The sun shone in through the suite's huge balcony windows and cast a warm beam over the couch and surrounding area. Andy stirred and moaned, feeling aches in her body before she was even fully awake. She tried to roll over to see the time, but found her movements restricted by a dead weight on her chest. In a panic, her eyes flew open, though her head reeled and protested against the fuzziness in her brain. Her eyes adjusted and she realised she was staring at the underneath of the coffee table.

Oh, God Andy, move before Miranda sees...Miranda!

Her eyes widened and her heart began to pound. Seconds seemed like a lifetime as her eyes darted down her body and came into contact with her boss, who was sprawled next to her, barely covered by the couch throw, her head and arm resting on her chest.

Oh. God.

The events of the night flashed through her mind like a vivid movie. She gasped and touched her hand to her lips.

I am dead. Dreaming. Dying. Dead! I am on the floor with Miranda Priestly...boss lady Miranda is lying naked next to me on. The. Floor!

Andy squealed then stopped breathing as Miranda stirred. She didn't know what she wanted to happen; whether to wake Miranda, sneak out or go back to sleep and pray in her dreams. As she was contemplating, she found herself gently smoothing Miranda's hair and stroking her back. Deciding that, actually, she was extremely comfortable and wanted the feeling to last, she closed her eyes and impulsively held Miranda closer to her.

'Go to sleep.'

Miranda's eyes flew open at the softly whispered command. She had been on the verge of consciousness for a while but couldn't bring herself to move. Her body ached enough whilst it was still. She stopped breathing as Andy snuggled in closer to her and smoothed her hair, and as her hand came into contact with Andy's bare skin, she stifled a gasp. She remembered how hot that skin had felt on top of her, how she had tasted almost every inch of it, and how when they were drifting off to sleep she had felt that skin glued to her own. A part of her wanted to stay longer, to snuggle back into Andrea. She could pretend that this was normal; that she was alive. She shook her head as if to rid herself of the daydream, and swiftly got to her feet. She would not hang around to see the look of fear on Andrea's face when she awoke fully; she would not be the object of pity. As Andy moved in her sleep, however, Miranda faltered in her sureness. She knelt back down and gently drew the throw over Andy's naked body, her hand hovering for a moment over her hair. She allowed herself a couple of seconds before retreating to her bedroom to prepare for the day. It would be, she decided, even as she headed to the phone to order room service for Andrea, as if the night had never happened.

By the time Andrea reached the conference room at 9.30, she had almost worked herself into a mental frenzy. When she woke alone to the polite but incessant knocking of the room service, she had been almost relieved. As she wolfed down the breakfast that she had been surprised to learn Miranda had personally chosen and ordered for her, her relief began to fade into nervousness. Once she was washed, dressed and ready to leave the suite and had still not seen nor heard from Miranda, her nerves gave way to stomach-churning panic. Usually by 9am, even if Miranda was on holiday, Andy would have received at least one phone call from her boss. She took a deep breath before she opened the conference door, expecting only the unexpected.

What she found was chaos. People were buzzing around everywhere, and Andy was sure she spotted a few tears. She managed to locate Nigel, who was gesticulating wildly whilst on the phone.

"Of course I don't know why...oh, yes, why didn't I think of that, I'll just pop over and ask Miranda shall I? Just...think of something!"

Nigel snapped the phone shut violently then grabbed Andy's arm and led her to a small table in a corner of the large room.

"Where have you been? Did someone spike Miranda with some downers last night? Did you fluff her pillows wrong or something?"

Andy's stomach fluttered. "Why, what's wrong?"

Nigel's hands flew up in the air. "Where do I start? Miranda called everyone at 8 this morning, demanding to see the Valentino collection, the collection that is supposed to be carrying next month's Runway. She pursed her lips, Andrea! The entire collection – down the pan! And you know what she's like – she wants bigger, better, and she wants them...now, give or take a few minutes."

Andy merely gaped.

"Andy...flies."

Andy shook her head and caught up with Nigel as he rapidly strode across the room.

"So what's going on now?"

Nigel gathered up a load of spreadsheets, turned in a circle and spread them back out over the table again. If Nigel was panicking, Andy thought, then this definitely counted as crisis.

"Oh, we're all just hanging around, trying to create an "acceptable magazine that is not a poor substitute for Cosmopolitan" within half an hour with minimal staff and almost no original material. Everything is fine, I love Paris!"

