Work Text:
Something was definitely wrong. It was 8:58 a.m. exactly and Miranda Priestly still wasn't in the offices. For all the time she'd worked for Runway- two years, seventy two days, two hours, and fifty-eight minutes- Amari hadn't know Miranda to come in late- ever. There had been the day Caroline had her second baby, when Miranda hadn't come in at all, but Amari had been prepared. They had nine whole months of lead up, schedules rearranged, and besides, Caroline had gone into labor at three in the morning, so it was an easy guess that Miranda wasn't coming in when Amari had gotten the call send her town car.
This was not planned. Miranda had a meeting with the board, lunch with Raf Simons, a run through for the upcoming feature on bubble skirts, not to mention the stack of budgets to approve for the international issues. Her schedule was packed from start to finish, and had been ever since Sasha Barnes had purchased Elias-Clark, which everyone suspected Miranda had orchestrated herself. Amari had grown used to predicting Miranda's habits, scheduling around them so everything flowed in perfect harmony, but she could not do that if Miranda was not there.
Amari sneaked a glance at the time on her computer monitor, typing harder as she watched 8:58 change to 8:59. Miranda's office was growing cold on her desk. It was no longer center of the earth hot, instead probably more outer core hot approaching mantle which might has well have been cold, and she calculated how long it would take to get another cup up. She checked her phone. Had Miranda even left the townhouse? There was no text from her driver, the one Amari had carefully vetted and selected (and tipped handsomely to give her the heads up when Miranda was on her way) after Miranda's old time driver, Roy, had retired.
Her gaze shifted across the open office floor to once cramped and dingy office that had been Andy Sachs. Now the light was on and Jin busied herself inside. It wasn't officially her office, but after Andy moved next door to Nigel, Jin had been all but squatting there. Amari rolled her eyes. The hero worship Jin paid Andy was disgusting. Amari didn't think Andy was that great, but she was clearly in the minority. In fact, if she really thought about it, this was probably all Andy's fault.
The world had turned upside down since Andy had come to Runway, or rather, come back to Runway as Andy was quick to remind anyone who'd listen. Yes, Andy claimed to previously have Amari's job, but after some digging into Human Resources' records, Amari learned the truth. Andy used to have Charlie's job. Andy used to be stuck in the chair while whomever was the real first assistant, probably someone very fashionable and successful- like Amari was and was going to be- handled the important work.
"Hey Amari?" Charlie's voice cut through her thoughts, "Any word on where she is? Because I have Donatella on the phone-"
Amari's phone rang and as soon as she saw the all too familiar number of Miranda's personal cell, she snatched up the receiver, "Yes Miranda?"
"Hey Amari, it's Andy," Amari narrowed her eyes. Why on earth was Andy Sachs calling from Miranda's personal line? And why wasn't Andy in the office too? Unless… Oh no.
"Could you reschedule Miranda's lunch with Simmons for next week, then tell Nigel that he needs to meet with the board at eleven- Miranda's notes are all in the first drawer of her desk- and have Charlie bring the budget reports for Runway France, Italia, and China when he brings the book?" Andy rattled off the series of directions, perfectly reorganizing Miranda's schedule so she was totally free today, then continued, freeing up the rest of the week. It was dizzyingly effective, pairing the right person with the right task, putting off what was fluff and ego soothing and prioritizing what couldn't be done by anyone but Miranda. Amari tucked the phone between her ear and shoulder, typing quickly to catch up.
Andy finished with, "And then could you pick up the order I put in from Morton Williams and deliver it to the townhouse?"
Amari narrowed her eyes.
Forty minutes later, Amari unlocked the door to the Miranda's spacious home and quietly slipped inside. Her arms were laden with bags from Morton Williams, filled with cold medicine, Kleenex, and premade soup of the chicken noodle variety. It didn't take a genius to realize what was happening, but Amari still couldn't believe it. Miranda could not be sick. Amari had never heard of Miranda getting sick. And why was Andy there?
"Oh my god, you're a life saver," Andy said, entering the foyer from the depths of the townhouse, unexplored by Amari.
Amari stood up straighter, passing a bag to Andy, "Where should I put this?"
"Follow me."
Andy lead Amari into a vast kitchen. Try as she might not to gape, Amari felt her eyes widen at the gleaming appliances and made note of the dishes stacked up in the sink. Andy set one bag on the kitchen island and Amari followed suit.
"She thinks she's invincible," Andy said, unloading the bag. She cracked the lid of one container of soup, putting it in the microwave before arranging a bowl and utensils on a tray. "Once, I remember she did a full pitch meeting with the flu and I think I'm the only one who knew because she started puking her guts out in her private bathroom immediately after."
