Disclaimer: Own nada when it comes to The Devil Wears Prada – neither the movie nor the book. Alas.
Pairing: Andy/Miranda (MirAndy)
Rating: G – NC-17, depending on chapter. This one is G.
Summary: Miranda walks out of a dead drunk Stephen two days before Paris. She ends up in a bar, sitting right next to a pretty girl that turns out to be Andrea, her assistant, who in turn makes her an unexpected offer.
A/N: This is pretty a/u, as I've messed with events and timeline. Just so you know!
Give In to Me
An Andy/Miranda Devil Wears Prada Fan Fiction
By Gun Brooke
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Part 5
Miranda told Roy she'd quadruple his Christmas bonus if he drove her to the townhouse in record time. He took one look at her face and nodded. "Strap yourself in, Miranda."
Miranda did as told and closed her eyes briefly. Stephen had sounded drunk and raging, like usual when he worked himself up like this. Normally this was directed toward her, but this time, he was turning against an innocent. Against the young woman who was…important, to Miranda. Perhaps that alone was enough for him to feel 'entitled' to act out? He might have picked up on her fondness of Andrea.
The 911 operator had promised the police was on their way. She'd taken Miranda's information on what was going on and sent two units. Miranda realized that the press would now know there was trouble in Miranda Priestly's home, but she just couldn't find it in herself to care about that right now. Her heart actually stalled for a moment when she pictured Stephen losing control and hurting Andrea.
"Here we are, Miranda," Roy interrupted her frantic thoughts. "I have to let you off here. There are police cars and an ambulance up ahead. I'll go with you."
Miranda was grateful to have Roy by her side as she moved as fast as her Louboutins would, weaving in and out of curious people standing on the sidewalk. She was vaguely aware of camera flashes going off as well. She saw her front door was open and just as she reached the stairs, paramedics appeared with a stretcher.
"No…" Miranda swallowed the rest of the whimper and felt Roy's arm around her waist. Only then did she realize her knees were about to give in. "Andrea."
"No. It's not her. Look." Roy sounded relieved. "It's your husband."
And it was. Stephen was strapped to the stretcher, his neck in a cervical collar and an oxygen mask over his face.
"What…where's Andrea?" Miranda hurried up the stairs, not even bothering with Stephen. He could wait. A female officer stopped her just inside the door.
"Ma'am, you can't enter—"
"This is my house. Step aside." Miranda drilled her eyes into the young woman.
"I'm sorry, Ma'am." The officer squared her shoulder and held up both hands. "I can't let you pass."
"I said. Step. Aside." Miranda was ready to throttle the infuriating woman when Roy interfered.
"This is Miranda Priestly, the owner of this property and also who called in as her assistant, Andrea Sachs was in danger. Can you tell us where she is and how she's doing?
"I'm not at liberty to—"
"Hansen? Let them through," another female voice called from upstairs. "It's all right."
Miranda glared at the unimpressed officer and climbed the stairs with Roy right behind her. At the top of the stairs, a plain clothes woman held up her badge. "I'm detective Sandberg," she said. "We're assessing the situation right now."
"Andrea Sachs. Where is she?" Miranda's mouth were so dry, she could hardly speak."
"In the study. The paramedics are taking care of her." She spoke carefully, studying Miranda's expression. "You were the one who called 911?"
"Yes." Miranda tried to look over Sandberg's shoulder, but couldn't see into her study.
"I know you want to go in there, but I have to ask you some questions first."
"I don't care what you have to do, I—"
For the second time, someone dared to interrupt her. "You will have to answer, Ms. Priestly, and before you object, depending on your answers, Ms. Sachs might avoid getting arrested."
This made Miranda gasp and again, Roy's arms came around her uninvited. She was actually grateful as she might have fallen down the stairs behind her if he hadn't. "What are you talking about? Arrested? Are you out of your mind?" Miranda skewered Sandberg with her eyes.
"Tell me what you know, please." Sandberg tilted her head, looking impossibly young as she listened to Miranda's detailed account of what she'd overheard on her cell.
"I can tell you that this matches what Ms. Sachs just told us." Sandberg smiled faintly. "I believe you can go in now, before you're the one facing jail time for assaulting an officer."
Miranda walked into her study, notice vaguely the mess on the floor, and the people flocking around the young woman on the plush couch. Andrea sat there with one of Miranda's cashmere blankets around her, looking pale and with eyes that were too big and too dark.
"Andrea." Miranda was surprised that her voice carried.
Andrea's head snapped around, her eyes filling with tears at the sight of Miranda. "Miranda. Oh, God, Miranda." She held out her hands.
Miranda pushed past a burly man who just removed a blood pressure cuff. "Are you all right? What did he do to you?"
"M-Miranda." Shaking, Andrea slumped against her, burying her face into Miranda's neck. "I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry."
"What?" Miranda's thoughts whirled. She looked over at Roy who remained at the door. He shrugged, gesturing that he had no clue what Andrea meant either.
"Is he dead? There was so much blood."
Miranda looked closer at Andrea and saw that her impeccable outfit had a macabre blood splatter pattern down Andrea's front.
"I was allowed to wash my hands. I was totally covered."
"Stephen was bleeding?" Miranda knew she had to get a grip on her shock in order to sort her thoughts enough to fathom what had taken place.
"I hit him." Andrea spoke with a harsh whisper and then began to cry. "I'm sorry, but I…he was choking me…I didn't meant to hurt him, I just couldn't b-breathe."
"He had her in a choke hold," the paramedic said. "She's going to have to come with us. Her larynx may have been damaged."
So angry now, her blood curdled around her heart, Miranda held the trembling young woman tightly. "He's going to pay. That man is not walking away from this."
