*Title from Vergil, Aeneid VI.883: manibus date lilia plenis (trans. 'give lilies with full hands')

A/N: Posting this before July gets started. I wrote most of this while on the plane to/from San Francisco, and when I'm on a plane, I can't seem to write about anything other than a plane... enjoy & let me know what you think! xo

Chapter One

"How did we get here? How did it come to this?" Miranda asked as she set her glass on the stone ledge of her balcony.

Andrea shook her head, then finished her glass of single malt scotch. She, too, wondered how she ended up on a balcony in a hotel in Los Angeles, drinking at noon with Miranda Priestly. Only one person could be responsible for this very moment, and sadly, it is the person they just said goodbye to: Nigel Kipling.

For the past eight years, he was working as Creative Director for Juicy Couture, based out of Los Angeles. It was clear to the founders that Juicy was beginning to fall out of favor among the rich and famous, and Nigel was brought on board to help steer the company into a profitable retail model that would be available in department stores across the country by 2015. In a way, Andrea wished he would have lasted another four months—just until the 2014 holiday season, when Juicy would unveil its J-squared collection at Kohl's department store. But, she knew he was suffering these past few months, and to prolong such a life would have been cruel.

Fourteen months ago, he was diagnosed with an aggressive form of prostate cancer. He began receiving chemotherapy and radiation right away, but ultimately, the diagnosis was a death sentence. In the end, Nigel regretted choosing to treat it. The chemo made him sick and weak, more so than the cancer itself would have.

Andrea saw Nigel at least once a year, either when Nigel was in New York, or when she had to visit L.A., which was much less often. She made a special trip to visit him for a long weekend just after his first round of chemotherapy. He hired a nurse to stay with him during those times, but she knew he appreciated her presence. At first, he was embarrassed at his vulnerability, but he quickly grew to appreciate the gentle comfort and strength that radiated from his young friend. They spoke every day on the phone after that. Sometimes just a text message, some nights required a three-hour call. They tried skype for a little, but as the chemo progressed, he found that he didn't want his gaunt features haunting the young woman.

The last time she saw him was just nine weeks ago, when she was in L.A. to cover the Golden Globes when her Entertainment reporter quit rather suddenly.

"I never made it to see him," Miranda said as she, too, drained her glass of the thirty-two-year-old amber liquid. "I kept telling him I would come for a weekend, and then I would have to postpone, or he would have to cancel, and now…" Her voice trailed off into the late morning air.

Andrea gently placed her hand on Miranda's arm as both women gazed out in the distance, across the valley to the ocean. "When I saw him in February," she said, "he had a stack of cards from you on his nightstand. And a beautiful orchid he told me you sent him."

Miranda nodded and tilted her chin upwards, blinking rapidly. Tears were falling down her cheeks.

"He knew," Andrea said, gently brushing her thumb along the woman's arm where it rested.

She swallowed and wiped the tears from her cheek and chin. "My girls wanted to come—before, that is. I told them Nigel wouldn't have wanted them to miss school. And this week, they have exams, or at least Cassidy does. Caroline seems to have more flexible deadlines. Don't ask me why she chose Arts & Letters—no offense to you, of course."

Andrea chuckled quietly. "None taken. I know Emily wanted to be here today, but she had to stay home with little Theodore."

"And I sent Serena to oversee a shoot in Nairobi," Miranda said, shaking her head. "Do you know if he considered moving back to New York? Or, why he didn't?"

Andrea pulled her hand away and gripped the concrete wall of the balcony as she recalled their conversation.

"Come back with me to New York—you can live with me. I have a spare bedroom. I work ten hours a day, so you'll have time to yourself, and then I'll keep you company in the evenings," she said, trying to persuade him.

"You mean you'll tell the endless stream of gorgeous women in your bed, 'Oh, don't mind my uncle, he can't even hear us.'"

"Nigel! I'm serious," she said, playfully slapping his arm. "And for the record, that hasn't been the case for years. I hardly even date anymore. Emily, Serena, and I are the closest thing you have to family, and you know it. We're all living in Brooklyn right now, and they're trying to get pregnant. Nigel, we miss you."

"I can't show my face there—in that city. I will run into her, I just know it."

"You never explained why you left in such a hurry after Paris."

"And I'm not going to. It's too humiliating," he said.

"Oh come on. In the span of about twenty hours, I slept with Christian Thompson, banged on Miranda Priestly's door like a raving lunatic and interrupted her meeting with the CEO while not wearing a proper shirt, said 'Fuck you' to the most influential woman in publishing, and threw my company-issued phone into a fountain. Now that was humiliating."

Nigel eyed her closely. "That night—the night after the Holt luncheon, after she royally screwed me over and after you royally screwed her right back, Miranda and I were both drinking in the hotel bar. We were both sitting there alone, and it wasn't until the other patrons left that I noticed her. Her eyes were glassy and she was unsteady as she made her way to the ladies' room and back. When the bar closed, I helped her off her barstool and we made our way to the elevator. Neither of us said a word, but she was allowing me to help her to her room.

