New year, new - okay old - attempt to finish up this fic. Six chapters left! (I think...)
Thank you for sticking with this fic into 2024. I've held off updating because A) life and B) a certain loss of confidence in my writing and not wanting to add to this story until I could do it justice.
This chapter is more of an interlude than plot which picks back up in the next chapter at Runway, but let me know since you've put in the effort to read this far, if it (read: me) is still up to snuff. Acceptable? That's up to you I suppose - I'm just the humble(d) creator at the mercy (or lack of) of these characters and my muses and musings.
A massive thank you again for your continued loyalty to this fic, and we WILL meet again soon. Xx - TheLadyHoll
Time, though treated by most as linear, was an infinitely amorphous concept. It could be a blessing, a resource, but no matter how much time one had it never seemed to align with what one needed. One always needed more of it, needed less or for it to pass quicker, or for it to stop entirely. Instead, it plodded on at exactly the same rate, regardless of how fast or slow it seemed to pass for each individual. It was an enemy and a friend to all, and it was no different for the editor
There were two weeks left until the decoy issue, and the real one were due at the printer's. The shoots were happening in secret this week, and to only have a week to choose, edit and lay out the images was unheard of.
There was one week left until the babies were tentatively scheduled to come home.
Miranda's time, pretending things were under control was about to run out. With all her time and energies focused on her children and the magazine, even with Andrea's constant support, she knew, secretly she was running on fumes and borrowed time. She could feel the strain on her mind and body and had fought tooth and nail not to show what she saw as a lack of self control, a shameful weakness and fragility she knew could and would be used against her by those who wanted her gone for whatever myriad of reasons.
Time and denial were equally her staunch enemies, and time would always win out regardless of how strong one's denial was that something was wrong.
Plans for the next issue continued, or plan(s) as it were, at least to the knowledge of four Runway employees now tasked with the impossible.
Said plans had sputtered briefly, when they realized that for one, they still needed to produce – or maintain the appearance of producing – the magazine Irv expected them to, having heard their 'plans' in the editorial meeting for the next month and subsequently passing them on to French Runway.
Two, that having to produce the 'mediocre' issue Irv was expecting would still eat up the majority of their budget, especially since Irv had been systematically cutting the fat and feeding it back to French Runway with their editorial planning.
A performance-based bonus system across the Elias Clarke portfolio of publications had been put in place that had, until now, worked in their favour. Frankly, Miranda hadn't thought Irv intelligent enough to be able to use this to his scheme's advantage, but so much of the last year had proved to her that her instincts and suppositions were not, in fact, infallible outside the pages of the Book. Indeed, her power had proved infinitely finite, if not fragile.
Simply put, French Runway was, to her great chagrin and shame, doing better than American Runway. It was still sub-standard, make no mistake, but the core themes spoke more to the current market of subscribers. Of course they did, they had been suggested by American Runway first before a vile, greasy little imp with sticky fingers and zero ethics had shared them within the 'famille'.
It was a bitter pill to swallow, and she couldn't even wash it down with scotch since she was still breastfeeding and pumping to supply the hospital. And so it stood; French Runway had the better ideas but they weren't executing on the scale she would have insisted on. It was torture to watch good ideas fall prey to subpar minds and result in subpar spreads to what the American Runway team would have produced had they held onto their intellectual property. Property she never would have allowed to slip from her grasp had she been there.
The broader Runway team was, in blissful ignorance, working on the mediocre issue they had to publish to keep Irv in the dark as to their real plans. While the inner circle who could be trusted well beyond the confines of their respective NDAs, made of up primarily Emily, Selena and Nigel, had rolled up their sleeves and gotten to work. Not that they had ever stopped since figuring out Irv had actually managed to go behind their back, and not that they were actually rolling up their sleeves since those sleeves were Dolce, vintage printed Pucci and Westwood, respectively.
It had been almost a month since the babies' birth, and as the babies, thank God, grew stronger and without further complications, Miranda felt weaker than ever, and angry for it.
Andy knew something was off. With everything going on though it was difficult to pinpoint exactly what or how was off when everything was in turmoil or trouble of some sort. At first, she'd simply thought Miranda was just healing slowly.
They had just gotten home from the hospital, the heavy discussion of when the babies could come home weighing on both of them, even as they dared to hope they could soon set a date. They were due at Runway the next morning, in part, to throw off Irv by putting in an appearance and seemingly working on the false issue of Runway Irv believed them to be producing, having sold them up the river to French Runway by sharing intellectual property that technically belonged to 'Runway', the entity in all its various publications. This made proving Irv's criminal activities in a way that would be supported by a court of law that much more difficult, though their lawyers had quietly been made aware and were building a case pending on Andy and Miranda's ability to get the CEO to incriminate himself in their hearing.
