Author's note: Since I got my medical degree from the back of a cereal box, just forgive me in advance for whatever laughable inaccuracies you are about to read. I also think I'm going to dedicate this chapter to Curvypragmatist whose fab story Matters of the Heart on LJ got me in the right frame of mind.

NOT NEEDING

Miranda Priestly was a very self-sufficient person. While she was certain her overly dramatic underlings would laugh at that, she could survive with very little. Her darling daughters, her coffee, her magazine. These were her holy trinity for existence. All other things were merely optional extras that simply made life more comfortable.

So if one Andrea Sachs thought she was in any way vital to Miranda's existence, she was mistaken.

Sorely. Mistaken.

Miranda gritted her teeth as she shuffled through her paperwork and tried to focus on work, annoyed that her thoughts had shifted back to the slip of a girl who had spoken to her in a way no one else had ever dared. In a way that Miranda had allowed no one else to.

An uneasy truce had been in effect since the day the girl had had the temerity to stomp out of Miranda's bedroom in a humiliating explosion of lingerie, indignation and purple silicone.

Miranda's cheeks still flamed at the memory of what Andrea had found. Honestly it's not like she ever found time to use the damn toy. She couldn't even remember buying it.

And if she did buy it, it was absolutely not because she'd been woefully indisposed after a night-long drinking session when she'd discovered her philandering first husband in their marital bed with his secretary.

Her lips pursed. So what if she'd woken up the next day in bed with a throbbing hangover and an exotic variety of erotic products strewn across her 1000-count Egyptian cotton? Pfft. Who hadn't?

She had yet to find a use for the fluffy pink handcuffs, though, and was greatly relieved Andrea hadn't dug further back in the drawer and unearthed those.

Honestly, that maddening creature. For the sixth time that hour her mind was drawn back to the girl. And it was hard not drift there, for many highly impertinent reasons.

Oh she was a wily one, Andrea Sachs. She was always managing to have one extra button undone, or to bend over just so when she (regularly) dropped something. Miranda noted the girl hadn't been this clumsy in the entire preceding eleven months put together.

So Miranda had been subjected to an enticing display that she could look at but not touch, even as her mind helpfully replayed vivid memories of all the many beautiful ways she had touched her before.

Her eyes would narrow and meet faux innocent, dancing brown eyes that dared Miranda to ask.

To ask for more.

To hell she would. She did not need Andrea Sachs. And that was a fact. Miranda knew she could outlast Andrea indefinitely in this little game.

And if at night she sometimes felt her absence around the townhouse, the ready laughter – not only from her assistant but her daughters interacting with her - then that was just an old woman getting sentimental.

She sighed as she thought of her daughters. She might not need Andrea, but they appeared to. It had taken barely three days before Cassidy had cornered her and demanded to know where their amusing friend had gone.

Miranda had mumbled something vague about "sometimes friendships don't last".

"Oh my God!" Cassidy had virtually shrieked at her, and stomped her foot. "What did you do?!"

"CASSIDY!" she had snapped. "You will not speak to me like this!"

"You're lucky I'm even talking - Caro won't be speaking to you at ALL after this. Now, Mom, please! Go and get Andy back before it's too late! Oh my God what if she meets someone else and forgets all about you? And us!"

Meets someone else? Miranda frowned. What a notion. Her stomach lurched strangely and she wondered whether Antonio's lunch platter was to blame. He did insist on adding carbs to everything.

And why did even her girls think she and Andrea were a couple? The silly ideas children have ... Although adults were proving equally hard to shift on the topic. Which reminded her - how did the gushing Editor of The Advocate get Miranda's private email address anyway? And to hell she'd agree to participate in some interview about closeted executives navigating the modern business landscape. She didn't even know any closeted executives.

She paused and tapped her lip idly, wondering if Nigel counted.

Her mind suddenly processed the rest of Cassidy's sentence and she peered at her daughter in annoyance. "Why are you so certain I am to blame?"

"Mommm, come on! You're always to blame! Andy's so nice. Of course it was you."

Miranda had glared at her. "It's delightful to know what my daughters really think of their own mother. Now: Andrea is not visiting again and that's final."

