Chapter Text
Andy had never been one to get sick, certainly not on a work day. She couldn't be away from her work for even a second, or rather it was Miranda that she couldn't help being apart from, for some odd reason the woman gave her a pleasant feeling of purpose. Andy felt wanted at work.
So why now?
A sense of normalcy had finally settled over her, shy for the awkward silences with her less than friendly (yet from what she found still kind) co-workers, so why now of all times did she have to come down with this fever.
She tried to move her limbs; they felt as if they were being weighed down by several sandbags. Every movement felt heavy, every blink feeling more like a chore.
The fever that had cowered behind her eyes for the past hour, now pulsated like a dull bat against her head.
She was helpless to this illness, it made the room feel as if it was tilting, swaying, lurching, if she even much as attempted to sit up.
She despised this feeling.
It wasn't just the psychical weakness, no, but the helplessness that ensued. Her mind twisted at this more than it pained from her fever.
She was supposed to be the one to keep things moving, staying late at work, keeping on top of her jobs, anticipating the needs of her co-workers even before they voice them… especially Miranda's.
The thought of Miranda now made her stomach lurch more than the fever
This feeling was hard to decipher. Was it guilt? Worry? Or something else entirely. Either way she had no time for this—she could unbox that later.
Her mind spiralled. She could picture the look on Miranda's face. The scowl at Andy's unoccupied desk, the lack of black coffee on her desk just as she liked, her schedule totally disrupted— uprooted by her unannounced absence.
Shit this isn't good
This though was accompanied with a long, pathetic groan of pain, while her hand pressed to her burning forehead, drenched in sweat.
She knew she shouldn't care this much, especially not now, she knew that. But she couldn't help but care. Something in her would rather die than let Miranda direct that disappointed gaze at her, like she was unworthy or worse, useless.
She needed to make Miranda's eyes shimmer with approval, their green hue shine at her with maybe even gratitude, though that may be a step too far, she didn't care... She craved to be needed.
Despite the resistance from her aching arm, she reached for her phone with much effort.
It wasn't anything fancy, a T-Mobile sidekick, but she loved that phone, it was familiar, though the usually simple task of ejecting the keyboard seemed equivalent to building a rocket ship in her feverish state.
Her slim, fumbling fingers eventually managed to slip the keyboard out.
Finally, she managed to maneuver the keyboard, her fingers drifting towards the contact named "Miranda Priestly". Her eyes were blurry, trying to make out the small letters printed on the keys as she made a pathetic attempt at messaging Miranda to explain her absence:
"Not feeling good luck, Andy here"
The text was completely and utterly nonsensical to any sane-minded individual and much less sense to the no-nonsense Miranda.
Andy labour to open her eyes after they apparently closed without her say so. Her phone was on the floor despite her lacking the memory of dropping it.
The white boxes on the display glowed in the darkness of her room, her curtains still pulled shut due to the fever striking her before she could even attend to her morning routine. Despite the glow stinging her eyes, Andy laboured on.
Tap. Tap. Tap. She typed on the keyboard.
One moment she was staring at a blurry mess of white boxes and text, the next she was sinking down into her couch. Her breath warm, sporadic and inconsistent, as if she'd just run a marathon severely under prepared. Texting was not normally this tiring.
In a moment of weakness, the fever yanked her heavy eyelids down into a sweaty, uncomfortable slumber.
She drifted in and out of her shallow sleep. Interrupted by dreams of Miranda causing her to stir and wake every time, like she was hoping that maybe if she opened her eyes this time she'd be there to embrace her.
Those dreams began to blur with reality and time felt as if it were endlessly dragging by.
Only the clock, on Andy's wall marked the passage of time, in an irregular ticking.
Tick, tick, tick. Until it went silent, probably when Andy faded from consciousness.
At some point after minutes, seconds, maybe even hours, it was hard to tell anymore. A sharp slam of a door echoed throughout her small apartment, pulling her from her slumber.
Another groan escaped Andy's mouth, the slam rattled her skull making her head throb and ache unpleasantly.
Her eyelids strained to stay open.
She tried to call out, her voice was as dry and scratchy as sandpaper, so she barely managed a hoarse whisper.
"Who is it?"
She attempted, the words indecipherable.
"Andrea."
The voice beckoned from the front room.
This voice was familiar and nice to the ear, and a second later Andy knew why. It wasn't any voice, no, Andy knew that voice.