"I opened the door and walked her inside, where she took a tumble right there just inside the doorway. I don't know if she just tripped on her own feet or the carpet or what, but her arm was still linked with mine, so she pulled me down with her. She began laughing hysterically, and I joined her, but soon broke down sobbing like a child.

"She stopped laughing and tilted her head in that way she does, staring at me like she had never seen anyone express emotion before. Through my tears, I tried to explain why—that I would forever be stuck in her shadow, that I would never be happy, that she would never offer me a promotion. 'Oh, Nigel,' she said in this sickening voice. It was condescending, but, at the same time, affectionate. She awkwardly brought her hand up to my shoulder, and I turned to her. Our faces were inches apart, and I don't know what got into me. I kissed her. Not just once—and not a friendly kiss. I kissed her as if my entire fucking life depended on it, like devouring her would ensure my survival. Funny, it was just the opposite. When she finally pushed me away, god, I can still see that look in her eyes."

"So that's why you left? She probably found this spot at Juicy for you, personally demanded that they make you an offer, and then told everyone how sad Runway was to be losing such a longtime friend and collaborator."

"Yes. I didn't have a choice. She flat out told me, 'You do not have a choice in the matter.'"

Andrea shivered as she was reminded of the cruel, manipulative side of the woman next to her. She carefully chose her next words. "I don't think he felt like he had a choice in the matter."

The editor inhaled sharply and turned to face Andrea, who was still staring out into the distance. In that moment, she knew Nigel had told her everything. She wondered how long the young woman had known. She took a deep breath and turned back towards the ocean in the distance. "There are a lot of things that I regret. I'm sorry," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Now, it was Andrea turning to face her, looking at her in shock. Her eyes silently asked for an explanation.

"I didn't have the chance to apologize to him—no, wait, that's not true. I did have the chance, I just never took it. I don't want to make the same mistake with…" her voice trailed off, but they both knew that she had almost said "with you."

Andrea again placed her hand on Miranda's arm. "Don't beat yourself up. It was complicated, and he knew that. He could—" She was interrupted by her ringing cell phone coming from the other room.

"You should go," Miranda said, pulling her arm away and walking inside.

Andrea followed her, grabbing her purse and seeing that the missed call was from Emily. As the woman reached for the door, Andrea placed a hand on her shoulder. "He knew you loved him," she said.

Miranda released the doorknob and brought her hands up to cover her face as she tried to choke back tears. Andrea gently pulled her closer and into a hug.

"When do you head back?" Andrea asked after a while.

"Eleven-thirty tonight," Miranda said, stepping away from their unexpected embrace. "The redeye."

"Oh, me too—Delta flight 2394, right?"

Miranda nodded. To be fair, she had no clue what airline or flight number she was booked on, but she remembered her assistant saying it was the only direct flight from LAX to JFK that night.

"Well, I'm sure I'll see you later then."

Miranda opened the door. As Andrea was walking out, she called after her quietly. "I'm sorry for your loss, Andrea. You were very close with him."

"Thank you," she said.

Back in her room, she called Emily back because she wanted to make sure there was nothing wrong with little Theodore, her three-month-old. It turned out that Theodore was doing just fine. Emily was an Assistant Creative Director at Allure, and she phoned because some photos of the two of them from Nigel's funeral had just been posted online. Andrea explained how she talked to Miranda a little, and really didn't want to get into any more details—mostly, because she didn't want to hear it from those two how she needs to "get over" Miranda. Funny how there was no such thing as "getting over" someone as memorable as Miranda Priestly.

"I promise, it was just a brief conversation. We both knew him, and apparently we were the only ones from New York to make the trip. It's nothing more," Andrea reassured.

"Sachs, you better be telling the truth. With Theo now, I don't think we can handle one of your pity-parties on our couch," Emily said. "Look, I've gotta run to a meeting. Brunch on Sunday? Serena gets in tomorrow night."

"Sounds great. Tell Theodore Auntie Andy misses him," she said before ending the call.

She ordered room service, since she realized she hadn't eaten breakfast or lunch, then tried checking her email. Her brief conversation with Miranda had put her in a mood, and work was the last thing she could concentrate on at the moment. Instead, she grabbed her bag and went for a walk down to Starbucks. A change of scenery would help her to clear her mind.

On the other side of the hotel, in her own suite, Miranda curled up on the lounge chair on her balcony with another glass of Nigel's beloved Oban. Andrea Sachs was the last person she thought she would see today. Designers, models, publishing executives, sure. She was prepared for those. But Andrea, she was not.

It had been almost seven years since she last spoke with her—and that wasn't even a proper conversation, it was an email. A few weeks after Andrea took a position at The Mirror, she sent an email thanking her for the recommendation and explaining how grateful she was for all that she learned from her time as an assistant. Miranda replied briefly, wishing her luck in any future endeavors. There was nothing suggesting any sort of future contact, and Miranda preferred it that way.

But something about the young woman spoke to her. She was an insolent brat when she worked for her, but there was even something then that had attracted Miranda. Now, she was older—they both were. She had matured, but still retained that certain something. Miranda couldn't quite put her finger on it, and perhaps she was wrong when she first identified it as insolence. Regardless, the point is that it was still present in her, and that it was more attractive than ever before.

