Just a little something that came to me in the middle of the night. The poem is called The Good-Morrow by John Donne... it's one of my favorites.

Enjoy!

Struggling, Andy made her way through the streets of Manhattan to a twenty-four hour liquor store, purchasing a cheap bottle of scotch, and then to a convenience store, which somehow didn't seem all that convenient as Andy realized she wasn't even close to her neighborhood. At least they had candy, she reasoned.

Making her purchase Andy left, looking for somewhere to enjoy her treats. She'd already started on the scotch, and now felt that the six Baby Ruth bars she'd just bought were left behind. Deciding there was no time like the present, she took another swig of scotch and unwrapped the candy, taking a large bite.

It was as the chocolate passed her lips that she let herself cry, the tears running freely down her face. Five hours ago she might have cared that her makeup was surely ruined, but it was dark out now, and it felt like a lifetime had passed since then.

Cramming the rest of that first candy bar into her mouth, Andy continued walking, not sure where her feet were taking her. Forty minutes later she found herself in a nicer neighborhood, and she vaguely realized she was Uptown, but didn't care to find a street sign – didn't care to do much at all, expect for drink and cry.

Because they'd been so young. So, so young. Their eyes were still open when she got there, light blue, like the sky. Eyebrows barely visible their hair was so pale and fine, Andy choked remembering how their foreheads had been matted with blood. Everything had been soaked with the thick red fluid. It had been a bloodbath.

Her first real assignment, she'd been so excited, and instead she found that maybe she wasn't cut out for this job, for the harsh reality of this world. But she'd gone back to the office and typed up the piece, because it was expected of her – it was her job.

Not seeing a crack in the otherwise smooth sidewalk, Andy took a dive headfirst onto the pavement, reaching out to stop her fall with the heel of her palm. Of course, as Andy picked herself up again, swaying slightly – she'd finished over half of the scotch at this point – she saw that her palm was cut up and bloodied, and her mind jumped to the scene she'd witnessed a few hours prior. At least she'd had enough sense about to her to save the alcohol.

Making her way over to a bench – she realized she must be in quite a nice neighborhood if there were benches on the sidewalk – she sat down heavily, taking another sip from the bottle. Leaning back, she let her eyes shut for just a moment, as more tears made their way silently down her cheeks.

Miranda stood and arched her back a bit, stretching out the tired muscles. She was working late, again. The twins were at their father's and the next issue was due to print in less than two weeks, so why not stay late and work?

"Emily?" She called softly, this late at night. The new girl came scurrying in, looking exhausted but wired, probably out of fear. Miranda smirked.

"Take these down to printing, and have my car ready in five minutes." Miranda handed the girl a stack of revised layouts.

"Yes, Miranda," The girl scurried back out, stopping for a moment at her desk, not sure whether to call Roy or deliver the layouts first. Then she remembered she had a cell phone, grabbed it, and made her way down the hall.

Miranda sighed. She'd probably have to fire her next week, if the silly girl continued on in this witless manner. For all her mistakes, Andrea had never been stupid. Miranda shook her head at herself for thinking of Andrea again. For comparing the new girl to old one – the better one. The girl had only left sixth months prior, it was reasonable that she still thought of her from time to time, wasn't it? Lately, though, she found she compared almost everyone to Andrea. It was disconcerting and Miranda didn't like to dwell on it too much.

She followed her ex-assistant's progress in the Mirror – she'd been making some headway and would probably get assigned to a bigger story soon. Writing, after all, was clearly something at which she excelled; Miranda would have to be a fool not to see that, at least.

After four minutes had passed Miranda made her way into the outer office, barking for her coat and bag, which the real Emily hastily retrieved. Donning them, she left for the night.

Miranda had already been irritated with herself for thinking about Andrea, and then realizing how much she thought about Andrea, so the horrendous traffic on the way home did nothing to soothe her. Really, it was practically the middle of the night, where on earth were people going?