The editor was working feverishly to put together the layouts, while her usual creative team, still at Runway at this late hour, worked on the decoy issue, and her art director was split between supervising them as well as organizing the last minute shoots.
Feverishly…something was niggling in the back of her mind at that choice of words as Andy pursed her lips and moved closer the editor, close enough to see a faint sheen of perspiration and cheeks that were just this side of naturally flushed. She had thought the glassiness in the blue eyes was tiredness and worry but she was realizing there was something larger and more sinister at play.
The stiff set of Miranda's shoulders as she worked told the younger woman this wasn't the right time to bring it up, no matter how concerned she was
Her posture defensive as she caught Andy's concerned gaze, Miranda pressed the Book against her torso with a minimal amount of force, but dropped with a cry, and Andy with her, catching her so that they both landed on their knees on the carpet of the study while the Book collided with floor, forgotten in the moment. Andy looked the editor over to see where she was hurt, but she could see nothing except the very real tears rolling down the perfectly made up face, revealing the grey tinge of pain beneath as the foundation smeared.
Miranda was still struggling to catch her breath and Andy ran her hands over the older woman's arms and shoulders lightly, trying to figure out what had caused her distress when the back of her hand brushed the side of the left breast and she cried out as though she'd been run through with a red hot poker. She realized she could actually feel heat emanating through the fabric of both her bra and blouse, and she unbuttoned the first two fasteners and touched the pads of her fingers against the smooth upper curve of one breast only to find the usually pliant flesh hot and hard.
Andy winced and drew her fingers away gently, letting Miranda lean against her side, having some idea of what had happened. Her lips brushed against the flushed forehead, feeling the heat there as well and she found her phone in her hand instantly, thumb hovering over the entry for Dr. Jansen even though it was late.
The doctor wasn't far away at all, having been Her normal recommendation would have been to take Miranda to emergency, but for two things. One, this was Miranda Priesrly and she knew enough now to know the woman was both predator and prey, deadly but hunted. Two, the last thing Miranda needed, even if the first and foremost thing she needed was medical attention, was to be dragged into the hospital and triage when she was already ill and her immune system evidently compromised by stress and what she now believed to be a lingering low-level infection following the dramatic birth and the haemorrhage that followed.
Besides, truthfully she liked both women after knowing them a few months shy of a year. She wouldn't stand for the snide comments or epithets from her coworkers who were so unfortunate as to be fools of the sort Miranda didn't suffer.
"Try and get her comfortable Andy and prepared for me to do an examination. I can be there in twenty assuming I can get a cab this time of night."
"Just send a car,"
Andy rolled her eyes, albeit fondly. The woman had hearing like a cat and could no doubt hear the older woman on the other line.
"If you can't find one in the next five minutes, Miranda's said we'll call a car for you."
"I think I see one idling down the block close to the restaurant I just came from. I'll head back that way and see you in more than a half hour barring traffic.".
"Tell her thank you," Miranda murmured, not looking up from the layouts she had gone back to, feigning aloofness even as she extended a kindness with the offer of a car and gratitude that was in fact sincere, knowing she had been saved from the awful fate of having to go back to the hospital that already haunted her waking and sleeping hours."
"I heard that. I'll be there soon. And for God's sake, try and get her resting so her blood pressures not through the roof when I have to take it," came the voice from the other line and Andy smiled, shaking her head.
"I assume you heard that too?" Andy asked, ending the call and turning back to the editor.
Miranda shook her head, for once looking every one of her fifty years.
"I cannot fail at one more thing right now, Andrea. I cannot give my attention to anything that is not my children or Runway."
"When are you going to realize you are the most important factor when it comes to the success and health of both those things. Both are going to suffer if you neglect yourself."
It wasn't the feverish glaze in the editor's eyes that Andy was concerned most about in that moment, it was the look of defeat, of emptiness, the fire, that eternal flame of ambition and vibrancy no longer sparked in the blue-grey eyes, but flickered so faintly Andy was almost afraid to breathe for fear it would blow out.
"I don't have anything left to give, Andrea. My mind, my time, God, even my body is stretched to the very limit. There are only so many hours in a day, and it's cruel that in order to function I have lose some of those hours to a minimum of sleep. The babies need me, the girls need me, Runway is on the brink of professional humiliation through no fault of its own or our friends who've taken the reins while I've been indisposed. Lord knows I'm not giving you the time and attention you deserve. Every moment, I'm haunted by the spectre of what is to come from neglecting you. I don't see an answer. I can't…it's not there. Why? Why can't I see the answer? I've always been able to see the answer, to visualize and ? the outcome no matter how hard the path. But when I close my eyes all I see are four sets of blue eyes, trusting me, not knowing that I'm failing them. A pair of brown eyes that can see into my soul and that I fear will see the emptiness and inadequacy and realize the enormity and unfairness of what they've taken on in my name, by taking my name which God knows is likely more curse than gift.
