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Chapter Text

Ever since the day she stepped into my office wearing that terrible skirt and oversized, wrinkled cerulean sweater, Andrea has set my world on fire and turned my life upside down.

But I wouldn't call it a bad thing. In all honesty, I did find her attractive, even though that outfit was… not particularly easy on the eyes.

After months of her being under my employ, I wanted Andrea to stay close. She gradually wormed her way into the hearts of my twins, my dog, and myself. I would never admit to anyone—least of all her—that I considered her one of my best friends; the other two being Nigel and Donatella. Keeping Andrea nearby made me feel more secure, safe, and cared for. These were things I, and by extension, Cassidy and Caroline, deeply longed for, especially now that my divorce from Stephen has been finalized.

With only a month until Paris Fashion Week, I found myself reflecting on Andrea's progress. Emily may have been my first assistant, but Andrea was a quick learner who could anticipate what I wanted—even the impossible. Because of this, I planned to promote her to my first assistant before Paris. Admittedly, I did feel a pang of guilt about sidelining Emily, particularly since she was going through family issues at the time. But Andrea's skill set was exactly what I needed.

In Paris, I planned to confess something. Something that could very well hurt me and perhaps even offend her, depending on whether my feelings were reciprocated.

For the past week or so, I'd noticed Andrea seemed unwell. She looked tired, even a bit sickly. I couldn't tell if it was nerves about Paris or something more. With only two days until we were set to leave, I felt my concern grow. It was halfway through the workday, and I watched her make her third trip to the bathroom in just an hour. I decided enough was enough—I couldn't stand seeing her sick. In the six months she'd worked for me, I'd come to think of her as my Andrea or darling. The feelings I harbored for her were overwhelming, more intense than anything I'd experienced since my time in London, before I left home for the States.

I was pulled from my reverie as she exited the bathroom and practically collapsed into her seat, looking worse than she had this morning.

I knew I had to act, so I grabbed my coat and bag and said, "Andrea, come with me and grab your things. Emily, cancel the rest of my appointments for today. That's all."

Both women were shocked, and understandably so. I rarely cancel my day unless it's absolutely necessary.

Once we were in the car, I turned to Andrea immediately. "Andrea, have you been feeling alright?"

The answer was obvious, yet she tried to brush it off. "Oh, it's nothing. Just a bit of nerves about Paris."

Of course, she was nervous about Paris. So was I, despite having been there countless times. "Nonsense, Andrea. It's not just nerves making you this sick. I'm taking you to my family physician to get you feeling well again." She seemed to consider this, her nervous expression almost endearing.

"Are... Are you sure, Miranda? I don't want to be a burden."

I couldn't understand why she would ever consider herself a burden and told her as much. "My dear Andrea, how could you possibly think of yourself as a burden?"

She bit her lip before replying, "Well, I'm just an assistant. You're Miranda Priestly; you run an empire. You probably have better things to do." Her response made my heart ache.

She seemed to lack confidence, something I hoped to help her build. "I may be at the head of an empire, but I care about those who work with me—even if I don't always show it. And believe me, I have nothing better to do. Honestly, I detest at least half of the meetings I attend. Andrea, I never want you to feel as if you're a burden, because you're not."

She gave me a small smile and whispered, "Thank you, Miranda." The rest of the ride was quiet, with Roy pulling up to the private entrance of the hospital, as usual. I had called ahead to let my physician know I was bringing a friend. Hopefully, after Paris, Andrea would be more than just a friend.

Inside, we were greeted by Dr. Kathy Holt. "Hello, I'm Dr. Kathy Holt. You must be Andrea."

Andrea nodded, pressing her lips together as if holding back nausea. I placed a supportive hand on her lower back and turned to the doctor. "Can we hurry and get her into a room, Katherine? She needs to sit down." Katherine raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised by my uncharacteristic concern for an employee.

"Of course, Miranda. Follow me, please." As we walked, I kept my hand on Andrea's back to steady her. It seemed to provide some comfort, fueling my hope for what Paris might bring—assuming she'd be well enough to travel.

Once Andrea was seated on the exam table, Dr. Holt said, "I'll be with you in about ten minutes. My nurse will check in on you shortly."

With the room warm, I took off our coats and placed our purses on the counter. I glanced over at Andrea and noticed her pale, greenish hue. "Andrea, darling, are you alright?"