Andy's heart raced. "Where is she now?"

Nigel sighed. "God knows, everyone has practically jumped from balconies to avoid her. Probably down at the local orphanage dangling family photo albums in front of sobbing children." At Andy's look, Nigel gave her one of his own. "I'm serious Andy. It's as if she's suddenly acknowledged everything anyone has ever said about her and decided to become the epitome of it. She fired one of the make-up artists and gave her an hour to leave the country before she would make sure that there would be no work for her in 3 continents. That reminds me...did someone get Tracy a flight yet?" he shouted. No one in the flustered room paid any attention. Andy was about to leave to try and find Miranda when someone by the door squealed.

"She's coming!"

There was a frantic rush towards the centre tables, with around twenty people trying to create some semblance of order to a makeshift Book. Andy waited for Miranda to sit before pulling up a chair slightly behind her, away from the table. Miranda looked and acted as she always did, the only change in her behaviour being that she didn't even look at Andy as she took her place. Ever since Andy had begun to raid the closet, Miranda would throw her outfit a once over, and usually - obviously silently – deem it acceptable. If Andy had been less sure of herself, she would have questioned whether she was actually physically present in the room.

"Well?"

The deathly silence in the room became punctuated with paper shuffling from everyone, each person apparently willing someone else to speak and absorb the venom. Nigel eventually cleared his throat and pushed a pile of papers towards Miranda. She nodded once and pushed the papers to the centre of the table. Andy was amazed at how Nigel could simultaneously panic, throw things about and yet still be brilliant enough to escape Miranda's wrath.

"Make sure this is ready, tomorrow 8am. Call Lagerfeld, have him meet on the day we arrive back, arrange the photo shoot for that new designer, use that photographer from the last time, and we may need elephants. Have the girls ready to leave their dad's in time for Roy to pick them up then come to the airport, book that place that they like with the outdoor pool for the weekend. Collect Patricia, take her to the townhouse. That's all." Just as abruptly as she'd entered, Miranda rose and left the room, leaving everyone as speechless as they had been when she'd appeared. Nigel leaned over to Andy.

"Please, tell me that was meant for you?"

Andy nodded, although if it hadn't been for the slight almost imperceptible flutter of Miranda's hair in her direction, it would have been impossible to tell.

"Thank God." Nigel said as he got up and set about organising a revised version of the next issue. "Because elephants in the middle of Manhattan I can deal with, anything but that dog."

Andy was at a loss. She had organised everything she could think of, laid out her outfit for that evening's dinner and had even called her parents, and still there was no sign of Miranda. She toyed with the idea of calling her, but thought better of it. How could you have a faceless conversation with someone whose reactions consisted of monosyllables and facial expressions? She paced the suite, and then threw herself down with a sigh onto her bed. Her thoughts drifted to the previous night and she groaned loudly as she pulled the pillow over her head.

Dear God, she mumbled. What the fuck is going on?

Andy wasn't sure if she wanted to see Miranda; not sure what she would say, what she wanted to say; not sure how she felt. But the continued absence and complete silence from Miranda, the woman who thought nothing of calling at 3am issuing staccato orders even when it became apparent that one was intimately busy, was unnerving almost to the point of hysteria.

What if Miranda regrets it? What if I regret it? Do I regret it? Jesus! Is she going to fire me? Does she expect me to quit? God, she's fucking sexy! Oh, God, when did I start thinking of Miranda as sexy?

Before she knew it, Andy had spent 3 hours musing, and having accomplished nothing, realised it was 7pm and she had only half an hour to get ready before the benefit. She wondered for the hundredth time where Miranda was, and why she hadn't even been back to the suite. There was a tap on the door and she rushed to answer it, the absurdity of Miranda knocking on her own door only fleetingly entering her mind.

Rather deflated, Andy held the door open for Nigel and returned to her room to dress. Nigel followed and gave her outfit a once over. As she slid into the black dress, she couldn't help but smile at the low wolf whistle.

"Dior?"

Andy nodded.

"Shoes?"

"Chanel."

"Nice. Who, pray tell, put this together?"

Andy's heart involuntarily fluttered as she remembered the day before they departed for Paris. She had entered Miranda's office to find her sat at her desk, with the dress packaged and hanging on a rail.

"For the benefit...it won't fly itself there, Andrea...that's all."

She breathed deeply and tried to appear nonchalant. "Miranda gave me the dress, actually. Something about at least trying to embrace the fashion world in a sophisticated manner."