"You are such an idiot," Cassidy muttered under her breath as she turned away. At Miranda's sharp, pointed glare, her daughter looked down and added ruefully: "Yeah, yeah, I know I just lost TV privileges tonight."

"I'm glad we understand each other."

"Speak for yourself." Cassidy had flounced off, her eyes flashing, and Miranda watched her go with a dark expression.

That had gone well.

True to Cassidy's prediction, Caroline had begun some huffy not-speaking campaign until Andrea returned.

She would have a long wait.

A shadow fell across her desk and Miranda looked up to see the very girl who was becoming the bane of her existence. She was about to make some smart comment when the look on her face stilled her tongue.

"Miranda," Andrea whispered quietly and heaved out a sigh. "You win. OK? Point made. You don't need me. I might need you, and feel more, but I get that it's one-sided. Message received.

"I thought maybe you were in denial at first but it's been weeks and weeks now," the brunette sighed and stared at her in disbelief, then combed a jerky hand through her hair. "So you're either really, really stubborn or you just can't see that ... Yeah. Well, either way I can see my future and it's pretty sad. I refuse to be that pathetic girl, chasing after someone who doesn't want her back. If you want to treat me as just your office fling, your former office fling at that, then it's time for me to move on with what little dignity I have left. So, here…"

Miranda blinked in confusion and then glanced down to see a white business envelope, with "Miranda" written on it in a shaky hand. She heard a loud thundering and wondered what on earth it was. She could barely hear the next words from Andrea.

"My resignation. I don't expect a reference. We both know it'd be worthless anyway since all of New York seems to think we're on together. But I'm going to ask Nigel for one. I hope you won't stand in my way, that you won't blacklist me."

Miranda's mouth dropped open as she tried to work out what to say. A thousand emotions and thoughts flew and jumbled across her mind and not one of them was pleasant. Her stomach lurched again. The thundering noise got louder.

She would not be seeing the brunette every day. Or at all. She felt a piercing in her chest. Like the vicious stab of a thousand needles. She tried to block it out as her mind flitted to the days, weeks ahead. No smiles, with those enormous soft red lips parting into perfect toothy grins. No unbuttoned blouses teasing with a hint of peeking La Perla lace. No swish of shapely hips the moment Miranda had husked an appreciative "That's all."

Nothing.

Nothing.

"Miranda?" Andrea spoke when she had failed to say anything. "This is what you want, right?"

Miranda merely nodded once and turned away to face the window, wondering why she felt so nauseated. It was probably reflux. Antonio's pasta salad always sat heavily on her stomach. She should probably blacklist him.

Andrea was right. It was better this way. She turned back but the girl had gone. From beside her desk, and from the outer office.

Well.

The weird clenching in her chest returned and it came with a strange light-headedness. Oh God, her heart was pounding. Her eyes widened. This wasn't good. Miranda Priestly does not drop dead of heart attacks in her office. She could just imagine the headlines.

She wondered idly, as her thoughts jumbled around chaotically, whether Andrea would speak at her funeral. Would she tell everyone what they'd done together? She licked her lips and realised they were cold and how shallow her breathing was.

She felt weak now.

Oh her girls... Her girls.

"Emily," she whispered hoarsely. "Make an appointment with my doctor immediately. Tell no one. That's all."

"The good news is that it's not a heart attack," Dr Ellen Michaels said peering at her irritated patient sitting on the padded bed in her office. Miranda twitched under the coldness of the stethoscope burrowed down her blouse and glared.

"Well of course it wasn't," she rolled her eyes. "My heart wouldn't dare. But what was it?"

"Hmm," the doctor said. And scribbled some notes.

"Hmm isn't a diagnosis," Miranda snapped.

"Well based on all the tests we've done, including the EKG, I'd have to say …. Miranda - have you had any recent sudden stress? A new deadline or project perhaps?"

"No."

"No extra work? Responsibilities?"

"No more than usual."

"How about in your personal life? Any sudden emotional upheaval?"

"Don't be absurd."

"Why is that absurd?"

"I don't 'do' emotional upheaval," Miranda stated. "I don't have time for it. I have the world's premier fashion magazine to put out. What else?"

