2.
The doctor looks nothing like Andy has imagined a doctor that Miranda trusts would look like. When an extremely tall, well-dressed man walks in the door, Andy stands, gaping at him.
"Andy?" the man asks.
That gets her out of her stupor. "Yeah…yes, thank you for coming, Doctor Steckelman."
"Of course," the man smiles broadly, and Andy realizes that he is relatively young, no more than mid-forties, and very handsome. Amazing, she thinks, even Miranda's doctor looks like he can be photographed for her magazine.
"The patient?" the man continues smiling. Andy blinks, and "oh shit, right," almost comes out, but thankfully she manages a weak "here" instead.
She instantaneously forgets, though, her embarrassment and the doctor's good looks, when she sees Miranda's face – unfocused reddened eyes, drawn cheeks, colorless lips, pressed in a tight line. Andy gulps and lets the doctor in. It's just a flu, she tells herself firmly, as she steps back into the hallway and closes the door behind her. Just a flu…
The next few minutes feel like an eternity. Andy paces outside the study, biting her lips, and trying not to listen in to what's going on behind the closed door. She probably has quite a look on her face, because when the doctor comes out to ask, "Would you give me a hand, Andy?" he adds softly, "She is going to be all right. Promise." Andy nods and quickly inhales and exhales. She knew it. She absolutely did.
Her help is limited to dragging the huge duvet back to the upstairs bedroom, where the doctor leads Miranda. Or rather, Miranda slowly heaves herself to, while the doctor walks next to her, ready to give a hand, if… Well, the three of them make it to the bedroom, where Miranda, her teeth chattering audibly, insists on changing and taking off her make-up by herself. Which she does, while Andy and the doctor are rolling on the balls of their feet just outside her bathroom door.
When Miranda is finally in bed, she looks absolutely exhausted and seems to shake even harder than before. Andy bites her lip and glances at the doctor. The man gives her a reassuring nod before turning to Miranda. "So, Ms. Priestly, what is going to be?"
Miranda frowns at him. "Doctor Steckelman…" she rasps.
"Yes, yes, I know, you don't need a sitter. It is a simple flu." In a year that Andy has been working for Miranda Priestly, she has never heard anyone speaks to the woman in such a friendly, easy manner, let alone interrupts her so casually. Startled, she let go of her lip.
Meanwhile, the doctor continues, "And yet, neither this lovely girl," he gestures at Andy, "nor I will feel comfortable leaving you alone tonight, won't we?" Andy nods, although no one is actually looking at her. "If you don't want to use my nurse," the doctor presses on, "may be there is someone you know, who…"
"I can stay!" Andy declares, surprising herself. The doctor turns and looks skeptically at her, and Miranda stops shaking just for long enough to pin her with the best of her glares. Andy gulps, but repeats, "I can stay."
Unexpectedly, Miranda gives in without a fight, which makes Andy feel relived and anxious at the same time.
"Very well," the doctor says. He looks unconvinced, but gives Andy an encouraging smile, when he leaves shortly after.
His instructions are very simple, Andy thinks, climbing the stairs back up - cold compresses for the fever, the woman has to stay in bed, offer tea or water, no medicine before three in the morning (something about waiting for twelve hours from the time of the previous dose), and call if there is a problem. Nothing to it, Andy reassures herself. Easy.
"Is there anything I can do for you, Miranda?" she asks, as she reenters the woman's bedroom. "Doctor Steckelman said you should drink something. Would you like me to make some tea?"
Miranda only growls in response and turns away.
Andy bites her lip and refuses to think about what she's got herself into and, more importantly, why. At least Miranda seems to shake less, she notes instead. That's good, isn't it?
Andy stations in the small sitting area, just outside Miranda's bedroom. She slumps into a very uncomfortable armchair and jots a quick text message to Emily. Then, after a brief hesitation, takes off her high heels. Ah, what a relief. But the next moment she is up and almost running, because she thinks she's heard a groan, coming from Miranda's bedroom.
"Miranda," she softly calls out from the door. "Are you…do you need…"
The woman, her back to Andy, croaks, "Go away…"
Andy nods and does as she is told. Only when she is back in her armchair, she realizes that she's let Miranda dismiss her, like they are still in the office, a boss and an employee, and not a patient and a nurse. No wonder the doctor was reluctant to leave Miranda in her care! Andy swears and promises herself to check on Miranda in fifteen minutes and not allow the woman to send her away so easily.
But she doesn't have to wait that long. Several fits of dry cough in the row, coming from Miranda's bedroom, give Andy a perfect cause to go back. Armed with two bottles – San Pellegrino and spring water – and a glass, she enters cautiously. However, very quickly, caution and drinks forgotten, she finds herself sitting next to Miranda's bed and holding a cold compress to the patient's burning forehead.