Her eyes filled with tears as she managed, "Please… hand me the trash can." Quickly, I handed it to her, holding her hair back with one hand and rubbing gentle circles on her back with the other. Seeing her sick pained me, but comforting her was the least I could do. She was probably wondering why I was being so uncharacteristically nurturing, and I couldn't blame her; I wasn't known for my softness, except with Cassidy and Caroline.

After her third bout of retching, she whispered tearfully, "I'm sorry, Miranda."

I met her gaze, my voice gentle. "Andrea, you have nothing to be sorry for. Everyone gets sick sometimes. It's human."

Just then, the nurse entered. "Hi, I'm Hannah. I'll take your vitals, and then Dr. Holt will be in shortly."

When Katherine returned, I noticed Andrea tense up with nerves, and I felt my own unease rise. "Alright, Andrea, let's see what's causing this. Lay back, please." She checked Andrea's heart, listened to her stomach, and examined her abdomen. "You can sit up now," she said. "I think I have an idea of what's causing the symptoms, but I'll need to run some tests to confirm. We'll have the results in about fifteen minutes."

When Dr. Holt returned with a small smile, I felt a sense of anticipation. "Well, Andrea, all your tests came back fine, but one result stands out. Congratulations—you're pregnant."

Andrea's eyes widened, and she began to cry. I couldn't tell if they were tears of joy or sadness, but I immediately wondered if this news would affect her ability to travel. "Will she be able to fly to Paris for Fashion Week?" I asked.

"She should be fine," Dr. Holt replied. "I'd recommend some over-the-counter motion sickness relief to help with the plane ride, and I'll prescribe something for the nausea." She shook our hands, and I offered her a heartfelt, "Thank you, Katherine."

Once we were back in the car, I turned to Andrea. "Andrea," I said gently, "you'll be coming to the townhouse with me. There's something I want to discuss with you. Nothing bad, I assure you."

Chapter Text

As we pulled up to the townhouse, I knew exactly what I wanted to do. Andrea needed care, attention, and a place where she felt truly safe. Walking slightly ahead of her, I took off my coat, hung it in the closet, and set my purse down on the small entryway table. She followed, still a little pale, looking around with an uncertain expression. There was a fragile air about her, one that worried me. She was clearly exhausted and unwell.

"Andrea, I'll make you some peppermint tea. It should help settle your stomach a bit," I said gently. "If you need the bathroom, there's one down the hallway off the living room, second door on the left."

She nodded, her face taking on a slightly greenish hue, and her steps wavered as she disappeared down the hall. After a moment, I heard a light thud, and instinctively, I moved quickly to check on her. As I entered, I found her slumped over the toilet, her face pale, with her hair hanging down. It was more than just nausea—she seemed worn down, as if this had taken far more from her than she was letting on.

I kneeled beside her, reaching out. "Are you alright, darling?"

She turned to look at me, her expression a mix of embarrassment and misery. "I… I…" But she couldn't finish before she turned back to the toilet, her body wracked with dry heaves. I gathered her hair back with one hand and rubbed soothing circles on her back with the other. The small tremors in her shoulders revealed how deeply she was affected. When the worst had passed, she slumped back against the wall, clearly trying to keep herself composed despite her condition.

Opening a drawer in the vanity, I grabbed a hair tie and pulled her hair back into a loose, messy bun, hoping it would offer her a bit more comfort. "Andrea, I'll be right back. I'm going to call Roy and ask him to pick up your prescription." She gave a small nod, eyes lowered as she tried to regain her composure.

Quickly, I dialed Roy's number.

"What can I do for you, Miranda?"

"Roy, can you pick up Andrea's prescription from the pharmacy and bring it here?"

"Yes, ma'am, I can do that. Give me about twenty minutes, and I'll be at your door with them."

"Thank you, Roy. That's all."

I returned to the bathroom and helped Andrea up from the floor. "Roy is on his way with your medication. Until then, let's sit in the den. We should talk about your pregnancy."

"Yes, Miranda," she said softly, but her gaze was distant, her shoulders tense. Her face was pale, her lips tight, as if she were bracing herself for something difficult.

In the den, I gestured for her to sit beside me on the small sofa. She hesitated before sinking into the seat, visibly drained. The vulnerability I sensed from her was heartbreaking, and something within me softened further, aching to protect her from any more hardship.