Roy made a turn and Miranda realized they were just a block away from home, when she saw a young woman slumped into a bench on the sidewalk. A young woman who bore a striking resemblance to…

"Roy, slow down," she commanded, and as they slid closer to the bench Miranda saw that the young woman was, in fact, Andrea Sachs. "Stop." He obeyed. He had no idea what was going on, but never one to question Miranda Priestly, Roy pulled over, a few feet up the sidewalk from the bench where Andy was.

Not waiting for Roy to come around and open her door, Miranda pushed herself out of the Mercedes, leaving the door open, and walked slowly towards the bench. Andrea's right hand was splayed out to her side, her palm badly shredded and bloody. From her left hung an almost-empty bottle of scotch, and then Miranda looked at her face and her heart almost cracked.

Tear streaks marred her beautiful features, mascara in runs down her cheeks, and her hair was slightly disheveled. What in the world…

"Miranda?" The sound barely came out, and it was slightly slurred.

"Get in the car." She snatched away the bottle of scotch, much to Andy's displeasure.

"You're not the boss of me, anymore," she sounded like a petulant child.

"Don't make me repeat myself, Andréa. Get in the car."

Andy stood, coming face to face with the Queen of Fashion. Miranda could smell the booze rolling off her skin. "So you can what?" she whispered, "Tell me how big a failure I am? You're about four hours too late on that one, Priestly." She turned around in the middle of the street, swaying violently, and started walking.

Miranda, very un-characteristically, followed, and grabbed Andy's wrist when she caught up. "Let me go, Miranda, I really don't want to do this." There were tears shining in her eyes, and her voice was thick. Miranda realized that she wasn't going to get answers out here in the street. No, what she needed to do was get the girl to sober up, to think calmly.

"Then get in the car, and let me get you into bed." She realized what it sounded like the moment it came out.

Andy barked out a laugh, "You trying to seduce me? I'm already pretty wasted – it wouldn't be hard." She tugged away her hand and kept walking, but turned back. "Although that's not a bad idea," she threw her arms up in the air, "Maybe I'll just go get some guy to fuck me, maybe that'll make me forget." Her voice cracked at this last part, and she started sobbing. Curling in on herself, she brought her un-injured hand up to her face, as if trying to shield herself from the world.

Mirada wrapped her arms around the younger woman's waist and led her to the idling car, not taking no for answer.

"Where to?" A very confused Roy asked.

"Home, of course." Miranda didn't have the effort to sound annoyed.

Andy startled awake, images of blood and death burned into her eyelids. Propping herself up on her elbows, Andy realized she had been sleeping face down in pillow that smelled remarkably like… Miranda? Looking around, she saw that perhaps her assessment wasn't so far off. The room was large and beautifully decorated. Just like the rest of the Priestly Townhouse.

Blinking, she saw that it was 3 AM, and wondered what the hell she was doing sleeping in what she assumed was one of Miranda's guest rooms. Why in the hell was she here?

As she got her bearings, though, she remembered the night before; the bodies of the children thrown about, blood everywhere. She remembered a bottle of cheap scotch; she remembered the inside of Miranda's Mercedes. Andy scratched her head, feeling it was damp. She remembered being forced into a shower and a change of clothes. And she remembered Miranda's eyes, looking at her like every time Andy let out a sob, Miranda felt the hurt, too. She remembered Miranda's voice, telling her all would be okay while she combed through her hair, and then lay with her while she fell asleep.

Andy swung her feet over the side of the bed, standing, and felt the blood rush upwards. She groaned. Definitely hung-over. Making her way out the door, she didn't have the presence of mind to take in the scenery. Most would have jumped at the chance to see the upper quarters of the fabled Townhouse. All Andy wanted was an Aspirin and some coffee.

She made her way to the kitchen, seeing a soft glow emanating from the doorway.

