Chapter Text
Andy fumbled her way down the hallway toward Miranda's office, head deep in paperwork. She drew up alongside Nigel and Miranda in quiet conversation outside the editor's door, ready to hand Miranda her latest notes on this month’s Letter from the Editor. As she pulled it out of the stack of papers in her arms, her head turned instinctively toward Miranda's desk.
"Really???" she said loudly, eyebrows up to her hair line. "Really, Miranda? You said you would eat that yogurt two. hours. ago. Two hours!" She continued muttering under her breath as she stalked into the office, threw her papers into one hand, grabbed the yogurt and spoon with the other, then walked back and thrust them at Miranda. "What are you, a toddler? Do I have to spoon feed you?"
Miranda, her signature single eyebrow raised just as high as Andy's two, took the cup and spoon gracefully, as if to say she had no idea why in the world anyone would be raising such a fuss over a simple cup of yogurt.
"You know she's right," said Nigel. "The doc said you need to watch your blood sugar."
As Andy stalked off shaking her head, Miranda, leaning against the doorway, pulled the spoon from her mouth to remind her, "I can still have you fired in five seconds flat, you know."
Not bothering to turn around, Andy threw her hands up toward the ceiling. "Oh, please! If only God would be so good!"
Nigel smirked. Miranda simply pursed her lips for a moment then looked down and continued working on her healthy snack.
Miranda seemed to have somehow mellowed over the course of the two years that Andy had spent at Elias Clarke. She was calmer, that much was certain. And the deep wrinkles of worry in her forehead had softened.
No one questioned Andy and Miranda's relationship anymore. They were unusually close, and at first there were some whispered questions, but once it became evident that a Miranda with Andy by her side was a much calmer, gentler Miranda, the office collectively nodded their heads and gladly accepted the new normal. Where Miranda went, Andy went, and late nights at the office gradually became late nights at Miranda's townhouse, where Andy would head ostensibly to help with some revisions to the Book and would likely as not be cajoled into revising essays with the twins instead.
The editor and her Girl Friday seemed to have accepted the new normal without question as firmly as the rest of the staff, and possibly for the same reason - to question how it happened, why it happened, or what it all meant could be to upset the apple cart. And who needed bruised apples all over the floor? No, a state of firm denial was often the healthiest choice when facing a pile of delicately balanced truths carefully positioned to hide the most uncomfortable facts.
But there were times when Andy's confidence in her place in Miranda's world could become shaken. Andy didn't like this uncomfortable feeling, but nor did Miranda like having an uncomfortable Andy. Generally, situations righted themselves even if it meant one party had to bend a bit more than they were accustomed to.
Andy was updating her contacts list late one Friday evening when Miranda stepped out of her office. She had changed in her private bathroom, and it was evident to Andy that she was headed out on the town. "Hot date, huh?"
Miranda shrugged, "Just Daniel. Dinner." The casual reply was almost too casual. Miranda wasn't surprised when she noticed Andy's shoulders tighten up at the mention of Daniel's name.
Andy knew the twins were on Long Island with their father. Often on a night like this, Andy and Miranda would find some excuse to move their work to the townhouse, and then move from work to a black and white movie in the family room. (This despite Andy's complaints that she wanted to watch Twins, or better yet, Men in Black II, and when would she get to pick the movie anyway, it was 2016 and the workers’ rights movement had made progress in some areas of the country; Miranda would simply shrug, hiding a small smirk as she passed the popcorn to Andy.)
But tonight Miranda was obviously otherwise occupied. And it did not fail to occur to Andy that, with the twins out of town, there was nothing to stop Daniel (she sneered inside whenever she silently said the name) from busting out his best moves and spending the night at the town house. This bothered her, but Andy didn't stop to ask herself why. She was too busy trying to ignore the pit in the center of her stomach and the headache that was building. He annoyed her, that was all.
Miranda reached for some files on Andy's desk and began to flip through them, looking for a set of photos of a Hermès scarf taken on one of Jeff's better days behind the camera. A sideways glance towards her junior editor told her that she was still less than happy with her. Miranda asked Andy a few questions about some appointments scheduled for the following week, and reluctantly noted Andy's short, stilted responses. She sighed, and decided that fixing whatever was wrong would have to wait until Monday when she had more time and energy.
Miranda scooped up her photos, shrugged into her coat and said goodnight. Andy didn't look up as she replied with the same.
Moments like this unsettled Miranda. As she waited impatiently for the elevator, she resisted the strong urge to turn around, head back to the office, and insist that Andy tell her exactly what was wrong, right this minute. If she was truthful with herself (she wasn't), she would admit why it was that Andy was obviously not happy with the fact that she was dating Daniel. She could readily admit that Andy certainly wasn't a fan of her new beau - but not the real reason for it. Miranda told herself it was because Daniel was a Republican (Andy actually called him the The Rethuglican right to her face, and more than once). But Andy had had no real objection to him when they first started dating. No, it was only when the dates became more frequent (and began occurring on the weekends, which was usually family time that included Andy), that she noted Andy's increasing displeasure.
As she rode the subway home that night, Andy drove all thought of Daniel out of her head. She ignored Lily's texts to join them at the bar, and opened Netflix and a bottle of wine instead. She was halfway through some Hugh Grant claptrap, as Miranda called any rom com that Andy suggested they watch, when her phone started to ring.
Miranda's ringtone on Andy's phone was set to Emperor Palpatine's score, as played on a Casio keyboard. Miranda rolled her eyes whenever Andy left her phone on the desk and she heard the signature ring that had been chosen for her as she tried to reach her assistant from her abutting office. If Andy happened to walk back into her office at just that moment, she would beam triumphantly as she saw Miranda snap her phone shut, eyes shooting heavenward at the offending tune. The twins adored the ringtone, and would often grab their mother's phone when Andy was over and call Andy just to hear it. They would giggle, and Miranda would bark at them to cut that out and mutter something about underlings who didn't know their place and were inappropriate and rude instead of respectful and grateful for a good job. But still, she would throw a sly sideways glance toward Andy, who would inevitably be giggling along with the twins, oblivious to Miranda's attention but obviously utterly delighted as always about the shared joke. Miranda would never admit how much the moment pleased her. Nor would Andy admit why the ringtone pleased her so much. No one else would ever tease Miranda so openly. But she could, and she could do it with impunity. It was a small yet significant piece of proof to the quality of their relationship, a marker to the world that they were more than simply employer and loyal employee. That she had a place special enough in Miranda's life that she could, heaven forbid, lovingly mock her. That was something even her string of husbands had failed to do successfully, and yet Andy and Miranda didn't question the uniqueness of their friendship and the qualities that made it so different from any of Miranda's other relationships, past or present.
Andy answered her phone, frowning. It was Miranda, of course. And she was drunk.