This was written with the help of Claude AI. It has been in my drafts for over a year and I wanted to use AI to help fill in some gaps. As always, I don't own anything except for my undying love of Mirandy, a fear that I use too many commas, and the plot and such that I entered into Claude.

Enjoy!

The Runway office hummed with nervous energy as Miranda Priestly's critical eye swept over the array of fabric swatches, photos, and mock-ups scattered across the gleaming conference table. Andy Sachs, second assistant to the formidable editor-in-chief, felt sweat beading at her temples as she meticulously pinned another swatch to the oversized mood board.

"Andrea," Miranda's cool voice cut through the tense silence, "that aubergine doesn't work there. Move it next to the pewter."

Andy's fingers trembled slightly as she complied, hyper-aware of Miranda's piercing gaze following her every move. The creative team held their collective breath, no one daring to make eye contact lest they draw Miranda's ire.

Nigel Kipling, Runway's art director, cleared his throat softly. "Miranda, if I may, the Dior spread for—"

"No," Miranda interrupted, holding up one perfectly manicured hand. "We'll address that disaster later. Andrea, where are the mock-ups for the September cover?"

"Right here, Miranda," Andy replied, her voice steady despite her racing heart. She turned to retrieve the portfolio from a nearby table, her mind already three steps ahead, anticipating Miranda's next request.

As her fingers closed around the leather-bound folder, a muffled buzz emanated from her pocket. Andy froze, her blood running cold. In her haste to prepare for the run-through, she'd forgotten to silence her phone—a cardinal sin in Miranda's presence.

The buzzing continued, growing louder in the suddenly deathly quiet room. Miranda's eyes narrowed dangerously, her lips pursing into a thin line of displeasure.

"Really, Andrea?" Miranda's voice dripped with disdain. "I thought we'd moved past such amateurish disruptions. Or perhaps you find this run-through too tedious for your undivided attention?"

"I'm so sorry, Miranda," Andy stammered, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. She fumbled in her pocket, desperate to silence the offending device. "It's just that—"

"Oh, for heaven's sake," Miranda snapped, waving a dismissive hand. "Answer it if it's so pressing. Clearly, it must be a matter of life and death to warrant interrupting our work."

The sarcasm in Miranda's tone was palpable. Andy swallowed hard, knowing she was moments away from being fired. With trembling fingers, she pulled out her phone, noting the unfamiliar number with a military area code.

"This is Gunnery Sergeant Sachs," she answered, her voice shifting to a more formal tone that caught Miranda's attention.

As Andy listened to the voice on the other end, the color drained from her face. Her posture straightened unconsciously, shoulders squaring as if preparing for a physical blow.

"Yes, sir. Understood. I'll report to base immediately," Andy responded, her voice steady but her eyes betraying a whirlwind of emotions—fear, determination, and a flicker of pride.

She ended the call and turned to face Miranda, instinctively standing at attention. The rest of the team watched in confused silence, sensing that something momentous had just occurred.

"Miranda," Andy began, her voice clear and resolute, "I apologize for the interruption, but I've just received orders. I'm being deployed to Afghanistan, effective immediately."

A collective gasp rippled through the room. Miranda blinked, her icy demeanor faltering in the face of this unexpected revelation. "Deployed? Afghanistan?" she repeated, genuine confusion replacing her earlier irritation. "Andrea, what on earth are you talking about?"

Andy took a deep breath, her chin lifting slightly. "I'm a reservist in the United States Marine Corps, Miranda. My unit has been activated for a mission. I have to report to base within the hour."

Miranda's legendary composure slipped, revealing a flicker of astonishment. "I... I had no idea, Andrea. This is most unexpected." She paused, studying her assistant with new eyes. "How long have you been in the Marines?"

"Since I was eighteen, Miranda," Andy replied. "I've been in the reserves throughout college and since starting at Runway."

Miranda nodded slowly, processing this information. "And this deployment, it's dangerous, I presume?"

Andy hesitated before answering. "All deployments carry risks, but yes, we'll be operating in some volatile areas."

The room fell silent as the gravity of the situation sank in. Emily, the first assistant, looked shell-shocked, while Nigel's face showed a mix of concern and admiration.

"There's more," Andy continued, her voice wavering slightly for the first time. "My mother, Vannah St. Claire, a Corporal, she's also being deployed. We'll be serving together in the same unit."

Miranda's eyebrows rose at this additional revelation. For a moment, she was at a loss for words—a rarity that didn't go unnoticed by the stunned onlookers. Then, to everyone's surprise, she stepped forward and placed a hand on Andy's shoulder.

"Andrea, I... I owe you an apology," Miranda said softly, her usual sharp tone replaced by something gentler. "Your dedication, both here and to your country, is commendable. I've clearly underestimated you."

Andy blinked rapidly, fighting back tears. "Thank you, Miranda. I'm sorry to leave you short-handed, especially with Paris Fashion Week coming up."

"Nonsense," Miranda replied, her usual crispness returning, though tempered with newfound respect. "We'll manage. You have far more important matters to attend to." She paused, then added softly, "Be safe, Andrea. Both you and your mother."

As Andy gathered her things, the reality of her situation began to sink in. She was trading the glossy world of high fashion for the harsh realities of a war zone. Designer heels would be replaced by combat boots, and the sound of camera shutters would give way to the report of gunfire.

Miranda turned to the rest of the team, her voice sharp once more. "Well? What are you all staring at? We have a magazine to publish. Emily, you'll need to start interviewing for a temporary replacement immediately."

As the room burst into action, Miranda pulled Andy aside. "Andrea, when you return—and you will return—there will be a place for you here. Now go, serve your country, and come back to us in one piece."

With a final nod of gratitude to Miranda and a tremulous smile for her colleagues, Andy squared her shoulders and marched out of the Runway offices. The elevator doors closed behind her, marking the boundary between two worlds—the glittering realm of fashion she was leaving behind, and the dangerous, dusty reality of Afghanistan that lay ahead.

As she stepped out onto the busy New York street, Andy took a deep breath, steeling herself for what was to come. With her mother by her side and the unexpected support of Miranda Priestly bolstering her resolve, she felt ready to face whatever challenges awaited her in the deserts of Afghanistan.

I did some research on the basics of this fic. In the future, I might go back and edit things. Leave a review if you'd like to.