Chapter Text
It’s been four months since Paris Fashion Week. Since then, the Runway magazines have been swiftly published and sent away, like most of Miranda Priestly’s second assistants. The Runway floor was a whirlwind of organized chaos, a rhythm most workers use in this high-stakes, fast-paced industry. Nigel let himself quietly across the crowded office of Miranda Priestly, where editors and assistants scrambled for directions.
Miranda’s glasses hung delicately on the edge of her nose. Her hands simultaneously shifted through countless mockups on her desk, each receiving her undivided attention. The people around her conversed in hushed whispers; some were beginning to exit the room. Nigel did not need to announce his presence; Miranda felt it when he crossed the office’s door frame. Miranda looked up and found Nigel mouthing something she couldn't quite get. With a clearing of her throat and a soft flick of the wrist, Miranda successfully got rid of the herd around her, all rapidly leaving her office.
“Nigel,” Miranda said, her tone lacking the usual coldness.
“I did some digging and found that scrapped December shoot you were looking for,” Nigel announced, his tone confident. He placed two thin binders on her desk. " They are rough, but with the right editing, they are not too bad. We could add it to the Valenciaga on page eight.”
Miranda hummed, already absorbing the content of the files. She quickly scanned and separated the pictures from usable to not. The shoot was trying to play smart and only shoot backstage. Some images were of the models putting the finishing touches on their makeup, and others were of the photo crew adjusting their dresses. This shoot could have successfully belonged to the January issue months ago with a different photographer, but some photos felt flat and untasteful. She had a hold on one of the final pictures when her hand hesitated to grab the next one.
Behind a couple of photoshoot lights in the far left corner, she was there. The woman wore a crisp white Dolce & Gabbana blouse with contrasting black satin bell pants. Her hair was left loose, gingerly laying on her shoulders. She was frantically writing something down on her pocket journal while her shoulder held a phone to her ear. But Miranda noticed the woman had that ambiance of control and assertiveness she wore during the last few months as the editor’s second assistant.
Nigel had taken a seat in front of Miranda’s desk. He was taking some notes on his agenda when he noticed the abrupt ending of paper being thrown around. Miranda pursed her lips, still focused on the left corner of the picture. Nigel leaned forward and used Miranda’s eyes as a map to the subject of her attention.
“Ah, Andy,” Nigel leaned back into his chair, “Gosh, it feels like a century since I last saw her wear Dolce.”
That took Miranda out of her trance, throwing the picture into the unwanted pile with too much force.
“Hm, yes,” She mindlessly mumbled.
“I tried to take her out shopping last weekend,” Nigel continued while collecting back all the pictures, “that girl has nothing to wear, I swear.”
Miranda took off her glasses and seemed to fidget with them before putting them on her desk. Nigel continued his rambling, not taking into consideration Miranda’s puzzled expression. Of course, Nigel stayed in contact with Andy; both had grown close over the several months Andy worked at Runway. But Miranda had no idea they were ‘hang out some weekends’ type friends.
“Anything else, Miranda?” Nigel said, snapping her out of her thoughts once more.
Miranda just shook her head and waved Nigel off with an unreadable expression.
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“Here’s the much-awaited draft, Stuart,” Andy cheerfully said while walking into her superintendent’s desk. Though it was the end of July, Andy’s workplace at the Mirror was constantly freezing; her fingers would numb, and her face would glow pink. She wore a beige H&M wool sweater that hung from below her shoulders. As for pants, her trusted jeans were enough. Andy's hair was in a messy bun, hair strands falling and framing her face. The habits she developed from working at Runway were not lost; they just shifted to match her better. Andy would do her skincare every morning and put on very natural makeup, she would even match accessories with the outfits of the day.
“Thank you, Andy my dear,” Stuart grabbed the hefty stack of papers from Andy’s hands. His desk had seen better days; looking at it gave Andy a headache. She was about to return to her desk when she noticed something familiar out of the corner of her eye. The color is silver. Not just any silver, but the silver hair of Runway’s editor-in-chief.
“What's that for?” Andy’s voice was barely a whisper, and her brow furrowed as she examined the picture. There was nothing extraordinary about it; it seemed like a rushed shot of Miranda exciting her car.
“What? That?” Stuart picked up the picture, “Oh, yeah. Some rookie paparazzi have the bad habit of sending pictures to publications, hoping for quick cash. They don't know how worthless stuff like this is.”
Stuart grabbed a few other photographs and threw them in his trash can. Andy’s smile had faded into something close to melancholy. Even though it's been months since her less-than-spectacular exit from Runway, she would wake up afraid to have missed one of Miranda’s calls. Her friends said that that is borderline PTSD, but Andy saw it more like muscle memory. Seeing things that reminded her of Miranda was rare but potent.
“Hello? Earth to Andy,” Stuart asked, trying to find Andy’s foggy eyes.
