it. She followed her upstairs and paused in the doorway to her room.

Miranda was standing at the far end of the bedroom, leaning against the wall and looking out the window. She turned when Andrea appeared at the door, but turned back to the window without saying a word.

Andrea walked over and reached for the woman's hand, but Miranda pulled away. "Don't," she warned.

"Are you okay?" Andrea asked.

"Stop asking me that."

"I just want you to be okay."

"I'm not, and I won't ever be. Not really. I'm broken. I've come to terms with that, but I don't think you have."

Andrea just stood there. "I—I don't understand," she stammered.

"I'm aware."

"Can you try and help me understand at least?"

"Yes, but I need some time. Just a little space."

Andrea sighed. "Okay. Okay, I'll just, um… I guess, let me know when you're ready."

"Wait—we can still have dinner and catch up. It doesn't have to be radio silence."

"Yes, Miranda, it does. I don't know what to say or how to act around you anymore. You're asking for space and I don't know how to love you halfway."

"So you're just leaving?"

"Yes. Take the time you need, and call me when you're ready." She took a deep breath and walked towards the door, pausing briefly to say, "I love you."

"And I, you."

Andrea went downstairs and out the front door.

Miranda slowly slid down the wall until she was sitting on the floor with her knees pulled against her chest. Stuart would call it self-sabotage, but she knew that she would never be comfortable if Andrea was constantly taking care of her.

. . . .

A few days later, Rebecca called Miranda out of a meeting for an emergency call. Miranda's heart dropped, immediately thinking something happened with one of her daughters.

"Hello?"

"Hi, is this Miranda Priestly I am speaking to?"

"Yes, what happened?"

"I'm calling about Andy Sachs. She was brought into the Emergency Room this afternoon and you are her ICE contact."

"What happened?"

"She was struck by a bicyclist and suffered a concussion and fractured her wrist."

"Oh god."

"She's currently undergoing surgery on her wrist. Is there someone else I should notify?"

"No, I'm coming," she said, snapping at Rebecca to get her bag and elevator. "Which hospital?"

"Bellevue. She's just coming out of surgery and heading to post-op."

"Thank you. I'm coming from Midtown. Should I just come to the desk in the ER?"

"Yes. I'll meet you there."

Miranda hung up the phone and took her bag from Rebecca. "Cancel my afternoon, tomorrow, too. I don't—"

"Just go," Rebecca said, practically pushing her into the elevator. "I'll take care of everything. Go."

When Miranda got to Bellevue, a nurse immediately led her back to Andrea's room, and she froze. "Oh my god," she gasped. "Andrea."

"Miranda? How did you know?"

She dropped her bag on the chair and rushed to the woman's bedside. "I"m here, darling," she said, taking her free hand. "What happened?"

"I'm sorry. I told them not to call."

"What? Why?"

"You needed space."

Miranda rolled her eyes. "That's in the past."

"It was like four days ago."

"The circumstances have changed, my dear."

"I want to go home."

"Okay," Miranda said, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I'll be right back."

A few minutes later, Miranda gently woke Andrea up. "Come on, sweetheart. I'm taking you home," she said. She helped her up and into the wheelchair that the hospital required her to use. Outside, she helped her into the car and took the paperwork from the nurse.

"Thank you, Miranda."

"Shh," Miranda said. She pulled Andrea against her and held her close. "How did this happen, darling?"

"I was crossing the street and this bike swerved around a car and just knocked me over."

"Did they fix my wrist?"

"You're the proud owner of a metal plate and two screws. They said it should start feeling better as early as tomorrow. They'll send a nurse tomorrow to come check on you."

"My head hurts."

"Is it like a dull headache, or did it come on all of a sudden? Are you dizzy?"

"Just a headache. I'm tired."

"Okay, close your eyes, sweetheart. We will be home soon." Miranda remembered the nurse's instruction to make sure Andrea got her rest as long as she wasn't showing symptoms.

At home, Miranda led Andrea upstairs and drew her a warm bath. As she got settled in the tub, Miranda changed into something more comfortable and made a pot of peppermint tea. "Can I come in?" Miranda asked, knocking on the bathroom door.

"Yes."

"How is the bath—aside from having to keep your wrist out of the water?"

"Good. I, um, I have a favor to ask."

"Anything."

"I have an article due tonight."

"Oh, honey, they will assign someone else."

"No, it's the one I've been working on for weeks. I had just finished one last interview. That's what I was walking back from. I just needed to add some quotes."

"Okay, do you want me to call your editor?"

"Can you finish and submit my story?"

"Really?"

"I'll talk you through it. I just can't focus on a screen right now."

Miranda sighed. "Of course. Where are your notes?"

Andrea directed her to the notebook in her bag, then gave her the login information for the newspaper's online content management system where her article draft was stored.

After Miranda laid everything out on the bed, she helped Andrea into pajamas, then put on her reading glasses. "Okay, so which quote were you thinking?" she asked, flipping through the notebook.

"I put a big star next to it," Andrea said. She was laying on the bed with Miranda's silk sleep mask draped across her eyes.

"Got it," Miranda said. "And where does it go?"

"Maybe the third or fourth graf from the end."

"The quote is from Marco?"

"Yes. Do you see where—"

"I got it, hold on." Miranda typed a bit, then spent a few minutes scanning the article in its entirety. "Would you like me to read it to you?"

"No, just submit it. Copy will make any changes if needed."

"Green submit button?"

"Yes."

Miranda clicked the button and submitted the article. "Done." She closed the laptop, set it aside, and took off her reading glasses. "How's the head? Do you need more pain medication? They sent home a lot of different options."

"I think I'm just tired."

She leaned over and turned out the light. "Andrea, my heart dropped today when I got that call. While I was relieved it wasn't about the girls, it was about you, my other girl. I was so afraid that I would lose you."

"Because of a broken wrist?"

"They did not tell me that right away."

"Oh no. Thank you for coming. I told you, I didn't want them to call. I feel bad, like I'm invading your space. It was so important to you."

"It was childish response on my part. Space is not what I wanted. I just wanted to be treated like someone who wasn't so fucking fragile."

Andrea searched out Miranda's hand and squeezed it. "I thought a lot about it, and I think I can be better about the words I use. Most of the time, I just want to treat you like the queen you are."

"Oh be serious."

"I am. It's not about me being your former personal assistant or supporting you through your recovery. Even if that wasn't part of our story, I genuinely have this desire to do things for you. Acts of service is my love language. But I can see how my motivation wasn't always clear."

"I didn't realize that. Although, I probably should have. It helps to know."

"Are we okay?"

"We are definitely okay," Miranda said. She leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of Andrea's mouth.

"Oh you tease. One kiss, please?"

Miranda carefully pressed a kiss to her lips, hoping it would convey all her feelings. "More later, darling. You need your rest."

"Miranda?"

"Hmm?"

"When did you know you loved me?"

"Your college personal statement. You are lit from within, Andrea. Everyone who knows you sees it, and I have the privilege to be on the receiving end of your light." Miranda wiped a tear from her eye. "I love you, Andrea."

"And I, you, Miranda."

THE END

.

.

A/N: When I began writing this one, I had the Miranda from pin_drop's "Miriam Princhek" in the back of my mind. The story was on LJ back in the day, though the account has since been purged. I have a PDF saved, so head over to my profile and message me if you want me to share. xx

And, most importantly, thank you for reading. For trusting me to take these two to hell and back. Comments and kudos are always appreciated. ❤️