From the stove top, the kettle began to whistle. Andy turned, taking it off the heat then pouring the boiling water into a porcelain tea pot, adding a triangle sachet of tea. The microwave beeped and Andy smoothly put the kettle back on the stove, moving to retrieve the soup container with all the ease of someone quite comfortable in the kitchen. She poured the soup into a bowl. Picking up the tray, Andy glanced at the tea pot, then at Amari.
"Could you grab that?" said Andy.
"Of course," Anything to see more of the house.
Andy headed towards the winding staircase, making Amari pause. They must both have had a death wish, yet as Andy mounted the stairs, and Amari followed, the heavens didn't rain down lightning bolts and the earth didn't open to swallow them whole.
Amari also noted Andy's clothes. She was dressed casually in a soft looking sweater and dark gray joggers with a CK embroidered on one thigh. It wasn't Andy usual office wear, meaning she hadn't simply stopped by- or was called over- on her way to the office. To top it off, her hair was pulled back in a messy bun and she was bare foot. Almost as if she'd just rolled out of bed.
Shaking her head, Amari attempted dismissed the thought, yet it lingered. Andy knew that Miranda was sick and called in an order of food. Andy expertly reorganized Miranda's schedule. Andy knew her way around the Priestly kitchen, the Priestly house, and deemed it fine and normal to walk around barefoot. Amari had noticed a certain… closeness between Andy and the editor in chief, everyone had, but she'd dismissed it as an overfamiliarity. Andy, she assumed, was being disrespectful, leaning on their minimal shared history as an excuse. Miranda to simply have been biding her time until she could fire Andy, or put her in her place. Or maybe Andy was rude yet helpful. She had been around during all the Sasha Barnes upheaval after all.
Before Amari could puzzle it out, Andy stopped in front of a door pulled mostly closed, but not all the way. She glanced back at Amari.
"Stay here," said Andy, looking at bit chagrined, "I'll just be a sec- and don't say anything."
Amari nodded once, moving off to the side, just out of view. She watched as Andy nudged the door open and stepped inside, closing the door behind her with her foot. Thankfully, the door didn't close all the way and Amari stepped forward, peering through the crack.
The room was vast and painting a light blue, with tall windows draped in gauzy curtains leaving the room bathed in hazy sunlight. There was a king-sized bed in the center of the room, pillows stacked on the floor at the foot, and the duvet hanging haphazardly off one side. Amari wasn't sure what she'd expected Miranda's bedroom to look like, but the slight messiness- the clutter of too many photos on the dresser and the familiar black Coach bag leaning against a chair- made Miranda seem far more human than the icon most at Runway considered her.
But what made her especially human was how small she looked in the middle of the bed, make-less and glassy eyed, her hair a mess as she ran a hand through it before reaching out to Andy. Andy set the tray on the bed, then leaned over, kissing Miranda's forehead.
"I'm fine," Miranda grumbled.
"You're still burning up," said Andy.
"I've had worse. I've worked through worse," Miranda said, attempting to sound flippant despite the illness rough gravel of voice, "I need to go into the office."
"You do not. Amari and I fixed your scheduled and everything for today and tomorrow and the next day is taken care of. We can reassess on Sunday," Andy said sternly, hands on her hips. She faced away from the door, towards the bed, but Amari could picture the furrow in her brow that frequented her features when she was disagreeing with Miranda.
Miranda sighed dramatically, the pouted. Andy fussed with the tray.
Amari felt her jaw drop. The familiarity that Andy displayed in the office nothing compared to the scene playing out in front of her. while sick in bed, Miranda's words held no bite and Andy doted on her… boss? She handed her some pills, then a glass of water which Miranda dutifully took before looking back up at Andy.
Miranda tugged on Andy's sweater, trying to pull her in, "Come back to bed, Andrea. If I must be a prisoner in my own home, you can at least keep me entertained."
"Just a moment, I brought you some tea too," Andy said with a laugh and suddenly Amari was too aware of the tea pot in her hands.
Bounding back to the door, Andy slipped through and took the pot from Amari.
"Thanks," she whispered, "You can head back to the office. If anything comes up that you and Nigel can't handle, you know where to find me."
Yes, thought Amari, in Miranda Priestly's bed.
But she said none of that, watching as Andy disappeared back into the bedroom to take care of her sick girlfriend. It was sweet, Amari reasoned in a daze as she made her way back to Runway, and it answered quite a few questions, even if it did leave her feeling as if the world had been thrown off its axis.
One thing stood out to her as she stood in the elevator and watched the numbers slowly climb. How the hell was she supposed to keep the gossip of the century to herself?
(Seven days, three hours, and fifteen minutes later, when Amari couldn't stand it anymore and told Jin over lunch, Jin shocked her by replying, "Oh yeah. I found out like two months ago when I caught them making out in Andy's office. Who knew Miranda was so limber.")