"Andréa," Miranda sighed, sounding relieved. She was sitting at the kitchen table with a large mug of coffee resting between her palms, no Book in sight. Andy wondered briefly what she'd been doing.

"Um… Aspirin?" Andy mumbled, wincing at how small she sounded.

"Of course," Miranda stood, "Coffee?"

"Thank you."

Both seated at the table now, they regarded each other openly.

"Do you remember last night?"

"Bits and pieces. Flashes, really," Andy was suddenly nervous, and started playing with the rim of her mug. How was it that this woman made her feel like she was on fire from only a few feet away?

"I found you in the street, you were quite drunk."

Andy winced and looked up, expecting to find judgment on the older woman's face. She found none, but detected something like worry.

"That I remember – the being drunk. And coming here. And I guess," she made a gesture towards her hair, "a shower."

Miranda nodded, almost smiling. "I had to fight you quite hard on that. And getting you into clean clothes was quite the challenge as well. You wouldn't happen to have been a cage fighter in a previous life, would you?"

"Sorry," Andy whispered, feeling guilty. After all, her former boss – whom she'd walked out on – had taken her in, in an attempt to help a woman who meant nothing to her, and she'd fought her every step of the way.

Andy suddenly realized that Miranda had gotten her into the shower and then a clean set of clothes. Miranda had. Because she'd been so drunk. And then Andy became aware of the fact that she wasn't wearing any underwear – no bra, no panties. Blushing, she ducked her head and repeated herself.

"Don't be," Miranda sounded slightly amused, as if she knew what was going on in Andy's mind right now. "Do you feel up to eating something?" Andy shook her head. "Then perhaps you'd like to tell me how you ended up in my neighborhood, drunk off your ass and angry at the world?"

Andy looked at the woman sitting across from her and felt an overwhelming surge of affection. She reasoned with herself that as much as she didn't want to talk about what she'd seen, the least she owed Miranda was an explanation. "I was covering a story."

"Involving cheap scotch?"

Andy snorted and went on. "It was my first real story – something that wasn't an obituary or a park opening. A murder, but I was too excited to care," Andy laughed at herself, remembering. "It was in the meat-packing district. A woman had called in a tip to the police a few hours before about a man roughing-up this little boy, dragging him along; the boy was screaming, but before anyone could do anything, they'd both disappeared into a warehouse." Andy sighed, taking a sip of her coffee and looked at Miranda, who kept a straight face.

"When the police questioned the woman, she said she often saw the man with little boys, but not always the same one. And that she'd seen him a few days before with gardening tools… and a chainsaw." A tear slipped down Andy's cheek, and she brushed it away quickly. "It was a mess when I got there. Thirteen of them, all between six and ten, all butchered and bloodied by the man with the chainsaw." Tears were pouring freely down Andy's face now, and she didn't bother to do anything about it.

Miranda reached out and took Andy's right hand – which had been bandaged - in her own. "I don't know how to describe it, Miranda. There was the essence of evil in the air, and the scent of newly decomposing bodies. Their eyes were open… you could see the horror. They knew what was coming." She choked back a sob.

Miranda squeezed Andy's hand and then lifted her chin with a finger. "You're not supposed to be okay with this," Miranda whispered, wiping away Andy's tears with her thumb. "You're not supposed to be able to handle it."

Andy gave her a sad smile and reached up, pressing the other woman's hand into her cheek. "Thank you," she said, releasing Miranda's hand. "You didn't have to bring me back here…"

"Well, I couldn't very well let you go off to find some guy to fuck you so you'd forget." Andy looked at her, shocked. "Your words, not mine," Miranda smiled softly and then stood, indicating that Andy should follow. They made their back upstairs, and stopped in front of the guest room Andy had awoken in. "Go back to bed, I'll be here when you wake up."