"Andrea," I began gently, "is that… man, Nate, the father?" I chose my words carefully, watching her for any flicker of emotion. "And if he is, do you intend to tell him about the child? I'm asking because, darling, I care about you. It isn't easy being pregnant, especially if you're on your own."

She bit her lip, her expression a mixture of hesitation and sadness, her eyes focused somewhere beyond the room. I gave her a moment, allowing her to gather herself. Finally, she took a deep breath and looked at me.

"Yes, Nate is the father," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I probably should tell him, but… I don't know if I should."

I watched her carefully, feeling both surprise and sadness at her answer. "Why don't you think you should tell him, darling?"

A single tear slipped down her cheek, and she seemed to draw inward, her hands clasping tightly in her lap. "Nate… he wasn't the nicest person," she began, her voice thick with restrained emotion. "He was, at first, but around the time I started working at Runway, he started drinking, and things changed… fast. There were moments when he would get angry over the smallest things, and I thought maybe it was just stress, but then he…" She hesitated, the words seemingly too painful to say out loud.

I leaned forward slightly, placing a hand on hers to offer silent encouragement. She swallowed, her gaze focused downward.

"On our two-year anniversary, he stayed sober, and we celebrated." Her face flushed, but she pressed on. "But the next day, I found out he was cheating, so I confronted him. And… he hit me, Miranda. Hard enough that I fell backward. He didn't even apologize." Her voice broke, and she squeezed her eyes shut. "A few hours later, he packed his things, and as he left, he told me he never wanted to hear from me again. That's why I don't know if I should tell him."

For a moment, the room was silent, the weight of her confession settling over us. My heart ached for her, and I knew words alone couldn't ease what she'd been through, but I would try.

I gently wrapped my arms around her, pulling her into a light embrace. "My darling, you must do what feels right for you and for this child. No one can make that choice but you. But whatever you decide, I'll be here to support you."

She took a shaky breath, her fingers lightly clutching my sleeve as she whispered, "Thank you, Miranda. That means more than you know."

We sat quietly, allowing her to gather herself. I could see in her eyes a mix of relief and fear, a young woman grappling with life-altering decisions. The last thing I wanted was for her to feel alone in this. She needed assurance, stability, and, above all, compassion. I would give her that, and more if she needed it.

Just then, we heard the unmistakable sounds of my twin terrors bursting through the front door, their footsteps pounding up the stairs, filling the house with their boundless energy. I stood, casting a warm glance toward Andrea. "You're staying for dinner, darling. And after, we'll finish this conversation. But first, I need to have a word with Caroline and Cassidy about running in the house and, more importantly, about eavesdropping." I winked at her, watching a small smile tug at the corners of her lips.

She followed me, a touch of nervousness still visible, but she seemed lighter, more at ease. Perhaps, for the first time in a long time, she knew she wasn't entirely on her own.

In the kitchen, I found the twins trying to look innocent as they pretended not to have heard a thing. I arched an eyebrow at them, and they had the decency to look sheepish. "Caroline, Cassidy," I said, a hint of reproach in my tone, "what did I tell you about running inside the house?"

"Sorry, Mom," they chorused, giving each other sidelong glances.

"And eavesdropping?" I added, crossing my arms.

They exchanged guilty looks before Cassidy spoke up. "We just heard voices, so we thought maybe someone was… visiting."

"Yes," Caroline added quickly. "We weren't trying to listen. Really."

"Mm-hmm," I replied, unconvinced but amused. "Well, since Andrea will be joining us for dinner, I expect you to behave. And no eavesdropping, understood?"

They both nodded, trying their best to look angelic, though I could see the mischief lingering in their eyes. I ushered them toward the dining room, where Andrea was already seated, looking more relaxed than she had all day. The sight of her visibly at ease, surrounded by warmth and laughter, reassured me. It was clear she needed this—an evening free from the usual stresses, a place where she could feel at peace.

Dinner was a lively affair, with the girls animatedly recounting their day, occasionally drawing Andrea into their stories. I noticed that she seemed to enjoy their company, her laughter soft but genuine. She ate sparingly, clearly still feeling the effects of her nausea, but she smiled and nodded as the girls spoke.

After dinner, I walked her to the den once more, closing the door behind us to grant her a moment of privacy. Andrea sank onto the sofa, letting out a long, tired breath.

"Thank you, Miranda," she said softly, glancing up at me with a hint of vulnerability. "For… everything. I didn't expect… I mean, I didn't think…"

"Darling, you're family now. You may not realize it, but you've become quite dear to us," I said gently. "And family looks after one another."