Nigel arched his brow. "Mhmm, I see. Well, she must have taken note of your recent fashion awakening. I am proud, Six."

Now Andy raised a brow and smirked. "Four, actually."

Nigel moved through to the bar and poured two scotches.

"Congratulations...but for the purposes of continuity I shall of course have to insist on calling you Six." He downed his drink, and gave Andy's cheek a pat.

"Alas, I must depart. I wanted to come make sure you were ready, but it seems you finally have yourself under control."

At that moment, Nigel's phone rang and from his one word responses, she could tell it was Miranda on the line. He rolled his eyes as he hung up.

"Miranda's gloves?"

Andy frowned, then rushed through to her room and returned with the pristine white elbow gloves. Nigel eyed her thoughtfully as he took them.

"Why is Miranda sending me to fetch her things...why is Miranda getting ready solely in the make-up suite rather than her own?" He walked around Andy and searched her eyes. "What's going on?"

Andy tried to shrug him off. "I don't know. You know better than anyone what Miranda's like, she probably...I don't know. Has developed some sort of issue with the make-up team and is waiting to pounce. Or something."

She busied herself putting the final touches to her face and hair, and fervently hoped that Nigel would leave.

"No no." He said, sounding almost scarily like Miranda. "You are the one that fetches things for her, not me. That's part of your job, hence the 'personal' assistant. You were yesterday. Now you're not. Miranda is foul today. You are edgy. Andrea, something is not right."

Andy took a deep breath, frantically wondering what to say, when Nigel's phone rang again.

"The dragon emerges from the lair. I must depart."

As he reached the door and Andy was breathing a sigh of relief, he turned and planted a kiss on her cheek.

"I heard that sigh. Don't think I will forget this, Six. Later."

Andy mingled, and smiled, and laughed, and did everything that she was required to do as Miranda's assistant at functions, but inside she was paying attention to nothing except the door that Miranda would enter through. When she finally did, Andy lost all track of the conversation she was involved in. She was politely excused by someone who took pity on her for being Miranda's assistant. She slowed down as she got closer to the woman. As the assistant, she knew exactly what she had to do, but after the previous night and Miranda's blatant refusal to acknowledge her earlier on, she wondered what it was that Miranda wanted from her. If she was honest, a small part of her worried about Miranda making her look like a fool in front of everyone present, though she hated to acknowledge it after the glimpse she'd had of the Miranda from last night. She finally stood face to face with the woman, and couldn't help but take her all in for a few moments, before taking her place at her side.

"Miranda." You look beautiful.

"Andrea. I see the dress was a good choice."

The only other comment that passed between them as the night progressed was Andrea reminding Miranda of the single male who occupied the dinner table next to hers, but kept trying to make conversation. Andy had a feeling that he could be the president for all it mattered to Miranda. One more comment from him and he would be a nobody soon enough. Andy met Christian's gaze a couple of times, but could hardly concentrate on anything except Miranda. She was glad when the last course had been served, speeches made and everyone began drifting away from the tables. She headed out onto one of the balconies for fresh air. The cold wind was refreshing on her face, and even though her skin began to goose pimple, she spread her arms over the fence and closed her eyes.

"Blue."

The voice startled her and she spun around, surprised to find Miranda standing behind her. She was normally aware of Miranda's presence. Miranda moved to stand next to her, and in a rare moment of letting her guard down, she spread her arms as Andrea had just been doing. Andy shifted again so that she was leaning on the fence. She didn't want to do anything to break the mood, but she couldn't help letting her hand rest closely to Miranda's.

"I'm sorry?"

Miranda continued to look out at the city.

"You wanted to know my favourite colour. It's blue."

Andy didn't have to look again at the floor length midnight blue gown that Miranda was wearing to remind herself of her thoughts.

"Blue looks beautiful on you." You always look beautiful.

Miranda moved her glove-clad finger so that it was touching Andy's. It was the lightest of touches, but Andy's heart jumped. She finally made her eyes focus on Miranda's face, and was almost surprised at the tenderness which lay barely concealed behind the determined steeliness. Almost. She knew there was a different Miranda inside.

"Andrea...I...I –"

They were interrupted by a polite cough which startled the both of them. Miranda quickly regained her composure, and as Andy focused on bringing her heartbeat under control, she realised that it was Christian who was air kissing Miranda. She only just about controlled her sigh, and managed to slip back into her assistant role. She plastered a smile on her face and listened to their small talk, until it became apparent that Miranda had had enough.

