Small change, the story will be more then 6 chapters. But that might be evident from the pace that it takes. It is also already more then 5K. Still AU remember. Thank you for all your kind reviews and follows :)

Andy walked along a little gravelled road, that lead to a building looking somewhat in between a house and a large barn. An old Shipyard, Andrea thought. Where the little ships were once build. Ships that – she imagined- gave home to rusty fisherman with permanent bags under their eyes as a result of the salt and wind and lack of sleep because the baby was crying at all hours at night and the workday was so very long.

A little sign was in front of the door. It said OPE, because the N had faded away a long time ago and was only visible in a slight change of dustcolour. She wondered if the building ever closed, as the sign seemed like it hadn't been turned around in years. Curiously she stepped inside.

It was unexpectedly light. The building used the available daylight well. Wherever there were no windows, shelves full of objects used or found at sea were displayed, giving it an atmosphere between a big beachcombers house and a museum. An old, rumpled man full of wrinkles was sleeping in a chair. He looked like an old sailor with his beard and sun-dried skin. People here were different from the big city habitants.

She decided upon letting him sleep while she strolled along the aisles. There were no signs at all, so she tried to determine what the purpose of each object was. It worked well in distracting her thoughts from her conflict with Miranda. Old fishnets and buoys were alternated with shells and stones. There were old shoes covered in moss that people had probably lost at the beach only to be swallowed by the sea before being spit out again.

Each object became a story of a family, sea life and the earth's determination to wash and dry. Everything showed the erosion of material, strung and worn by high tide and low tide, inspiration and respiration. She felt calm and a little rosy at the end of her self-determined tour. Her thoughts returned to the woman who walked out a few hours ago.

Miranda had admitted that Andy was, in some sorts, attractive. It was a heavy but warm knowing that spread through her ribcage and settled in her lower belly. And despite the again problematic ending of the session, she felt like she had gotten something significant, something that she would not trade with anyone in the world.

Accidentally she stumbled on a small ton and the sleeping sailor made a little sniffing sound before opening his eyes. If he was surprised Andy was in the shipyard he didn't look like it. In fact, he looked like he was about to fall asleep again when she cleared her throat and said 'Excuse me, is it possible to buy a souvenir of some sorts?'

'A souvenir?' It sounded groggy, but he smirked. 'Go ahead poppy, everything in this museum is for sale, that way it stays a temporary collection.' With that he pushed is blue navy hat over his eyes again and started snoring. Andy took this as her cue that the conversation was finished.

Positively surprised she walked along the shelves again. There were so many lovely things to choose from. She took her sweet time looking through it again until her eye fell on a big shell in the corner of one of the shelves. It was a little bigger then the palm of her hand and seemed rough around the edges. A st. Jacobs shell, she recalled. She didn't know whether the shells were common here in Maine, but it was as white as parts of Miranda's hair and from the inside faded into a soft pink like the woman's cheeks were at the rarest of times. Without further thought she pulled a few dollars from her pocket and put them on the counter. Carefully wrapping the shell in her purse she hoped it wouldn't break on the way to the lodge.

Miranda sat at a bar nearby a dock. Which dock she didn't know and she neither cared to, but she was cold and tired and angry. There were a few men sitting at tables, mostly looking like fishers. Locals, like everyone in this goddamned tiny town. There was a reason why Miranda lived in New York, not having to deal with locals was one of them. The bartender, a woman with firm arms and a few tattoos approached her while polishing beer glasses. 'What can I do for you?'

'How is your red wine?' Miranda could use a drink, no matter the hour of the day. It probably was late afternoon anyhow. And nobody she knew or –more important- that knew her, were here so she could have a glass to help against the impending headache that undoubtly would proceed this disastrous afternoon.

'Do you like wine?'

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. What was it with these locals? Perhaps the human brain could not handle that much salty water. 'Yes.'

'Then you might want to go for the white one.'

This made her lips purse. But she ordered a glass of white nonetheless. It took a minute and when she took a first sip she relaxed a little. It also started her thoughts. She had lost her professionalism for a moment this afternoon. For some unfathomable reason she had not been able to see Andrea so distraught, stressed. And thus she had admitted to finding the woman…fetching. She should have known it would give way to disaster, but for one of the rare times Miranda had wanted to reach out.

Andrea had not reacted, and even though that was for the best, somewhere inside her it brought a sharp sting to her body. It was not as if she was entirely unaware of her feelings, it was just that exploring those feelings, even within herself, wouldn't be beneficial for anyone. She had built up a life that existed in majority of her job and her girls. Her husbands had been placed lowly at the list of things that were important to her, and that was the reason why they had cheated and left. That was that, and she was now at an age and place in her career in which she didn't need to fulfil a certain expectation of normativity anymore. It didn't, however, give her freedom either. A scandal was still a scandal and she had not been unhappy all these years with this dormant area of desire. She had been content, mostly, and that had been enough.

