4.

She is almost done with the schedule, when she receives a slightly panicked text from Nigel - the Monday's editorial meeting is going to be a disaster without Miranda.

Andy calls him. "She'll hopefully be on a speaker."

"Six, it's not enough," Nigel whines. "Everything is different, if she is simply in the same room…"

"Well,"Andy begins and pauses. If she is simply in the same room… This sound familiar, but she can't quite put her finger on it. If she is simply…

It comes to her, when Emily and she finish revising their 'to do' list in a view of Miranda's illness.

"The 'thank you' notes have to be done by Wednesday," Emily informs Andy.

TY's Fri party, Andy types quickly. "Do you know which ones she'd want to sign personally?"

"I thought you became an expert on Miranda lately," Emily sneers. "Besides, you spent the whole night at her house after the party. I am sure you had a chance to have a nice chat about the guests."

Right. Of course, we had a chat, except for… Andy hands up the phone. Except for Miranda was very sick and out of it most of the time, and the only thing she said was… Wait a moment. She said it. She said – "if she is simply in the same room." And she was talking about, what's the name, Elizabeth. Elizabeth, who never comes…

On Sunday afternoon the Runway offices are empty, save for a couple of junior people, who show no interest in Andy. Which suites her just fine. She grabs the familiar box of RSVP's and goes straight to her desk.

After several hours of vigorous leafing through the cards, various lists and notes, searching through computer files, and a lot of swearing (really, it is twenty first century, for crying out loud, isn't it time to abandon the stupid rule of putting only husband's first name on a card?), Andy has two Elizabeth. Then, she adds Liza, because for all she knows this woman could be Liza to the whole world, but Miranda would still call her Elizabeth.

Now, which one is it, Andy wonders, looking at her short list and massaging her temples. Which one of you, ladies, get Miranda so distraught?

Andy gets up to stretch her stiffened limbs and walk around. Only now she notices how tired she is. Dead tired. She glances at the papers, covering her desk, then, through the glass doors, into Miranda's empty office, and runs her hand through her hair.

Well. If she leaves right now, she will have time to for a decent dinner and a talk with her super. And good night sleep.

So.

Andy runs her hand through her hair again, frowns, and goes back to her desk.

She quickly eliminates the first Elizabeth. For one, the woman actually came to the party. Besides, Andy can't imagine anyone would want to be in the same room with her (including her own husband, who spent most of the party at the bar), because now, when Andy thinks about it, she recalls a short, stick-thin woman, with a face scrunched up in a perpetual grimace, which probably is supposed to represent a smile.

The second Elizabeth, Mrs. Stein, who's declined Miranda's invitation, isn't easy to find. Andy has never heard of her, but apparently, the world is full of women, named Elizabeth Stein. After going through about two dozen of them, Andy curses Internet in general and Google in particular, and, frustrated, moves to Liza, a recent trophy wife of one of the publishing executives.

She might be the one, Andy considers. She wasn't at Miranda's party, but it is very likely that the two have known each other for a while. Even before Liza's marriage, which has propelled her into very elite socialite circles, she has worked in different capacities in several fashion houses. Andy has no trouble finding the woman's name mentioned here and there, and a few of her photographs at an assortments of posh events. Would Miranda particularly want to be in the same room with this woman? Frowning, Andy studies the pictures, sighs, and goes back to the second Elizabeth.

The RSVP card, which has come from Dr. and Mrs. Stein, looks exactly like any RSVP card in the box. A small check mark in the 'will not attend' line. Nothing unusual. Still, Andy stares at the card, then, at the Connecticut address on the envelope, as if there is a secret there she's missed the first time she's looked.

Has Miranda asked for the RSVP box to do just that?

Andy pushes the card aside and goes back on the Internet.

All right, she thinks biting her lip, assuming this Elizabeth is not in the public eye, then… Absentmindedly, Andy pokes around anything Connecticut, until she stumbles upon one of the local newspapers. She flicks through the pages of its Internet achieves, and, a miracle of miracles, soon finds a little blurb from several years ago about Elizabeth Stein, a wife of the town's favorite pediatrician, giving birth to the couple's third child. Maternal grandparents are, Andy does a double take, Dr. and Mrs. Steckelman.