Her eyes shone, and though she said nothing, the gratitude was plain on her face. We sat in comfortable silence, and I felt that something had shifted between us, a new level of trust and understanding that would only grow with time.

Chapter Text

As promised, after putting the twins to bed, I led Andrea back into the living room to continue our conversation. The house was quiet now, and I could feel the weight of our unfinished talk settling around us. "Tell me, Andrea," I began gently, "what do you plan to do now? Have you thought about telling your parents?"

The question seemed to hit a nerve. Andrea's face fell almost immediately, and her eyes began to well up, tears slipping silently down her cheeks. Instinctively, I reached out and began rubbing her back in soft circles, hoping to offer her some measure of comfort.

Her voice came out shaky, each word a struggle. "I... Let's just say... they want absolutely nothing to do with me. All because of something I told them a few weeks ago."

Her words took me aback. What could she possibly have said that would lead her own family to turn away from her like this? "Might I ask," I asked carefully, "what exactly caused them to do and say such a thing?"

Andrea took a shuddering breath, her fingers twisting nervously together. "I told them... that I wasn’t straight. That I wasn’t... even bisexual." Her voice broke on that final word, and she dropped her gaze. "They told me not to bother coming home... and that they’d ship my things here to New York."

As soon as she finished, the weight of her words seemed to crash over her, and she broke into sobs, her whole body shaking. My heart ached for her—she had lost so much in such a short time, abandoned by the very people who should have offered unconditional love. I drew her to my side, holding her tightly, letting her sobs shake through her as I stroked her hair softly.

"Oh, my darling Andrea," I murmured, kissing the top of her head. "I’m so, so sorry you’ve had to go through that. You do have people who care deeply about you. Nigel, Emily, Serena, the twins, and me. Even Roy and Cara—they would all be here for you in a heartbeat. You aren’t alone, my dear."

As she gradually quieted, I gently pulled away from the embrace but kept my hand on her shoulder. Her cheeks were damp, her face flushed from crying, yet there was something vulnerable and beautiful about her in that moment. I wanted to shield her, to make her pain vanish, even if just for tonight.

I stood up, reaching out a hand to help her up as well. "Come with me, Andrea," I said, my voice soft to avoid waking the twins. "You’ll stay in the guest room tonight, the one across from my bedroom. Why don’t you take a long, relaxing bath to help you unwind? After today, you deserve a few moments of peace."

We climbed the stairs quietly, and I led her into the guest bedroom, flipping on the light with a soft click. I went to the closet and found a nightgown in her size, then laid it on the bed. "Here’s something comfortable for tonight. My room is right across the hall, so if you need anything, please don’t hesitate to call for me. I’ll be right here." I gave her a reassuring smile before stepping back. "Now, I’ll leave you to get settled."

I lingered at the doorway, just for a moment, watching her as she nodded, trying to regain her composure. Andrea gave me a small, grateful smile, her eyes still slightly red from tears. There was something in that look that held me captive for a second longer than I intended. In her gaze, I saw the flicker of trust, perhaps even something more—but I quickly pushed the thought away, offering her one last soft smile before retreating into the hallway.

Once in my own room, I leaned against the closed door, feeling a strange mix of calm and nerves flooding over me. Knowing what I now did, understanding her pain, and realizing that her family had rejected her simply for being herself... it made me even more fiercely protective of her. The more time I spent with Andrea, the more I found myself thinking of her as not just an employee, or even a friend, but as someone I wanted to hold close, to look after, and perhaps, in time, to love.

My mind wandered as I got ready for bed. Could there be even the slightest chance that Andrea might feel something for me, too? And if she did, how could I even begin to tell her how I felt without frightening her away? In the silence of my room, I played out countless conversations, each one failing to capture the intensity of what I felt for her.

I wondered if she was lying in her room, her mind as restless as mine, thoughts of her family’s rejection cutting through her like shards of glass. I knew how it felt to be alone, to feel that emptiness pressing in, even in a crowded room. Perhaps I could show her that she wasn’t alone—that she had a place here, not just at Runway, but with me, and that she could find comfort and belonging in our strange, cobbled-together little family.

As I lay back, turning off the bedside lamp, I closed my eyes and resolved to be there for her, no matter what lay ahead. Whatever it took, I would help Andrea find her way, and perhaps—if we were both brave enough—our paths might even lead us to each other.