So I added 2 chapters. If you went straight (gay) away to the last added chapter, then you might wanna read chapter 7 first. Or not, because who am I to decide how you read :P. Bot aren't beta read btw, so probs lots of mistakes. Then again, the hospital made a mistake thinking Andy was dying so in the grander scheme of things I hope you will forgive me.

It was Thursday evening and Andy rattled with the keys while holding part of her wallet with her mouth because both of her hands held bags full of groceries. Her motoric skills had never been the best, and she sighed in relief when the door opened quite easily. Dropping the wallet on the drawer in the small hallway and her keys on top of it she entered the living room.

… where she yelped and tried to clutch her chest while holding the bags and thus almost tripped over her own feet, miraculously maintaining enough balance to not completely fall down.

'Jesus, you could have warned me!'

Miranda did not as much as look up from where she was sitting at Andrea's table, presumably working on the book. 'I don't think I would have surpassed the noise you make when arriving. Crime journalism might not be your best career option.'

'Well, it was not my aim but thanks for the advice anyway.'

Miranda nodded once in agreement. She either missed Andrea's sarcasm but more possibly ignored it.

'What are you doing here?' Andrea put the bags on the table, near Miranda. An apple rolled out of it, almost falling down but she managed to grab it before it flicked over the edge.

'Working on the book Andrea, any other functionless questions?'

Andy took the image in. Miranda's hair was impeccable, but her eyes looked a little tired, the spark was gone and stress lines had made their way around her mouth. It must have been a long day for the editor. A long day that apparently ended in Andy's apartment without giving any notification to Andy herself.

'No.'

Miranda raised an eyebrow, either in disbelief that she wouldn't ask any "functionless" questions, or that she was crazy if she wouldn't. The typical catch 22 scenario made Andy sigh. The woman point blankly refused to be forthcoming. Ever. It was their second meeting since Andy's hospitalization, and the Emily-girl had looked at her with distrust when she had tried to ask her why Miranda needed her keys. She had not given her an answer, which was not surprising and Andy doubted if she would be able to remember any explanation anyway as she had been half asleep that afternoon. But apparently Miranda had needed them – or used them, at least- to enter her apartment, this Thursday evening. She looked at the woman again, and she realised that although it was most definitely a surprise, she was also glad that Miranda was sitting at her table.

'I am having stir fry. There is enough for two.'

Miranda didn't signal that she heard what Andy said, rather went back to work, scribbling something on a yellow post-it note. Andy shrugged her shoulders and walked onto the countertop of her kitchen where she unpacked her just bought groceries. After putting everything in the refrigerator of what she wouldn't need for dinner she said 'I'm going to change into something comfortable. I had an interview with a high-mighty-bank-ego today.'

Miranda continued unfazingly at the book, seemingly thinking about a nasty comment to write on the post-it for the article on horse-riding but then said 'If you must.' Which was not really an attack on Andy's unneeded explanation but rather on her lack of character to keep up with wearing uncomfortable clothes. Andy didn't react on it but murmured a neutral 'be right back' before walking to her bedroom. She had been ill, it was not up to Miranda to judge how much energy she had during the day. And definitely not on how she spend that energy. If she had strength left, she would need it for the white-haired enigma who was currently occupying her kitchen table anyway. There was absolute no use on spending her efforts on wearing uncomfortable clothes in her own house.

When Andy walked back to the kitchen Miranda was still very engulfed in the book, but at the last pages, she saw. So she took out a cutting board and started chopping the broccoli.

It was a few minutes later when Miranda closed the book, disappeared into the hallway and returned to the kitchen to silently join Andy in her preparations for dinner. Miranda elegantly trimmed green beans.

While heating a pan on the furnace and cutting red peppers Andy asked 'Aren't the twins home?'

'Thursday is Gregs night.' There was some silence before Miranda continued. 'Tuesday is mine. After… Stephens's departure we talked to their therapist. Now they have at least two times a week dinner with a parent.'