Gosh, it must be it, this must be the Elizabeth, Andy leans closer to the screen to reread the short announcement. If Miranda's doctor is some relative of hers, then there is a link between this Elizabeth and Miranda.

With renewed vigor Andy begins taping on the keyboard's keys, searching for more information. Annual dinners… Graduation ceremonies… Women in Business Club of Connecticut…Youth sports… Andy keeps on looking, not that she has any idea what it is exactly she is looking for. She just needs to know…

A while later, exasperated she pushes away from the desk. There is nothing, absolutely nothing. And it feels like she is looking for a needle in a haystack. Maybe not even a needle.

Andy glances at the door to Miranda's office, swears, and pulls her chair back to the desk…

The picture is taken forever to come up. Andy sits, propping her head, eyes half-closed, idly wondering if she's managed to pick up some spyware or virus while combing through the Internet tonight. The IT guy, what's his name, will definitely have a few choice words for her tomorrow, and…

She forgets about the viruses and the IT guy. The picture is up, and Andy's eyes are instantaneously drawn to a woman in the left corner of it. The woman smiles for the photographer, and there is so much warmth in her smile that it carries over through the lenses of the camera to the flat computer screen, and makes Andy feel like smiling back. There are other people on the picture, Andy is aware of it, but she sees only this one woman. And her genial, infectious smile.

And then it dawns on her.

Oh.

Right…

Andy blinks – she's been staring at the woman for quite some time. As an afterthought, she drags her eyes to the caption. It is a long, awkward paragraph - opening of the Pediatric wing…state-of-the-art equipment…honorary guests included… Andy skims over it, without paying much attention, until she finds 'Dr. Stein with his wife…' Right.

She looks at the woman again. The dress is definitely not by any known designer, so are the shoes. The make-up is very understated. The hair – wavy, blond tresses - is let loose over bare shoulders without much of styling or design. The jewelry, the clutch… Andy sighs - the longer she looks, the less plausible it seems that there is any kind of connection between this woman and Miranda Priestly. Even the way Mrs. Stein leans affectionately into her husband's half-embrace, is so different from Miranda's cold, distant manners that Andy begins to seriously doubt the correctness of her assumptions.

But then there is a smile. Whoever can make Elizabeth Stein smile like that is probably a very lucky man.

Or a woman.

Andy swears and jams the computer's 'off' button.

She takes a subway home. Because it is so late on Sunday night, she spends more time on a platform, waiting for the train, than actually riding it. It doesn't really bother her, thought, as she keeps thinking of how Elizabeth Stein, an ordinary woman from suburban Connecticut, could've met Miranda Priestly, an Editor-in-Chief of the most prestigious fashion magazine in the world.

Maybe Dr. Stein is an amazing pediatrician, and Miranda' s doctor's recommended him for a consultation in regards to Caroline or Cassidy's health.

Or one of Miranda's ex-husbands belongs to some exclusive country club in Connecticut, where he plays golf with Dr. Stein.

Or Miranda and Stein family has rented neighboring houses in Hamptons, and… No, probably not Hamptons…

Maybe Miranda's daughters were in the same sleep-away camp as Stein's children. Are Caroline and Cassidy even allowed to go to sleep-away camp?

Andy carefully considers each scenario, then comes up with the next one. It is easier to do that, then to think about the reason her cold-blooded, cold-hearted bitch of a boss in delirium calls for a woman. A woman, who never comes to her.

And Andy absolutely refuse to consider why even not thinking about that reason makes her chest tighten so much, she can barely breathe...