"Actually, I don't expect Mr. Tomlinson to walk any time soon." Sandberg crouched next to them. "Ms. Sachs did quite a number on him. What did you use, Andy?"
"P-paper weight," Andrea whispered.
Miranda automatically glanced over at the desk. Her large paperweight, which was a prize awarded to her as Editor of the Year more than a decade ago in the shape of an old-fashioned printer. The thing weighed at least four pounds. One of the officers was just now lifting it up from the floor and bagging it. One side was dark red with what had to be dried blood.
"God. Is he even alive?" she asked without thinking.
"Oh, no…did I kill him?" Andrea flinched and sat up. She was shaking so hard, her attempts to get up only sent her right back on the couch. Miranda wrapped her arms around her again, holding her tighter this time.
"No. He's not dead." Sandberg speaks gently. "I expect he's thoroughly concussed, but we're going to have to wait until we know the extent of his injury."
"Oh, my God," Andrea said huskily.
"You really shouldn't talk," the paramedic said. "We need to load you to this stretcher—"
"I'm coming with her." Miranda knew her voice and facial expression left no room for objections.
The paramedic looked over at his colleague who shrugged. "If you don't mind riding in front."
"Whatever it takes." Miranda caressed Andrea's back in soothing circles. "Listen, darling, let me help you get over to the stretcher."
"I can walk," Andrea managed, but was barely able to stand up.
"Humor me. Let these men carry you. It would make me worry less."
"Yeah? All right. I am a little tired." Andrea sank down on the stretcher with a deep sigh. Suddenly she looked startled. "You're not leaving, are you? Do you need to go back to Runway?"
"No. Nigel is covering everything. I'm right where I'm supposed to be."
"I…Okay." Andrea relaxed marginally, but she was still vibrating from the fine tremors coursing through her.
"Can't we give her something against the anxiety?" she asked in her most demanding tone.
"Not yet," the paramedic said firmly. "Not until she's been seen in the ER, to evaluate potential damage to her throat and neck. She needs to be alert for that."
"Fine, but at the first opportunity, you must help her. She's suffered far too much already."
"We'll put it in our report and then the ER trauma team will decide what she needs."
Miranda wanted to make sure everybody knew that Andrea needed her, but she had to settle for what they had to offer.
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Andy was on her side on the bed in the ER, facing Miranda who sat on what looked like a mega uncomfortable share close to her. Her silver white hair lay in slightly tousled waves across her forehead and she was working on her smart phone with one hand and holding Andy's hand with the other.
Andy sighed, her nerves tied in painful knots. The nurses and doctors had poked, prodded and x-rayed her. The doctors hummed, glared nervously at Miranda—one even had the audacity to ask her to leave as she wasn't next of kin—but Miranda merely glanced at Andy and asked if she wanted her to leave. Andy's gasped "No way!" settled the issue. Miranda stayed.
Now there was another knock on the door. Andy pushed her shoulders back and braced for impact. One of the doctors entered and smiled reassuringly.
"You're lucky. Nothing is fracture, and the reason for your perceived discomfort is from the hematoma forming. No structural parts were damaged during the…uhm…attack."
"What about Stephen, eh, Mr. Tomlinson?" Andy asked, her breath actually hurting as it passed her constricting throat.
"I can't give you any information. I'm sorry. You're not next of kin."
"But I am," Miranda said with lethal softness in her voice. "The man Andrea protected herself against is my soon-to-be, but still is, husband. I can easily prove it to you so we can move on." Miranda held up her driver's license.
"Ah. Perfect." The nurse shone brightly.
Andy was now wound up so tightly, her nails hurt the palms of her hands. "Please, just tell us."
"The doctor will come in and explain further, but I can tell you this much: Mr. Tomlinson is being admitted to the security ward where he will be monitored for his concussions and for potential flight risk if I understood the detective correctly. Mr. Tomlinson regained consciousness while en route to the ER, and is talking." The nurse took Andy's blood pressure, checked her pulse and examined her throat. When she had Andy bend her head back, Miranda gasped out loud.
"Your poor neck. I've never seen such bruises."
"They're that bad?" Andy coughed and cringed at the stabbing pain. "Damn."
"They'll fade." Miranda looked carefully at her, probably very mindful of how long it can take for a bruise to fully heal.
"Thank God," Andy whispered, clinging to Miranda's hand. "This…I can't even…" She began to cry again, sobs so painful they triggered their own tears. "What if he'd died…Miranda?"
"Self-defense." Miranda spoke curtly, but she tugged Andy closer and pressed her lips to her temple. "Not your fault, no matter what."
"And now…the press will find out. Everything. J-just like you were afraid…oh, no…"
"I don't care. I couldn't care less about the tabloids, the press, or anyone else. The only things I care about right now are the fact that you're safe and my girls too."
"The twins!" Andy tried freeing herself, but clearly Miranda wouldn't allow that. She kept Andy close, enveloping her in the familiar scent and the very new feeling of being embraced.
"The girls are fine. I've spoken to them and filled them in on the topic. I had to chastise them the way they cheered. So un-lady like."
Andy noticed that it was more the cheering, rather than whatever the reason for cheering that had made Miranda scold the girls. "Tell them, tell them, I'm sorry."
"I will. They won't be. They've seen too much of Stephen's M.O. to be very sympathetic to his…eh, situation."
"Oh." Those little monsters. They could be pretty great when they made their mind up to be. Andy snuggled closer, not sure how long she'd be allowed to be this close to Miranda.
"That's it," Miranda murmured. "Just relax. I'll be here when you wake up."
"You promise?" Andy yawned. Being tucked in against Miranda's chin, Andy felt safe for the first time since she entered the townhouse. She inhaled the perfume and reveled in having Miranda's velvet skin this close to her lips. Soon enough, Miranda would withdraw, but for now, she was here.
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To be continued in part 6
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