The words came faster and faster from her lips, spilling out so quickly she couldn't catch her breath.
"I forgot to pump, Andrea. Which means I forgot about the babies, forgot I had to feed my children," she all but snarled, hackles raised in self-hatred.=, her speech growing faster and harder to understand as she began to hyperventilate, almost choking on the air she was gasping for.
"Hey…No, Miranda. Shh, breathe, sweetheart, please. Just copy me. There…" She made sure the shuddering breaths had eased and Miranda was no longer hyperventilating to the point Andy was afraid she was going to pass out. The last thing they needed was an extra trip to the hospital.
"You did not forget the babies. Everything you do revolves around them and our girls. You lost track of time. They're not here to loudly remind you it's feeding time. You forgot to take care of yourself, not them, which is arguably, because I know you would argue, just as much of a tragedy."
The almost manic look in her eyes had faded, and she stepped into the circle of the younger woman's arms, feeling them close around her gently so that she still felt secure, but didn't suffer the effects of before when she'd pressed against her torso roughly.
"You are always 20 steps ahead, even when you're wearing the highest heels in the room. Maybe this time we take it one step at a time because that's all we can do. Just like waiting until the babies were born to see what consequences the TTS would have. And it's been a hard road, and not a straight one, but we're so close now.
"I still see a dark tunnel most days," Miranda admitted, head resting against Andy's shoulder, her height allowing her not to meet the warm brown gaze. "I said I live on hope, but it seems there is so little to live on at times."
Andy felt Miranda sway against her, and she knew from where her head rested on her shoulder, Miranda wasn't wearing heels which meant she was unsteady on flat feet.
"It'll be easier to Dr. Jansen to do an exam without navigating whatever couture you're currently in. I can't even see a button or a zipper on this thing. Are you okay for her to see you in your pajamas so you don't have to change twice?"
"I would normally say no, however, Dr. Jansen has seen more of me than my husbands, even you, Andrea, ever have. My pajamas are hardly going to shock her of offend my own sensibilities. After all, she's been there before," she waved a hand errantly at her waist and lower, causing Andy to snort at the dry wit the older woman was still able to affect, feeling as lousy as she must. That was where Andy found her hope these days, in the glimpses of Miranda as 'herself', not poisoned by hormones and doubt that dulled her spirit and typically indomitable personality.
It was enough. That shred of hope was enough. Miranda, in any version of herself, was enough and was what she wanted, what she chose and what she had and would continue to fight for.
Grateful as she was that she wasn't being dragged to the hospital, Miranda still wasn't happy about the hospital, or at least a reminder of it, coming into the sanctum of their home.
She submitted to the exam which was more painful than expected. After disposing of her gloves and washing her hands, Dr. Jansen returned to the room, requesting Miranda provide a blood and urine sample which she did, albeit under great duress and with great irritation that she knew showed on her face based on the behaviour of the other two people in the room.
Dr. Jansen looked at her straight. "I'm going to ask you once, Miranda, and for Andy's sake and your children's sake, yes I'm playing that card," she remained uncowed as Miranda glared at the mention of her children. "For their sake, be honest with me. How have you been feeling."
The silence was telling enough but she needed to hear it from her patient's mouth before she could do anything about it.
Miranda quietly began to list a series of symptoms that floored her partner, wracked with guilt she hadn't seen them.
Once she had finished, after not looking at either of them the entire time, she met the doctor's gaze.
"I truly did believe it to be slow healing from the pregnancy and birth. It's only been in the last week I've started to feel more ill than I thought was normal, but so much has happened in that space of time…"
"You forgot yourself," Dr. Jansen nodded knowingly. "You wouldn't be the first woman and until society gets its act together you won't be the last. Additionally, that's probably why we didn't find it until now. The symptoms blended in with the after-effects of the complications Miranda had during her delivery. It's probably contributing to the bloating and the continued pain with urination Miranda described."
Her abdomen, while obviously softer than it was during the pregnancy is a little too firm for typical postpartum markers and when I press into it there's more tenderness than I'd like to see a month after a natural delivery."
"Why didn't you tell me?" Andréa asked sadly, squeezing Miranda's hand
"There wouldn't have been anything you could have done and you were already doing so much. I…admit to being embarrassed to reveal too much, especially of my body following this ordeal. I just wanted to be fine, for you and the girls and the babies"
"I'll prescribe a round of antibiotics. One week of heavy hitters that will mean Miranda won't be able to breastfeed unfortunately, but after the first week I'll switch to a milder prescription that will allow her to nurse normally when she's using it."
"Is there any alternative treatment that will allow me to breastfeed?"