'Well… that's good.'

There was no reaction from Miranda. Andy threw everything together in a pan. It would make a good stew and she was hungry.

'Do you want a glass of wine?'

Mirada threw her an inquisitive glance. 'Are you properly healed?'

'I was advised not to, yet. But I'd be happy to open a bottle for you, let me just check what-'

'Leave it Andrea.'

Andy looked unsure at Miranda.

'Water will do.'

'Okay. Let me set the table. Can you watch the stew please.'

Miranda did, and it felt strangely comfortable that until so far there had been no clashing of their persona's or imago's. Miranda seemed to be here on something akin private time. Perhaps it was also her lack of energy that withheld Andy from getting tangled up completely in nerves. At the end of her working day she was still very tired, her buffer drained.

When dinner was ready, and the table set they ate in relative silence. Until Andy asked about the book, and the themes within the current issue. Miranda elaborated a bit. Then Miranda asked Andy about returning to work and her level of energy, and Andy pretended that it was completely normal to have a conversation over dinner with Miranda. They neither focussed their gaze for long periods of time on each other, mostly there was politely toned explanations in between bites. Andrea asked once if Miranda would like to have another glass of water, and Miranda looked at her while saying no thank you, the meal is quite acceptable.

It worked well enough. They kept on talking about superficial things that counted as safe topics without annoying, angering or hurting the other. It did not feel particular at ease, but it was not the mine-field walk it could have been.

After dinner there was no dessert because Andy hadn't bought one and Miranda wouldn't want one. Together they carried the plates to the kitchen counter and Andy started to fill the sink with hot water. Miranda absorbed Andy's movements while the younger woman plunged some washing liquid into the water.

'Where are your tea-towels?'

'In the cupboard near your head, but I can let it dry in the drying rack.'

'Nonsense.' Miranda took a tea-towel. It was the first time Andy saw Miranda stretch her arm above her head. It reminded her of how unfamiliar she was with the other woman. The other woman's way of moving never went further than walking, sitting and standing in professional circumstances. It was oddly domestic and new, these movements of Miranda's body as she went about ordinary tasks.

They again worked together. Miranda always held the towel in between her hands and the plate or cutlery that she took from Andy or the drying rack. It was one of the small things that made her seem upper-class, Andy thought. The editor would never have, and probably never had, wet hands from grabbing a pan with bare hands during the washing up.

'I am allergic to some soaps.' Miranda interrupted her thoughts.

Andy looked at her in slight confusion.

'You were looking at my hands. The towel prevents from having an allergic reaction. I don't have them often or severely, but using a towel this way limits the risk.'

Andy nodded. Sheepishly she added 'I understand. Doug has the same. He can't swim in the sea in summer, the salt water is too harsh on his skin.'

Miranda hmmd.

They were silent again.

When they were done Andy offered Miranda coffee.

'No thank you, the car will be here any moment.'

Apparently Miranda had set a time on beforehand on how long she would stay.

'Let me get your coat then.' She blushed slightly while realising she hadn't noticed Miranda's coat while entering her apartment. She had been too busy with her groceries. No talent for pursuing a career in crime journalism indeed.

In the hallway of her apartment Andy held Miranda's coat open and the older woman slid her arms in. Miranda smelled lovely. The silver haired woman's telephone beeped, the car had arrived.

'Do you have everything with you?' Andy asked.

Miranda looked at her slightly amused. As if the woman would forget something. Andy nodded in acknowledgement of the implausibility of such a scenario.

They walked towards the door and Andy opened it to let Miranda through.

'Thank you for coming.' It was a bit odd to thank someone who actually had invaded her house. Still she was grateful, her evening with Miranda had been good. More than she would have imagined.

Miranda gave her one nod and stepped into the gallery of Andy's apartment complex.

'Good night Andrea.'

Andy smiled. 'You too Miranda. Take care.'

When she heard the car driving away Andy closed her door.