The next week is awful. While Miranda recovers at home and communicates with her assistants mostly over the phone, Andy is holding on. But on Wednesday morning as she meets Miranda at the Runway offices' elevator door, Andy blushes and chocks on her greetings. Mortified she waits for the woman's reaction, but Miranda, thankfully, doesn't notice her discomfort and promptly begins firing instructions, marching through the hallways and glaring at scattering before her employees. Relieved, Andy rushes after her, but somehow catches only half of what she says and has to spend hours, guessing the rest.

It doesn't get any better. Even thought, by the end of the day Andy manages to get the blushing and chocking under control, by Friday she knows there is absolutely nothing she can do about the difficulty concentrating around Miranda. And being the woman's assistant means she is around Miranda most of the time.

Who can work like that?

Andy knows it is just a matter of time, before she makes a mistake.

Screws up something really important.

Tells Miranda that…Oh, god, no.

No.

Andy muddles through another two weeks, before she begins catching Emily's suspicious glances. Then she gives up.

Her hands are shaking slightly, when she walks into Miranda's office to deliver the blouse samples, Miranda's requested. The woman is sitting at her desk, scrutinizing printouts from the latest shoot, and does not look at Andy.

I can do it, Andy tells herself firmly, ignoring the tightness in her chest. I have to.

"Miranda, there is something I need to tell you," she swallows, "I am leaving the Runway."

The woman lowers the photographs and glances at her over the rim of the reading glasses. "And where are you going?"

"Um, nowhere, actually. I haven't started looking yet." Andy knows this makes no sense, and Miranda points it out right away.

"You do realize that usually people find a new employment before leaving the previous one."

"Um, yes," Andy answers hesitantly.

Miranda cocks her head and after a short pause asks quietly, "Is there a problem I am not aware of?"

"No, there is…no." It's not only her hands that are shaking now, her voice does too, Andy realizes with alarm.

Miranda puts down the photographs, takes off her glasses, and looks at Andy. "So," she says slowly, "you just want to leave the Runway."

Andy nods, because, apparently, she can't trust her voice any longer. Besides, she has said all she could say.

Miranda, probably, realizes that. She doesn't ask any more questions, but instead silently studies Andy for what seems like an eternity. Andy struggles not to fidget under the intense stare.

Moments go by agonizing moments, but Miranda continues looking at her. Why is she doing it, Andy begins to panic. Should I ask? Can I leave? Her shaking hands turn clammy, and Andy can barely hold herself from wiping them against her skirt.

Meanwhile Miranda doesn't relent. She purses her lips and stares at Andy, as if waiting for… For what? Apology? Retraction? Explanation?...Confession?

Oh god, Miranda remembers what happened the nigh, when she had the flu, Andy suddenly realizes. Miranda remembers what she's said in delirium!

Andy swallows hard. In a span of two heartbeats her immediate future flashes before her eyes – turned down from every publication in New York, forced to go back to Ohio, permitted only to write obituaries for a small town newspaper…

But for some reason this doesn't bother her as much as it should. Instead, the unbearable tightness in Andy's chest drives all the air out of her lungs. Oh, Miranda, you don't have to worry about me, Andy implores, because if you only knew, if only I could tell you…

What if I tell her? The thought scares the daylight out of Andy, just like it has for the last three weeks. And yet… That woman, Elizabeth, is and, most likely, won't be available. For Miranda. But she, Andy…

Andy doesn't know exactly what she is going to say, when she opens her mouth. But before she has a chance to say anything at all, something shifts in Miranda's eyes. The woman blinks, lowers her gaze, and clears her throat. Then she says quietly, "Well."

Andy stands absolutely still, barely breathing, waiting for…

Miranda picks up the photograph, puts back on her reading glasses, and adds, as an afterthought, "Tell Emily to start looking for you replacement. That's all."

A month later Andy works for the Mirror. It is not exactly a job of her dreams, but she gets to write, she doesn't spend her days running her boss' errands, and her clothes have no reflection on her value as an employee.

And she doesn't have to see Miranda Priestly.

Although, she still does sometimes, when she walks past Elias-Clarke building.

And sometimes, she believes Miranda sees her too.

...

The end

A/N Thank you for reading and reviewing.