Suddenly Andy felt uncomfortable, like she as imposing on Miranda. Surely the woman had better things to do than babysit ex-employees? "Miranda, thank you for all this, but maybe I should go; you're busy and I have work tomorrow anyway…"

"On a Saturday, Andréa?"

"Oh…" she said, realizing that no, in fact, she did not have work tomorrow. "No, I guess not."

"Sleep now. My room's over there, if you need me," she pointed and then took Andy's hand again, pulling her into a hug. "Don't ever feel badly about how you reacted. Empathy is the most human trait there is, don't ever let it go."

Miranda woke a few hours later to find that while she was sleeping Andy had crawled into bed with her. The act itself immediately made Miranda think of her girls – how they used to take comfort in her bed after a nightmare – however the curve of the other woman's breast pressing into her side, arm flung over her middle, head on her shoulder, leg resting in between her own, dispelled quickly any thought of the twins.

Miranda reached up and stroked the long dark hair, bringing her other arm out to wrap around Andy's waist, pulling her in closer.

Her own attraction to the girl during her short tenure at Runway had not gone unnoticed. She'd felt something the moment Andrea had stood up to her during the interview, however she'd brushed it off. After all, she couldn't ever be attracted to anyone in those shoes. Apparently, she'd been wrong, and she felt an even stronger pull once the girl had gotten over her superiority complex and Nigel had tweaked her look.

Desire pulsed through her as she thought of the many times she'd just wanted to take Andrea and fuck her in the elevator or the Closet or against her desk. That… desire… she could deal with, handle. But this concern for the younger woman's wellbeing was… inconvenient. She was unable, now, to separate wanting unbridled sex with the woman and feeling an emotional attachment to her.

Falling for a woman half her age was something Stephen had done, although she very much doubted there was more than sex involved in that relationship. What she wanted from Andrea was more than sex - it was intimacy, something she'd scarcely allowed her husbands.

Andrea groaned then, burrowing her face deeper into Miranda's neck, and then stiffening, realizing where she was. Her eyes became saucers, scared the Dragon Lady was about to kick her out of her bed and her home, but Miranda hugged her tighter and sighed, "Go back to sleep darling, it's too early."

Not knowing quite what to make of it, Andy settled back at Miranda's side and quickly fell back into a deep slumber. Miranda followed soon after.

Andy shifted, feeling a warm weight trapping her against a soft body. She opened her eyes slowly, inhaling the scent that surrounded her. Miranda, Miranda, Miranda. She thought then that she could die in that moment and all would be well.

The sun peeked in through the curtains, throwing soft light onto the bed, and Andy was struck with an ethereal image of Miranda. God the woman was beautiful.

She was about to rest her head again when she felt Miranda stir, and suddenly she was looking into familiar blue eyes.

Miranda swallowed and moaned, "Good morning," and squeezed Andy tight against her. "You should eat something. God knows you threw up the entire contents of your stomach last night." And with that she sat up and got out of bed.

Andy was sure her mouth was hanging open but hoped to god that it wasn't. What else was she supposed to do when Miranda was standing there wearing silk burgundy shorts and a matching camisole? She didn't have long to stare, though, as Miranda pulled her grey robe from the divan at the end of the bed. Taking her lead, Andy followed downstairs, suddenly self-conscious about the white cotton shirt and yoga pants she'd been loaned.

Miranda moved about the kitchen effortlessly, making the coffee first and then – to Andy's surprise – French toast. She felt useless standing there, but wasn't sure how to help, only offering a soft "thank you" when handed a mug of coffee and when motioned to sit at the table, a plate stacked with French toast and a bowl of eggs appearing in front of her.

"How are you feeling?" Miranda had her own plate of food in front of her and started making headway, after which Andy followed.

"Better, thank you." The tension in the room was palpable, an unacknowledged something existing between them. "Sorry about this morning, I don't –"

"It's fine, Andréa, I…" Miranda trailed off, as if unsure of what to say. "I didn't mind."

"Oh. Good, I guess."