“Huh? Ah, sorry, Stuart. I was just thinking.” Andy shook her daydreaming off and went back to her desk. It was the end of the day anyway, so she did some busy work for half an hour.
Once the clock hit five, Andy had her messenger bag hanging on her shoulder and was dashing out the door. She wondered when that would feel normal again, not working until the moon was out.
She scrambled to find her headphones and MP3 player while sitting on her usual metro. Once found, the music lulled her to daydream once again. These four months have indeed been remarkable. Her eye bags are gone, and she now writes things that aren't just emails. She smiled mindlessly, a genuine smile. Andy knew it wasn't just leaving Runway but starting fresh. She had a new (smaller) apartment, was single, and had a newfound sense of fashion. She was finally getting the reins of her own life during her mid-twenties.
Today was Friday which meant some quick drinks with her friends Lily and Doug, though today was a special night. Well, for her friends anyway, Nate was in town and wanted to get the group together, his treat. Andy was hesitant at first, their conversation after Paris felt final enough for her. As her eyes felt heavy with the afternoon’s fatigue, Andy heard her stop called out by the train’s intercom.
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“Andy over here!” Lily called out.
She, Doug, and Nate were already sitting at the group’s usual table. They were lucky; Fridays at this place were brutal. Andy had no time to change outfits or freshen up, not like she needed to. She made her way to her friends and sat in the opposite seat from Nate.
“Hi, you guys,” she exclaimed with newfound enthusiasm.
“Wow, Andy, you're actually on time,” Nate commented, taking a sip from his beer mug. Andy responded to that with an awkward laugh.
“So, how's the new job treating you?” He continued.
“Ah, good, you know. I write plenty, nice pay. It's all good,” Andy responded while fidgeting with a napkin in front of her.
“She's being modest; every week, she goes on and on about how she'll climb the ladder sooner rather than later,” Doug said, his voice filled with admiration for Andy's ambition.
Andy shifted uncomfortably in her seat, feeling the palpable tension between her and Nate. His eyes held a spark that reignited memories of their past, a spark she tried her hardest not to acknowledge.
The conversation flowed as well as a reunion with an ex would go. Lily and Doug carried the topics, and Andy dropped a thought here and there. Nate stayed quiet for the most part, his eyes never leaving Andy. The hours couldn't have gone slower, and they closed their tab at ten, the awkwardness lingering in the air.
As they all said their goodbyes and parted ways, Nate walked the same path as Andy’s.
“So,” he said, “Andrea Sachs has turned her life around once again.”
Andy nodded shyly, her gaze focused on the ground.
“You know,” he continued, “I'm staying in New York for another week. Maybe we could hang out this weekend?”
“Sorry, Nate. I have plans.” Andy finally looked at him. Her eyes were kind, and her lips were in a soft smile.
“Of course,” Nate said, taking a deep breath. “A gorgeous girl like you doesn't go by unnoticed.”
Andy chuckled and playfully bumped her shoulder against him.
“Is he handsome?” Nate’s tone, though distant, had a drop of jealousy.
“He is just a friend, a friend not very interested in ANY gorgeous girls like me,” Andy remarked.
“Oh, is it um- what was his name again?” Nate uttered.
“Nigel, he worked at Runway with me,” Andy helped Nate piece it together, "Well, he still works there, I suppose."
Nate nodded, “Do you still keep in contact with… her?”
Andy stopped walking immediately. Her mouth suddenly felt really dry, and the tipsiness of the drinks she had consumed vanished.
“I gotta go, Nate,” Andy said dryly. “I don't want to be out here too late; it isn't safe.”
“I'll accompany you then,” Nate swiftly mentioned, his hand raised towards the street in search of a late-night cab.
Andy anxiously looked around her.
“No,” She said, “I don't think it’s a good idea.”
Nate lowered his hand as a taxi approached them.
“Why? I'm just being cordial. I'm not expecting anything, Andy-”
“I know, I know,” she rapidly said, “but Nate, I don't want you to, okay?”
Nate frowned, and his expressions showed disappointment. He opened the cab’s door and let her enter.
“Alright then,” Nate breathed out, his body leaning against the cab’s door frame. "But I still have the same phone number. Call me if you have time, alright?”
Andy kindly smiled and politely nodded.
“Maybe I can make you one of my famous grilled cheeses again.”
“Goodnight, Nate,” Andy said with fake annoyance.
Nate chuckled and closed the cab door.
As Andy drove off, she realized those gentle butterflies in her stomach she would get from being next to Nate were nowhere to be found. It even made her realize that they never even flapped strong enough.
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“Hop in, Six.” Nigel was outside her apartment at exactly ten in the morning. His car was a small but classy red Honda S2000. Andy once asked him why he willingly drove in New York City, and all he mentioned was, ‘It’s one of the small things I have control over.’
“So where are we heading this fine Saturday morning, Nigel?” Andy entered the passenger seat and buckled in. She wore a soft pink dress with a vintage brown belt. She left her hair down, and her bangs brushed to the side of her face.