The cold edge in the words, judgment laced into every syllable… Miranda was here… In her shitty little apartment.
God please let this be a dream she can't see me like this, Andy thought desperately.
In a panic to impress, she jumped up and stumbled like a newborn fawn toward the entry way. Her heavy legs and pounding head swelled and throbbed. She couldn't make it there like this.
Clinging to the sideboard, she feverishly sought stability, though just as quickly failed.
She crumpled to the ground at Miranda's feet with a sick and feverish groan.
How embarrassing. She thought.
"Andrea…?"
This time Miranda's voice lacked it's cold edge and it's poisonous judgement, it was…. concerned? No, this had to be another of Andy's dreams, this wasn't Miranda, she would never have this almost frightened look for her… for her well-being. This vulnerability Miranda was showing had never been publicised… ever.
Andy tried to raise her head, to apologise, to ask for help, anything.. But her head felt too heavy to raise, the room spun more aggressively than before.
Her cheek was settled on the cool tile just next to Miranda's Prada heels.
Miranda dropped down to a squat now, her hands hovered awkwardly near Andy's unmoving, stiff body before resting down on her forehead, most likely in pursuit of her temperature, yet feeling so much more intimate.
Andy's heart was pounding, she was in shock at the care Miranda was displaying towards her.
"You're burning up." Miranda muttered beneath her breath, clearly more to herself than in regard to Andy.
She tried to respond, but, yet again, her words were slurred nonsense. All she could manage was staring up at Miranda's softened face with confusion and a tight feeling in her chest. This had to be a dream.
She swallowed sharply and croaked…
"I'm all good…" She wanted to look capable for Miranda, in spite of her pathetic position, the urge to impress clinging to Andy even in her disadvantaged state.
Miranda let out a sharp scoff, her usual cold front slipping for a moment, she flicked Andy's forehead. She hated liars.
"You are clearly not all good…"
Andy met this with another petulant groan at being told off. She pouted up at her.
"Don't… wanna disappoint you.."
Miranda froze.
The air shifted, subtly but unmistakably. Miranda's face softened once more, the frustrated tilt of her eye brows easing into a natural rest; her eyes losing their sharpness as she studied Andy's flushed face.
Miranda shook her head, like she was trying to expel her emotions once more.
Though this time this time she just couldn't.
Reluctantly, she slid her arms under Andy's and raised her to her feet keeping her steady.
"Lean on me." Miranda's voice was uncharacteristically soft, eyes refusing to meet Andy's wide and puppy-like stare.
She couldn't admit she cared for this girl.
Andy stumbled around alongside Miranda, her legs unsteady and exhausted as she was guided to the bedroom.
The room was a far cry from the luxury Miranda was used to.
The walls were painted a deep shade of blue, but chalk and paint stained the walls. Papers and various journalism notes littered the floor and reports on fashion scattered on her vanity, among them, some featuring Miranda herself.
It was a hassle to step over them, nevertheless Miranda did, without complaints.
Clothes, dirty and clean were stacked in various corners of the room amongst dirty pots and glasses of murky paint water. Utterly chaotic.
She hadn't had time to clean since she got this job. That made Miranda feel… guilty.
Andy hit the bed with a relieved sigh, her aching head felt as if it were resting on a cloud, regardless of her sore limbs that still protested even in the new found comfort of the bed.
Miranda stared at her for a moment before she reached out and adjusted Andy onto her back.
"Stay here." Miranda commanded, reaching out to brush some sweat from Andy's pasty forehead with a handkerchief she kept concealed in her pocket before she disappeared through the door.
Andy stared at the ceiling, eyes welling with tears, from a mix from the pain and embarrassment she felt but also the overwhelming amount of joy she feels from being cared for. Even if it was her own imagination.
Minutes blurred once more. Her eyes even heavier than they were earlier, but this time, she was consumed by a desire to stay awake.
Miranda returned with a bottle of medicine and a hot drink with a scent of honey, which Andy, with her love of honey tea, was waiting patiently to drink.
Upon seeing the subtle tear stains on Andy's face and puffed eyes, she froze once more, her brain evaluated every escape route in the room. This was awkward.
With a deep breath, her duty to look after her employee outweighing her need to leave, Miranda made her way towards the bed-side. She pushed away some of the clutter littering Andy's bedside table to place the mug of tea down, whilst then taking a seat at the end of her bed.