Andy isn't sure if the compress gives the woman much of a relief, though. Miranda eyes, feverishly bright, look past her, and her open-mouth breathing, raspy and elaborate, seems to get increasingly raspier and more elaborate. Every time Andy takes the compress cloth off to dip it in cold water, she feels that the fabric is almost sizzling in her hands. Biting her lip, Andy puts a refreshed compress on Miranda's forehead and considers if she is just panicking or she should check with the doctor.
She argues with herself for some time, while watching closely Miranda's flashed face and listening to the sounds, escaping her dry lips. There is nothing the doctor can do for her anyway, Andy's sensible part reasons. He did say the fever could go up quite high.
But Andy's scared part insists that it is another two hours until Miranda can have her medicine, and she is getting worse, and…and shit, the flu can be lethal.
"Miranda, I think I'd better call the doctor again," she tests it on her reflection in the enormous bathroom mirror, as she changes the water for the compress. Her reflection gives her an exasperated look. Andy shakes her head – no doubt the woman will have her killed or something for all the liberties she is taking here tonight. No doubt.
Andy closes the tap and halts. Has Miranda just called her?
She rushes back, sloshing the water from the shallow bowl. "Miranda?"
During Andy's absence, the woman kicked off the blanket, and now lies, clutching the edge of it, oddly small in the enormous bed. Miranda's black, silk pajamas, clinging to her sweaty, feverish body, make her look even smaller and, somehow, fragile. Vulnerable.
Andy feels her chest tighten, and for a moment she can't breathe.
"Elisabeth?" The woman turns to look at her. "Is it you?" She squints.
Andy gulps and steps closer the bed. "No, Miranda, it's, um, Andrea, it's…"
"Andrea," the woman repeats quietly and shuts her eyes. Andy hesitates if she should say something, but Miranda continues, "Elisabeth never comes."
Elizabeth? Who is she? Off the top of her head, Andy can't recall anybody by that name in Miranda's circles.
"She didn't come," Miranda whispers, "Again…"
For a split second a cold rash of apprehension immobilizes Andy – has she forgotten to contact someone? "Miranda, I…"
"Why didn't she?" Miranda seems not to hear her, and somehow then Andy knows that the woman isn't about to tear her head off for her inability to do her job. But she feels no relief, as she stares at Miranda's eyes, squeezed shut so tightly that would it be anyone else, Andy would think that the person is trying hard no to cry. Not Miranda, though, right? Still, Andy is compelled to avert her gaze, but she refuse to acknowledge that the tightness in her chest is back.
Her gaze falls on the bowl of water in her hands. Shit, she is an idiot! Miranda is probably delirious with fever, and she stands here, gaping at the woman, listening to… Andy swears under her breath and hastily sits down.
All right, delirium is a legitimate reason to check with the doctor, Andy decides, as she dips the compress cloth in the water, wrings it, and gently wipes Miranda's reddened cheeks and jaw that seem to radiate heat. Just to be on a safe side, she tells herself, smoothing the wet cloth on Miranda's forehead. Next time she goes to changes the water, she'll get the phone. It is unlikely that the woman would care at this point, anyway. And tomorrow…well…
"Elisabeth…" Miranda murmurs again.
Andy frowns. Who the hell is this Elisabeth?
"Please, I need you…please. What are you afraid of?" Miranda sobs.
Andy only have time to think "oh, shit," before the woman opens her eyes and looks straight at her. In a faint light of the night lamp, Miranda's eyes are gleaming darkly, the blue irises almost completely overwhelmed by the enlarged pupils.
Andy forgets to breathe, while for a long, excruciation moment Miranda stares at her. "Elisabeth?" the woman finally croaks.
Andy gulps and manages only a weak "uh…"
"No," Miranda shakes her head. "She is not coming." The compress cloth slides down. Andy moves to catch it, before it hits the pillow, but Miranda grabs her hands and jerks her closer. Andy, who hasn't expected either the sudden pull, or the strength of it, tumbles from the chair and lands on her knees next to Miranda's bed, face to face with the woman.
Andy has no time to notice the awkwardness of her position, or the sting in her knees, or how Miranda's slender fingers dig painfully in her wrists, because the woman starts talking. Hurriedly, cramming the whole phrases between raspy breaths, swallowing the ending of the words, Miranda speaks as if afraid that she won't be able to say everything she needs to say, as if someone is about to interrupt her.
"She doesn't want to… I know, but, please… I just want to see her. Why does she deny me that much? I am not… I won't say anything to her… Is she afraid I am going to say how much I…I will do no such thing... I won't embarrass her. She knows, I won't… If she is simply in the same room…I need to see her… Not even a hello, just…please… I…Elisabeth, please…Without you…I…can't…I…" Miranda's speech gets more and more disjointed, the words break down into unintelligible syllabus and sounds. She lets go of Andy's wrists and twists away.
For all but two seconds, terrified Andy watches the woman clutch at the collar of the pajama top, as if trying to rip it off or to tear it apart, before jumping up and rushing for her cell phone – the hell with it, she is calling the doctor…
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A/N Thank you for reading and reviewing