"Miranda, I'm amazed you were able to feed them the last time you were at the hospital. It must have been agony. I'm sorry. No, really, I am, but I promise you this is the fastest way to get you back to your babies healthy. I think cold compresses tonight, rather than trying to express to get the swelling down. It's going to be too painful at this point, and her system doesn't need the stress. I'll forward both of you some resources on treating the early stages of mastitis. The last thing we need is an impaction at this point or for the infection to progress to where she needs hospitalization.
Miranda nodded even as her spine stiffened, which Dr. Jansen read correctly as a dismissal, flicking her eyes up at Andy to confirm before leaving the room with the young woman following.
"Make sure you keep tabs on her temp, Andy. That's going to be the most obvious indicator and one she won't be able to hide. All being well, she should be able to knock that within the next 48 hours with the right treatment, and the antibiotics should help her system clear any remaining infection in her uterus. It's actually a good thing she's still bleeding because that means there's a way for the infection to leave rather than us having to go in and perform yet another invasive procedure which would not be my preference as the professional currently acting as primary caregiver. But she's strong. You and I both know that. She just needs to remember that and she'll get her fight back. The fever's likely been sapping a lot of her strength, and although she's written it off as something to ignore out of existence, she'll feel so much better once it's down."
"Is there anything I should know regarding the meds you're giving her?"
Dr. Jansen grimaced slightly. "For the strength of antibiotics we need, it's a damn big pill, and I wouldn't try taking it on an empty stomach, but other than pumping and dumping for the next week or so and ensuring she's getting enough rest, it's just going to take time for her system to work it out."
"Thank you again for coming. We've ruined your night."
"My night was pretty much over when you called anyway. Besides, and I'm being serious Andy, if she's left this too much longer, we could have been looking at full blown sepsis and hospitalization. As it is, we should be able to knock the infection while she gets her strength back and immune system online. Have a good night, Andy. Get some sleep yourself."
Andy smiled and closed the front door after the doctor, turning the pill bottle over in her hand that Dr. Jansen had supplied, reading the instructions..
"I just want you to know I don't see this as a setback and you shouldn't either. It's progress, it's a step forward and a step closer to things getting better, including you...then once you're back on your feet, or should I say Louboutins? Choos? Blahniks? Then you can get me back in true Miranda Priestly fashion for just referring to you as one of those 'things' that's getting better.
"You do seem to like to keep me on my toes," Andy was relieved Miranda was herself enough to return the banter and she pressed her lips to the flushed forehead, tucking her into bed for what she hoped was a long, restorative nap. "And now it's time for me to make sure I keep you on your back."
Andy groaned internally, knowing she was turning pink from embarrassment and she opened one eye to see Miranda chuckle then wince. "All in good time, my darling. Will you come to bed soon?"
"Twenty minutes tops, but try and get to sleep knowing you'll be in my arms when you wake."
The girls arrived home from their aborted sleepover as Andy was filling the kettle for the hot water bottle she was preparing for Miranda alongside the cold compresses for her chest.
Thankfully, when they had texted Andy earlier, they mentioned they would be able to catch a ride with a friend who was also part of the mass exodus from the sleepover after the birthday girl had taken ill.
"Why was Dr. Jansen here?" demanded Caroline, sounding very much like she was trying to mimic her mother's intimidation skills as a coping tactic to feel more in control, and knowing this, Andy didn't take offense.
"The doctor was here earlier and found that your mom has a bit of an infection, so she's banished to an early night. Well, early for what she normally goes by I suppose." Andy realized it was 10:30 already.
"And since the sleepover was cancelled, I'm calling lights out for everyone in the Priestly household, myself included. Did you want me to come tuck you in once I get your mom settled?"
"We're just gonna go straight to sleep. You go take care of mom since I know she's going to insist on going into the office tomorrow."
"It's a necessary evil, I'm afraid," Andy admitted, knowing Miranda had little choice given the deadlines they were facing for both magazines being produced.
Caroline and Cassidy disappeared up the darkened stairwell and Andy stared at the numbers on the microwaveMiranda had spoken of a dark tunnel and no glimpse of light at the end, for Andy, it felt similar, like a race turned marathon with a finish line that kept moving further and further ahead, keeping her from the prize she kept her eye on, her family healthy and whole. She wasn't about to stop fighting though, not for something so important. That wasn't the example she wanted to set for the girls and for Miranda. The beeping of the microwave broke her out of her reverie and she gathered up the tray to bring upstairs, hoping at least one of the contents would bring Miranda enough comfort she would be able to sleep.
Tomorrow was a new day, she told herself. There would be new challenges, no doubt, but also new opportunities. If Miranda was finding hope hard to come by, then she would be that for her. She would be whatever they needed, because they were all she needed in order to continue to live on hope. Hope she wouldn't let die or dim for anything.
Tomorrow, they would enter the Elias Clarke building together as a united front, Andy at the older woman's side rather than two steps behind which is how she planned to spend the rest of their (long) she supplied mentally as she ascended the staircase. 'Very long' her mind repeated stubbornly.