It made Andy's chest ache, Miranda was staying for her.
"Sit up."
Miranda instructed, her voice was softer than the mattress Andy lay on. A short breath of hesitation lingered before Miranda reached out slipping an arm behind Andy's sweaty back and assisted her in sitting up. The touch was gentle, caring, and warmer than Andy could've ever imagined coming from Miranda.
Andy let out a shaky breath at their new proximity. Her head was throbbing, her vision swam, her consciousness fighting to stay alert.. but the closeness and the scent of Miranda's perfume, the look in Miranda's eyes, which assured her she was more important that she thought, and the brush of Miranda's arm against hers helped keep her grounded in a way that nothing else could.
"Isn't that better, hm?"
Miranda spoke softly, her fingers reaching up to gently push the sweaty strands of Andy's bangs away from her forehead and eyes. Miranda's thumb then trailing down to brush away a stray tear still present on Andy's cheek.
She nodded, her throat tightening almost painfully, tears still clung to her lashes, but her gaze didn't waver from Miranda. She didn't dare to look away in fear that she'd be gone if she did.
Her tears weren't from the fever despite Miranda's thoughts. Not really. It was at the relief after craving Miranda's affection, and finally getting it. Although, she suspected her longing was far too severe for it to be the feelings of a normal assistant. She hoped they were, it made Andy feel more sick at the thought of others wanting this just as bad as she did.
This experience has to be hers alone, just for a day.
Miranda's eyes flickered over her face, assessing, softening even more in a way that made Andy's heart clench.
Without another word, Miranda took the mug of warm tea, raising it to Andy's lips, her other hand gently holding her chin encouraging the liquid into her throat.
The honey tea was warm, soothing, and comfortable. She swallowed slowly, the drink dulling the sharp pain of the fever in her throat.
Unbeknownst to her, tears were already threatening to spill out of her eyes again.
Miranda noticed immediately, of course she did.
"Andrea… Andy" Miranda's voice was gentle. "Why are you crying…?"
She tried to jerk her head away, but, Miranda's hold on her chin was solid forcing her to face her.
"Andy."
Miranda repeated, her voice encouraging but also laced with concern once more.
"Talk to me."
The soft and caring sound of her name on Miranda's tongue, the way she spoke to her not as if she were a tool to be used but a precious and cherished human she was scared to break.
"I'm just…" Andy began, her voice a soft hesitant whisper. "I'm not used to this"
Miranda's brows furrowed deeply.
"This?"
"Someone… caring" Andy let out a shaky sigh. "You caring.."
Miranda paused at that, her hand still cradling Andy's chin like she was precious… like she would break if handled to roughly.
Andy swallowed hard, her throat still scratchy and painful, the fever breaking down her last barriers of restraint.
The silence was deafening and a poison to Andy, so she broke it with a murmur.
"It means more than it should to me."
Andy's eyes were glassy and glazed over, like she wasn't really there.
"I can't keep hiding it."
Miranda's lips parted in shock.
Andy sniffled, her nonsensical rambling continued.
"When you tell me I did good, when you look at me, when you… when you give me more attention than Emily… It means a lot to me."
Andy's tears kept painting her face.
With nothing she could do, Miranda could only listen as the sick girl poured her heart out on a bed drenched with sweat from her fever.
"I care about you! And i think.. I think I'm in love with you.."
Andy's breath trembled. Tiredness consumed her and her heart throbbing impatiently. The silence was all consuming and all she wanted to do right now was disappear. What had she done?
"Andy…"
Miranda breathed, fear, shock, and warmth laced in her words. She was already planning on blaming this all as one of Andy's feverish deluded states.
But before Miranda could say anything more, Andy's eyes succumbed to the exhaustion and fluttered shut, her body sagging down into a slouched state in Miranda's arms, now completely in the hands of the fever.
"Please don't leave me…"
Andy's last words croaked out against the fabric of Miranda's blouse before she submitted to sleep.
Miranda's hands still rested on Andy's cheek, unmoving. She lent down and pressed a kiss to the top of Andy's head not caring about the sweat. Carefully, she then rested Andy's back against the headboard, her expression caught somewhere between shock and something far more fragile. But for now, she would stay.
In all honesty though, she prayed she could leave, at least before she woke up. She needed time to think and….process whatever had just happened.