"Hmm."

Miranda glared. The clock ticked loudly. More scribbling. Finally her doctor spoke again.

"By the way, where's that lovely assistant of yours, the one who usually accompanies you to your appointments? She's always so friendly but I didn't see her in the waiting room today. Andy isn't it? Is she sick?"

"I don't pay you top dollar to while away my valuable time discussing my fleeing assistants. Now what is my medical issue?" Her words came out so frosty Miranda was surprised she couldn't see the icicles on her breath.

"Fleeing assistants?"

"She quit," Miranda said, biting off the T on the word viciously. "That's all there is to it."

"When did this happen? She seemed so dedicated to you."

"How is that relevant?"

"Humor me."

"About two hours ago."

Dr Michaels exhaled sharply.

"Two hours ago the delightful girl who I have observed always looked at you like double chocolate ice cream walked away from you?"

"Yes," Miranda said in a clipped tone wondering why she was being forced to repeat herself.

"The same assistant who used to ring me every few months to check you were having regular physicals and to make me aware when you were not getting appropriate diet and exercise or needed more vitamins."

Miranda squinted at her doctor. So that's how Ellen always seemed to know. "Yesss," she hissed. "Is there a point?"

Dr Michaels seemed about to roll her eyes. "So this doting paragon of an adoring assistant left you and you immediately had an array of symptoms that on paper looks to me exactly like a panic attack."

Miranda eyed her oldest friend impatiently. "I do hope there's a point to this sometime this century," she drawled.

"You really can't see it?"

"I can see that you seem to think I'm capable of succumbing to something as plebian as a panic attack. Which I assure you is both inane and highly unlikely, not to mention there was no trigger. Are you absolutely sure I shouldn't be blacklisting Antonio's? My stomach did recoil as if I was about to vomit. And I had just eaten."

Dr Michaels stared at her and gasped. "Good God, you're serious."

"Pasta and I have never fully agreed with each other. This is hardly gasp worthy."

"Miranda I'm going to put the dots real close together for you to join. Are you listening?"

"No need to be insulting," Miranda sniffed in annoyance.

"Miranda you had a panic attack when Andy left you. BECAUSE she left you. This, all of this, is about your assistant. Your assistant Andy. Leaving you. OK?"

The clock seemed to slow down and tick loudly as Miranda stared at her doctor. Finally she straightened. "I will blacklist Antonio's. Clearly you have no idea if these wild ideas are the best you can offer."

The doctor's hand latched onto her wrist and she said gently, "Miranda, look, you know I don't like to pry but everyone is talking about that story on Page Six." At Miranda's outraged expression she hurried to continue, "But long before that, I'd see you two together and I observed that she wasn't the only one looking ... interested …"

"Don't be ridiculous," Miranda interrupted sharply. "That story was ludicrous. And Stephen cured me perfectly well of my desire for romantic entanglements. All I need in my life now is my girls."

"It's not ridiculous to need someone," Dr Michaels said softly. "And I think maybe your heart agrees with me given the timing of your incident."

"A coincidence." Miranda said dismissively and eyed her doctor like she was a foolish child.

"Like your matching dresses were just a coincidence?" Dr Michaels smiled, apparently unbothered by the dagger glares she was receiving. "Oh yes, I saw the gala pictures. You both looked so stunning. Quite the pair. Belles of the ball."

"I had no idea how given to flights of fancy you were, Ellen," Miranda sniffed. "I shall see myself out. That's all."

She rose, barely able to keep the scorn from her voice, enraged that even her doctor had decided some illogical emotional attachment had to be taking place. Was everyone mad?

"It's not all, Miranda. Affection, emotion, needs, balance – they're all connected. When you dismiss or bury these things emotionally, they sometimes have a way of manifesting themselves physically. And quite painfully or terrifyingly as you have found."

Miranda swiftly buttoned up her shirt, fingers shaking with irritation. "This is completely nonsensical now. I do not feel anything deeper for my assistant beyond irritation at her for forcing me to replace her on short notice. And if you tell anyone you believe otherwise I shall sue you so hard you'll barely be able to afford to live in your Mercedes."