Miranda gave her a smirk. "How did you end up so far uptown?"

"I don't know, really. I bought the scotch and six candy bars and just kept walking. I wasn't really paying attention to where I was going. " But somehow I ended up here, with you was the unspoken end of that sentence.

"Six candy bars?" Miranda raised an eyebrow and Andy shrugged.

"I threw it up, anyway."

"Yes, I supposed you did." She grimaced.

Andy shifted awkwardly. "Thank you, for…"

"Of course." Miranda brushed it off with a flick of her wrist.

"It's not of course, Miranda. I was…" she sighed. "You've been so kind to me, and I just, I want you to know how much I appreciate it." Miranda nodded. "Come to think of it, though, why are you being so nice?" Andy looked up, praying that she wasn't about to be verbally abused for asking such a ridiculous question.

But Miranda didn't answer right away. Instead she took another sip of her coffee, seeming to contemplate, ruminate over thoughts tumbling about in her mind. Her eyes settled on Andy's, and they merely looked at each other for several seconds before Miranda responded. "For much the same reason I think you left me in Paris."

She spoke lowly, and Andy barely heard her. But she had, and she was stunned. Quickly composing herself, she said the first thing that came to mind. "I didn't leave you in Paris, I left the job."

"Yes, I suppose you're right." Miranda regarded Andy for a few moments, and then said, "And this morning you were in my bed." Andy looked down, blushing. Sensing her discomfort, Miranda offered, "If I had not wanted you there you would not have been."

She reached across the table and grasped Andy's hand, stroking her thumb over the top. Andy breathed out, "Miranda," feeling her nipples harden she closed her eyes and swallowed, knowing they would be visible through her shirt. "What are we doing?" It came out as a whisper.

"I haven't the faintest idea," Miranda murmured, and then stood up, tugging Andy with her and brought them close together, so that their foreheads were touching. "Do you want this?"

Andy stared straight into Miranda's eyes, leaving no room for doubt. "I have for quite a while."

And with that they were kissing, nipping at each other's lips. Andy sucked on Miranda's bottom lip and heard the other woman moan, allowing her entrance. Tongues dueled, sliding against each other, and Andy found herself pushed back against the kitchen island. Miranda's hands were all over her, sliding under her shirt and over her breasts, her mouth making its way down her neck. Tugging, Andy removed her shirt, giving the other woman full access. Taking advantage, Miranda tugged a nipple into her mouth, making Andy gasp.

Andy's hands, for their part, had untied Miranda's robe and pushed it off her shoulders. Sliding her thumbs under the silk camisole, Andy arched her chest into Miranda's mouth, and pulled the woman closer. "God, don't stop," she gasped. Miranda grinned and switched breasts, palming the one she'd just left.

Andy, too focused on grabbing Miranda's ass, didn't notice that her pants were pooled around her ankles until she felt Miranda's fingers slide in between her legs. She groaned, loudly. "Up," Miranda said, tapping the counter.

Lifting herself up onto the counter, Andy leaned down for another kiss, surprised to find herself pushed back farther. "Lie down," the growl emanated from deep within Miranda and Andy found herself flooded once again, already embarrassingly wet. Content at this point to let Miranda do what she pleased, Andy let herself be situated so that she was laying on her back, her hands clinging to the sides of the counter, and her legs thrown over Miranda's shoulders, the older woman's head between her thighs.

Andy found an arm pressing into her, holding her flat on the counter as she came. She was screaming, she realized, as Miranda's tongue pumped in and out of her, occasionally flicking her clit.

As she came down from her high, her body seemed to melt into the marble. "Holy fuck," she breathed, and heard Miranda, who was now drawing small patterns onto her stomach, chuckle.

"You're exquisite." Andy pushed herself up onto her elbows and rolled her eyes, prepared to jump down from the counter when, "You don't believe me." It wasn't a question.

Andy shrugged, "I just… I'm not that. I've never been that…" she trailed off.