"So if there's nothing else, Christian?" the question was only just about the right side of polite not be frosty. Christian flashed a charming smile, which, now that she was sober, turned Andy's stomach.

"Well actually, Miranda. I was hoping for a word with your lovely assistant. She was very helpful when I found myself at a loose end, and I would like the opportunity to extend my gratitude." He kept smiling, oblivious to the look that passed between Andy and Miranda. Andy saw the tenderness of moments ago completely replaced by the glacial stare. She tried to convey her feelings in her eyes; tried to show that she didn't want Christian around, but Miranda had already looked away.

"Very well." As she reached the door to the balcony, Miranda stopped but didn't turn around. "Andrea?"

Andy took an unconscious step forwards, hoping for something that she didn't expect.

"Yes, Miranda?"

"Make sure that all the arrangements are in place for tonight's flight. I don't want any delays. That's all."

Andy closed her eyes and held her hands to her face.

"Yes, Miranda." she whispered to the retreating figure.

Christian cleared his throat again and brought Andy crashing back to her surroundings.

"What do you want, Christian?"

Christian moved closer to Andy and attempted to run his hand through her hair. She shrugged away.

"Look, Andy, I really don't understand what went wrong yesterday morning. I mean, you saw that poster and completely freaked. I thought we had something going on?"

Andy snorted.

"Something going on? I was drunk, Christian. It was nothing. Especially when I found out you were an underhanded bastard."

Christian looked perplexed.

"Underhanded? Andy, things move on. That was the future. I was just a small part in big changes. Surely, working in this world has taught you that sometimes what seems unpleasant to one person is necessary for others to progress."

Andy shook her head.

"No, Christian. I mean yes, I work in this world, but I still don't understand why it's necessary to treat people like shit and think that it's ok. And as far as you thinking that we had something going on? You were prepared to do me out of a job, as well as Miranda. Did you even think about that? Or was I not big enough to even register on your radar? I don't find anything remotely appealing about you, Christian. I don't know how you could be so low."

Christian gave a wry smile, then moved to grab Andy by the arm and pressed his face up close to hers. She smelled alcohol and potent aftershave and wondered even when she was drunk how she could have found him remotely attractive.

"I thought you were different, Andy, but now I see, you've fallen so far into the Ice Queen's lair that you've become just like the rest of them. I'm not low, Andrea, I'm true to myself. The same as Miranda. She'll fuck you over, in the end."

He let go of Andy's arm at the same moment that she wrenched herself free, and that Miranda reappeared in the doorway.

He backed away, and attempted to flash Miranda a smile.

"Well, I can't be completely sure about the modern protocols of showing gratitude, but I am assuming that this little show has come to an end, Mr. Thompson?"

Christian at least had the grace to blush slightly.

"Thank you, Miranda. I think Andy and I have found ourselves on equal footing now."

Miranda gave a half smile as he walked past. She caught Andy's eye, and just before Christian disappeared, she inclined her head towards him. Andy thought she would never cease to be amazed at how such a low whisper could seemingly echo for miles.

"Oh, and Mr. Thompson?"

Christian turned back, the smile still stuck on his face.

"If you ever lay so much as a pompous curl on my staff again, I will see to it that not even Jacqueline Follet will see fit to hold you in her employ." She turned and flashed him a perfect imitation of his smile. "That's all."

Andy took a step towards Miranda, but stopped abruptly when Miranda stepped back. Andy tried to hold Miranda's gaze, but the other woman wouldn't focus on Andy's face.

"Whilst you are in my employ, Andrea, you are contractually bound to ensure that you do not put yourself in a position that can be used to the detrimental effect of either myself or Runway. Just so that we are clear, Andrea, there will not be another warning."

As Miranda turned to leave, Andy impulsively reached out and grabbed her arm.

"Miranda I..."

Miranda finally held Andy's eyes, only to pierce her with an icy glare. She moved her eyes slowly from Andy's down to her arm. Andy got the message. Her arms now dangling loosely at her sides, she tried again.

"Miranda, Christian and I...I mean..."

Miranda cut her off with a hand motion.

"I don't care what you do with your personal time, Andrea, as long as it doesn't affect your job. The only thing I ask of you is that you do your job. The same as everyone else."

And Miranda left the balcony without even so much as a falter in her step.