"Miranda," Dr Michaels sighed, "You've been threatening to make me sleep in my car since I drove a rusted-out Ford. And I never said a word about feelings. You did."

Miranda froze. And just then her heart clenched again and she cried out in pain. "Make it stop," she moaned between gasps, clapping a hand across her pounding heart. "Ellen!"

"OK, OK, just relax. Deep breaths. Deeper. And again. Look at me, Miranda. Focus. OK, your heart is racing very fast because it's having a fight or flight response. But there's nothing to fear. You're safe. You are safe. Relax now. OK Miranda, yes that's it. Better? Good. Let me write you out a prescription. In the meantime, I'm curious about something - what is it about Andy that makes you like her?"

"Nothing," Miranda sniffed, and let her hand drop from her chest where she'd been clutching at it. "She is utterly maddening. The way she and the girls gang up on me and demand to make it a Wii night and I'm forced to abandon the Book to referee their outlandish antics. Or the way she insists if I don't eat her meals I'll get cranky. Me? Cranky?" Miranda sighed dramatically. "Well."

She glanced at the doctor who had stopped writing.

"My prescription?" Miranda held out her hand.

"Why? Are you experiencing pain?" Dr Michaels said with a knowing look. "Or is it gone?"

"I…" Miranda blinked in surprise. "How?"

"Just confirming a hunch. Look, I understand that you don't want people knowing you have a soft spot for your assistant…"

At Miranda's thin-lipped glare and mouth opening, she lifted her hand to stop the protests. "But, Miranda dear, I've known you for too long, through both your husbands, and before, to when you could barely afford an apartment in the worst part of Manhattan. And I know the fond way you look at Andy isn't the way you look at that other assistant. What's her name? The English one with red hair who likes to discuss oxen?"

"Oxen? What on earth?"

"She's always commenting on the bullocks."

Miranda rolled her eyes. "Your attempts at humor are wasted on me."

"More's the pity. Humor is also a great way to relieve tension. Well – perhaps you might want to consider admitting that Andy means slightly more to you than you let on. Because, unless I'm mistaken, every time you think or talk about her being gone, you feel pain, stress, anxiety, and a racing heart. You start to panic. That's your body's way of trying to get your attention and force you to face what you're not dealing with."

Miranda gaped at her clearly deranged doctor and shook her head curtly.

"And if you think I'm mad, and I know you do, when you talk about being around her, what you like about her, the pain goes away. As I demonstrated not two minutes ago. So my diagnosis is that these episodes are being triggered by your own subconscious panic and concern at losing her."

Miranda's white, shocked face stared at her doctor, robbed speechless.

"But what do I know? I'm just a medical practitioner with 35 years experience who has been published in over two dozen medical journals around the world."

Miranda gave her her best evil eye.

"And I'd cut that out too if you don't want me to list all my awards."

Miranda let her expression drop to neutral and she sniffed, looking away, unwilling to be inspected so thoroughly by her old, old friend. Her heart was still pounding, but less painfully fast now. Although naming her terror didn't make it less ridiculous.

"If you really want the drugs, I can give them to you," Dr Michaels said. "They'll only treat the symptoms. It'd be far cheaper and efficient to just tell the girl you need her." She gave a cheeky grin.

Oh the impudent woman. Miranda was starting to reevaluate their friendship.

"Don't be absurd," Miranda said, rising. "As I have explained: I don't need anyone but my Bobbseys." She tucked the prescription in her handbag and glared at her. "If you tell anyone," she hissed… "I mean it's so foolish - a woman of my age, with two girls affected by… by…" Miranda licked her lips. What? Hormones? A mid-life crisis?

Oh god, there really was no good way to say it.

"By being human?" Dr Michaels suggested helpfully.

That was even worse. Miranda narrowed her eyes. "You're not helping."

Dr Michaels laughed heartily. "Ah, Miranda, you say that now. But later? Well, just invite me to the wedding."

Miranda's mouth clanged shut and she stalked out of the examination room in fury, the laughter ringing in her ears.

Oh no, she most definitely did NOT need her assistant.