"Well I can't speak to the past, but you are certainly the most delicious thing I've ever eaten in this kitchen." Andy looked down, embarrassed and blushing. "Has no one before ever told you how beautiful you are, Andréa?" She whispered, looking at the other woman and unable to believe such a transgression had been committed.

Andy shrugged again and looked up. "Never in the way you just did."

"Fools, all of them." Andy smiled. Miranda held her hand out, stepping back. "Come, we aren't even close to finished." Andy felt herself getting wet again.

Miranda shuddered, grasping the sheets as her fourth orgasm of the day rode through her. Never before had she come so much, and she just about passed out as she felt Andrea slide up next to her.

She garbled something like a moan, and then, "You have quite the talent."

Andrea smiled, clearly proud of herself, "Well I have always wanted to be a writer."

Miranda chuckled at that and pinched the other woman's thigh lightly. "Cheeky…"

It was now late in the afternoon, the pair having spent the whole day in bed. And in the hallway on the way to the bed. And once in the shower. Miranda groaned again, shifting against her lover.

"What is it?" Andrea asked, leaning down to lightly nip around her left breast.

"I've never been so thoroughly fucked in my entire life." She was almost embarrassed to admit it.

Andrea gave her a shit eating grin, "Neither have I," and nuzzled her breast, "neither have I." Andy stiffened then, sitting upright and looking startled. "Oh my god, Miranda, I didn't even think – the girls!"

Miranda looked up, taking in the sight of the younger woman; legs lost under the sheets, torso twisted to face her, breasts bared, hair seriously disheveled. She licked her lips and smiled. "At their father's… Come here," she wrapped an arm around Andrea's waist, tugging her down for a kiss, "I can't seem to stop wanting you," she murmured against full lips.

Andrea echoed back, "And I, you."

They proceeded to make love twice more that night, until around eight Andrea's stomach growled quite loudly, pulling a heartfelt laugh from Miranda. They made their way downstairs in nothing but a robe, stopping every few feet for a kiss.

Sitting at the table, the two women talked for over an hour about everything and nothing, though they avoided the topic that had brought Andrea to tears the night before.

They were sitting there in silence for a moment when a stricken look overcame Andrea's features. "What is it, darling?"

Andy swallowed harshly. "I can't… I wouldn't be here, if it wasn't for him," she croaked, "and I feel horrible for thinking that."

Miranda sighed, seeing the guilt plaguing the younger woman. "For what it's worth, I think we would have found our way to each other."

"Are you just saying that?"

Miranda shook her head. "I feel like," she closed her eyes and huffed a laugh, "God this sounds silly."

"Tell me."

Taking a deep breath, Miranda focused on the loving gaze reflected back at her. "I feel like my whole life has been leading up to you," she gave Andy a small smile. "Do I sound foolish?"

"I wonder, by my troth, what thou and I did, till we loved? If every any beauty I did see, Which I desired, and got, 'twas but a dream of thee." Andy smiled, her eyes shining.

Miranda sighed, letting a smile escape her lips, and rested her head in one of her hands. "You make me disgustingly happy."

"Disgustingly? Or deliriously?" Andrea countered.

"Blissfully."

"You know I might never leave now."

"I'd hope not." Andrea smiled at that, and Miranda realized she would move heaven and earth to see her lover smile like that every day.

"What about tomorrow?"

"What about it?"

"Well," Andrea sighed, "we should probably talk about… things…"

"Probably, yes." Miranda didn't look the least bit perturbed. "However I'm quite sure that you're it for me, and if you so choose, I'd like to have you stick around for a while," she smiled and grabbed Andrea's hand.

"I'll have to check my schedule… How long do you think you'd like me for?" Andy grinned back.

"Hmmm… probably forever."

"Oh? Is that all?"

"That, my dear, is all."

FIN.

Hope you liked it - I'd love a review :)