Needing to clear her thoughts, she stood from the lounger and returned to her room, packing up her things. She was only in L.A. for twenty-eight hours, so she didn't have much, but she wanted it ready to go when she had to leave for the airport later that evening. With everything stacked neatly by the door, she climbed onto the bed and decided she would try and take a nap.

Andrea took a deep breath, her hand hovering over the door knocker. Every bone in her body was telling her to walk away, but she remembered Nigel's words from the last time she visited, when she was thumbing through some of the cards from Miranda.

"She loved you, Six."

Straightening her posture, she closed her eyes and knocked twice on the door. She knew it was risky. The editor had already allowed her walls to fall earlier in the day, and she fully expected them to be back up and stronger than ever by now—that is, if she hadn't already left for LAX. Still, she knew Nigel would want this. He would want her to try. She could just picture him smiling, taking all the credit for setting them up.

"Just a minute," Miranda called from inside, turning on a lamp.

From the hallway, Andrea could hear her footsteps quickly approaching. They stopped, and for a minute, she wondered if she wasn't going to answer once she realized who was on the other side.

The door opened just a crack. "Yes?" she asked rather impatiently, though Andrea could tell she had been sleeping.

"Hi, sorry to bother you. Would you like to share a ride to the airport? I mean, that is, if you're still taking the redeye," she said. "I have a car coming in ten minutes."

Miranda looked at her in confusion. "Wha—"

"It's 9:35 PM," Andrea said, grinning. She was secretly proud that she was still able to anticipate Miranda's questions.

"Oh, yes, of course. When did you say you have a car coming?"

"At 9:45—in ten minutes. If you need a little longer, I don't mind waiting, though," Andrea said.

"Are you sure? I only need a few minutes to freshen up."

"Positive. I'll wait for you in the lobby downstairs," Andrea said, turning and heading for the elevators.

Miranda closed the door to her room and pressed her forehead against the cool metal. Something was making her anxious—she didn't want to keep Andrea waiting for some reason. Perhaps it was the funeral that put her in such a strange mood. Failing Nigel was one thing, but she couldn't help recall the circumstances of her mother's death… Quickly shaking her head and pushing away from the door, she headed to the bathroom to freshen up her hair and makeup before joining the young woman downstairs.

They rode in silence for at least ten minutes before anyone spoke. Miranda may not be the nicest person in the world, but she certainly wasn't ungrateful. "Thank you for the ride, Andrea," she said, breaking the silence.

"Of course. It would be silly to take two cars," Andrea said. "Plus, it's just like old times." The second the words left her mouth she regretted saying them. The last time she was in a car with Miranda, she cursed at her, then walked away. "I owe you an apology," she said, hanging her head a little bit.

"What for?" Miranda asked.

"What I said in Paris. It was inappropriate. I shouldn't have said that, and I'm sorry."

"I'll admit it caught me off guard. I thought those words were strictly reserved for auto collisions and marital disputes."

Andrea shrugged. "That's probably true. Regardless, it was unprofessional."

"Did you mean it?"

"What?"

"When you said it, did you mean it, Andrea?" Miranda asked.

"No. Of course not! I was just—I was upset, angry."

"Well, then, apology accepted," Miranda said. She wasn't sure why she let her off the hook so easily, but something about the way the young woman was getting so upset at the situation was distressing. Andrea was staring at her with a dumbfounded expression on her face. "Let's not discuss Paris anymore. Agreed?"

"Agreed." Andrea turned to look out the window as a yawn escaped her lips.

"Are you tired? I don't mind if you close your eyes for a few minutes," Miranda said.

"No, I'm fine." Andrea turned to face the woman next to her. "I don't expect you to talk to me. I know it's not something you really ever do. I mean, it's nice, though, but it's hard to get used to. I mean, talking to you is nice." She bit her lip and slowly closed one eye. "Okay, I'm going to shut up now."

Miranda chuckled softly. "You have no idea how—" She let her voice trail off. "I'm glad you haven't lost your way with words, Andrea. It's quite an endearing quality."

Andrea wasn't sure how to respond to that, so she just nodded and kept her eyes focused on her hands, in her lap.

"I forced Nigel out. If it wasn't for me, he would have still been in New York. But you knew that, didn't you?"

"I did."

Now it was Miranda's turn to look down at her hands. "I didn't realize until today how close you were with him. I mean, even after Runway."

"Nigel didn't blame you," Andrea said.

"Of course not. I'm sure he blamed himself," Miranda said quickly. "And that's worse, isn't it. He blamed himself, when it's me he should be directing that at."

"Should have been," Andrea said, correcting her.

"Fuck," Miranda murmured, pinching the bridge of her nose. "You know, I wasn't always like this—cold, demanding, unfeeling, unwilling to converse."

Andrea recognized that Miranda was launching into a deeper explanation, so she refrained from interrupting. It didn't matter, though. They were turning into the airport, and Miranda sat up and slipped her sunglasses on. It didn't matter that it was after ten o'clock. The walls were rebuilt.

And they say Rome wasn't built in a day.