“Well, a nice brunch to start the day, but that'll have to wait,” Nigel responded as he joined the traffic.
“What do you mean?” Andy asked.
“Well,” Nigel merged into an empty laine, “Miranda’s second assistant forgot to tell me yesterday about three mockups Miranda wanted. They were in my possession for the afternoon.”
“Okay?” Andy didn't like where this was going.
“And anyway, she just called me wanting me to deliver them to her this morning,” Nigel’s tone was almost apologetic.
“Oh, Nigel-”
“I know, I know,” Nigel exclaimed, “it'll be a quick and swift drop off, and we won't miss happy hour at our diner.”
“Alright, but today is your treat, then.”
Nigel chuckled quietly and mumbled something under his breath that Andy couldn't catch. The drive was quiet; New York was as complete and alive as usual. The temperature was delightful, and the sun touched Andy’s skin delicately. It wasn't enough to distract herself from the fact she started identifying the upper side’s streets. She knew the exact minutes to arrive at Miranda’s townhouse, and time was going too quickly. Nigel kept trying to pick up a conversation, only to be met with no response from Andy. And then she saw those white stairs.
“Well, we've arrived,” Nigel said in a cheerful tone, “Come on, Andy, let's make this quick.”
“Wait, what?” Andy exclaimed, “I thought I would stay in the car?”
“And why in the world would you do that?” Nigel placed a hand on his hip.
“Well-” Andy searched for the right words, “I don't know- she won't like that, I don't like that.”
Nigel rolled his eyes. “Six, she's a professional. Just come with me and stay quiet. Good God, I don't want to test the waters with her today.”
Andy was left without much to say. She slowly unbuckled her seatbelt and exited the car, slamming the door a little too hard.
“Andy…” Nigel said in a warning tone.
Andy's fear was mounting as they ascended each step, her heart threatening to burst out of her chest. Why was she so scared? It's not as if Miranda would kill her on the spot. Right?
Nigel brought out some keys out of his pocket. There were at least a dozen, but Andy saw them as he picked the right one on his first try. The townhouse looked exactly as Andy remembered it, down to the last detail and flower pot. They made their way down the foyer and up the stairs. Andy’s hand trembled a little as it touched the railing. The last time she did this, she had to experience one of the most stressful days of her life. She could hear a dog’s bark a few floors higher up. Patricia, that unit of a dog. Nigel stepped into the second floor with the mock-ups in hand and swiftly made his way to what appeared to be Miranda’s office.
And there she was. In a baggy, black Prada long sleeves blouse. Her trusted glasses perched on her nose, looking over the papers on her desk, a red pen in hand. Andy swallowed hard, and the drink from the previous night made her stomach feel funny.
“Miranda,” Nigel finally said, walking close to her desk. Andy decided to stay by the door.
“Nigel,” Miranda answered, her eyes never leaving the paper she held.
Nigel laid the mockups on the table's corner, his hands behind his back.
“Did you decide to wear heels today, or were the stair sounds tricking me?” Miranda asked as she finally looked up. Suddenly, she was lost for words, and her cheeks warm in annoyance.
“Hi Miranda,” Andy confidently answered once she found Miranda’s eyes looking at her.
“Andrea,” Miranda replied. She looked up to Nigel in search of an answer.
“Oh, my apologies. Andy and I were just on our way to grab a bite,” Nigel looked back and forth between the women. "I just thought—well. She's been here so many times that I believed it was fine for her to accompany me.”
“How… chivalrous of you,” Miranda sarcastically commented.
Nigel gave a single nod and turned around to exit the room. He noticed Andy’s eyes seemed to be still processing the past five minutes.
“Miranda,” he cheerfully said, turning back around, “would you like to join us? It's been a millennia since we've had a meal together.”
The room seemed to drop in temperature, not just for Andy but for the dragon lady.
“Um, Nigel, what are y-” Andy leaned in and whispered in his ear.
“I'll have to decline, Nigel,” Miranda’s gaze was focused back down on the papers, “too much to do.”
“Ah, there is always Sunday,” Nigel continued, “come on, Miranda, two hours max. I'll drive.”
Miranda’s growing irritation was hidden well enough, but it was easy to catch to workers who had lived under her shadow for so long.
“It’s alright, Miranda,” Andy shyly said, “you don't have to come.”
The dragon lady’s expression changed briefly; neither Nigel nor Andy could pinpoint it. Miranda suddenly felt a hunger, a craving for something. She wasn't sure what, but it was consuming her. Andy’s big brown eyes never wavered away from hers. Miranda would describe her old assistant’s eyes as close to a doe as a person could get.
“Hm,” Miranda hummed, “ one hour and a half, then I need to get back to work.”
Andy was dumbfounded, expecting this to be a colossal joke played by these two. Nigel's smile was sly and with a touch of smugness.
“Your treat, Nigel.” Miranda quipped as she exited the office.
“Of course, Miranda.”