Sometimes, on the days that the girls were at their fathers and she felt lonely she thought about gliding a hand over that beautiful stomach and hip. About letting her fingers dip into the hollow between Andrea's collarbone and her shoulder. It calmed her, fantasising about it in a sort of abstract way, even though she often tried to compensate it with being even sharper to her assistant the next day.

'So what´s your deal?' The bartender asked.

Miranda tried to glare her away, but it was for naught. The bartender kept looking at her with a neutral gaze that said 'if you want to talk, be my guest, if not, fine with me as well'. Right before she turned to get her third beer glass to polish Miranda started speaking.

'I do not enjoy,' Miranda took another sip of her wine and tried to finish her sentence a tad faster than it had started 'sharing a bed with men.' Her cheeks were about to turn a little pink but she willed it away.

'Well, you're not the only one.' Miranda looked up, the women was not joking her. Still, the bartender smiled a half grin. 'Welcome to the club honey. I haven't slept aside a man since 1996. Just a quickie and then they better leave or I'll make them. He Pete,' the bartender lifted her chin towards one of the burly men at a table. 'what about you? You enjoy sleeping with men?'

'No ma'am, not my taste.' He answered.

'Mark, what about you?'

'Can't say I don't like it once in a while but every day? Don't see it happening.'

'See? Mark is even like that, if you know what I mean. Don't worry about it lady. If you don't like it, you don't have to.'

Miranda gave a small nod. It was not exactly what she meant, but the bartender had been down to earth about it. It felt as a relief, that she had let it out once. She ordered another wine and decided to nurture this small revelation.

Andy was typing away at her laptop when Miranda opened the door of the lodge. The silver haired woman strode in with elegance, but also with a little more sway than Andy expected. To her relief Miranda looked calm, and gave no signal of a snow storm coming up.

'The book is ready, it came in 15 minutes ago.' Andy tried to say as neutral as possible. It was considerably later then the agreement but as Miranda had been away it didn't matter.

'Let me just call my girls first.' Miranda took out her phone and spend a little bit more time than usual to find Greg's number, before she softly but vibrantly talked with her daughters. It was almost as if Miranda was… a little tipsy?

Andy tried to mind her own busyness, well aware of Miranda's reaction this afternoon to her 'eavesdropping'. She fired some last e-mails to Elias Clarke and a text to Lilly that she was still alive and all was well. She didn't mention a word about what transpired, but she figured she would not have done it any differently if the circumstances had been different.

Miranda had ended her phonecall and was now in the bathroom preparing for bed. Apparently the book would wait until tomorrow. Andy decided she should do the same, prepare for bed, and change into her pyjamas while she had the privacy. After Miranda appeared again she slipped into the bathroom before the woman could say anything. She brushed her teeth, removed her make-up and when she reappeared all the lights were off already safe for the bedside lamp near Miranda's bed. Miranda herself sat awkwardly at the edge, her gaze a little clouded but Andy couldn't figure out whether it was the alcohol or Miranda's mood. Still she looked at the women questioningly as if she asked what she could do for her. After a moment Miranda shrugged her head towards the bed, the way she had done when Andy had to step into the lift with her a few months before. So Andy sat on the edge next to her, uncertain of how to proceed. She looked at Miranda with a waiting expression.

'Well.' Miranda looked at her with a tense face. 'Let's get this over with shall we?'

Andy nodded and hoped she hadn't misinterpreted when she clumsily stretched out her arms. It was awkward, more so because she sat at a considerable distance so she had to lean in uncomfortably far. Naturally Miranda was not prepared to give in herself. So Andy scooted closer, and Miranda tensed more which in return made her cramp up too. This is not working, Andy thought. They were only worsening each other's reaction with their freezing. So she willed herself to relax a little. She tried to compartmentalize her bodily sensations, the softness of Miranda's frame, the warmth that she radiated, her smell which bore traces of perfume but mostly consisted of just Miranda. Gradually they both relaxed, Miranda mostly in reaction to Andy. It was as if Andy drowned in all the sensations, and soon she could not distinct them from each other anymore. The smell so good, Miranda's body so comforting that she couldn't keep her eyes open. The day had been a maelstrom and Miranda was warm and oh so soft. Before she knew it, sleep overtook her. Leaving a stunned Miranda holding her resting body, carefully tracing a hand over her shoulder while thinking what am I to do Andrea, what am I to do?