Land Fathoms
Jul. 20th, 2009 02:11 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
Title: Land Fathoms
Fandom: The Devil Wears Prada (film)
Pairing: Miranda/Andy
Rating: R
Disclaimer: I have no rights whatsoever to The Devil Wears Prada.
Summary: My take on what happens between the moment when Andy stupidly drops her phone in the fountain and her return to New York.
Author's Note: I was hoping to have something ready in time for the International Day of Femslash, but it just didn't happen. I have some longer stuff in the works, but this piece is quite short. Enjoy!
Andy leaves; Andrea comes back. Only an hour has lapsed. She waits at the Place de Concorde, gets in the car when it arrives, and resumes her duties without exchanging so much as a word with Miranda. Perhaps Miranda has decided it isn’t such a good idea to talk about important things in a moving vehicle. Vehicles tend to roll to a stop eventually, and passengers who make a run for it don’t always decide to return.
After the day’s remaining shows—ethereal, cold—and the fancy dinner, Andrea is so tired that she almost falls asleep in the car. Her feet and legs ache, and the plush car seat feels like a cradle after a day of discomfort.
“Andrea,” Miranda says when they pull up to the hotel, her voice barely rippling the silence.
Andrea jerks to attention. Apparently, while her eyes were closed, day made a complete transition into night. It’s only been a few days since they arrived in Paris, but this is the first night during which she doesn’t register the lovely, exciting way evenings here flicker and glow.
Once upstairs, they linger outside the door to Miranda’s suite. The moment goes on long enough that a disturbing sort of apathy takes over and Andrea allows her eyes to blatantly roam Miranda’s face. She searches for anger, exasperation—mild irritation, even—and comes up with nothing but exhaustion.
“My two weeks start now.” Regardless of how worn out Miranda is, Andrea has to be clear about this. She came back today because the circumstances of her leaving were idiotic, beyond unprofessional, not because she wants the chance to hold onto her job.
“I should dismiss you immediately,” Miranda says, though the words lack bite.
“You probably should,” Andrea replies. She’s so tired and flat and miserable that she can’t even try for contrition. She feels worse than she sounds.
Miranda doesn’t have dark circles under her eyes, but the skin just around her eyelids is very pink, much pinker than usual, though not as noticeably as last night. It’s actually kind of a pretty shade, Andrea thinks. The color would work nicely in a dress or a summer blouse. Drifting back to the present, she realizes all the awkward silences today have been more than half her fault: within eight hours she’s questioned Miranda’s morality and lorded her own weak excuse for a conscience over her, she’s run away like a child, and even now, when Miranda finally seems ready to talk, she can’t maintain focus long enough for a rational discussion or a proper argument.
“I’ll miss you,” Andrea says before she can stop herself, and then Miranda’s hand is a sudden, unfamiliar weight on her shoulder and they’re walking into the suite. They set their handbags down by the door, Miranda flips the nearest light switch, and a large but dim lamp flickers on. When Miranda takes off her coat and drops it on the floor, Andrea takes off hers and does the same. They step out of their shoes. After a moment’s hesitation, they look at each other and wordlessly decide to unclasp their dresses, to struggle with their own zippers. If they don’t help each other, if they keep their hands to their own clothes, the decision to undress remains in each woman’s personal control. They leave their bras and underwear on, everything black lace to suit the requirements of their dresses, and walk toward the bedroom. Neither of them says anything complimentary about the other’s beauty. They are beautiful, but wearing a hideous day.
Miranda keeps turning on lights, even the one in the bathroom, and Andrea waits for her at the edge of the bed until she realizes Miranda is brushing her teeth. She darts back to her purse and pulls out the small toothbrush she always keeps with her. The bathroom door is ajar, so Andrea pushes her way in. Her boldness wakes her up a little, but not much. “I get to brush my teeth too,” she says, reaching across Miranda to turn on the faucet.
They’re so tired that it takes some effort to wrestle with the crisply made bed, yanking the bedcovers out from where they’ve been tightly tucked under the mattress. It’s odd how hotels force one to start over again and again. You mess up the bed, let water puddle to the side of the sink, leave a tissue on the nightstand, and when you leave the room a maid steals in to put everything back together. Whatever happens here tonight will be erased from the surface of the room within an hour of Miranda’s leaving tomorrow. When she comes back, the bed will be perfect again.
Anyway, it’s not as if there’s anything fabulous left to lose; the stakes aren’t particularly high. They’ve both fucked everything up, and it doesn’t matter if they fuck up some more.
Or, incidentally, if they fuck. Andrea doesn’t know if she likes women or if Miranda likes women or if either of them likes anybody anymore, but when their matching spearmint mouths press together she feels an unexpected relief. She paws at the clasp of Miranda’s bra until Miranda breaks the kiss, makes an agitated sound, and unfastens it herself, sliding the material down her arms. The feel of Miranda’s breasts, soft and heavy and warming up, makes Andrea gasp.
“I’ll miss you,” she says again, wishing she hadn’t as soon as the words leave her mouth.
“Then there must be something wrong with you.”
That makes Andrea stop cold. It dawns on her that she doesn’t want to have sex with anyone who feels this terrible. But even as she pulls away, she takes off her own bra for the sake of fairness and the mirror image. They sit in the middle of the white bed wearing their black underwear, both breathing hard, both saddened by what Miranda has said, so weirdly similar in this moment. Suddenly, this matters quite a lot.
“We have plenty of time,” Andrea says quietly. They might. She gets up and goes into the other room, rifling through Miranda’s bag until she finds her phone. When she gets back to the bedroom, Miranda is already lying down under the covers.
“My phone is gone, so I’m setting the alarm on yours for six-thirty. Don’t say anything,” she adds when Miranda opens her mouth. Andrea walks around the suite, turning off every lamp. When she lies down, she feels the weight of her limbs and her eyelids more acutely. After over seven months of alertness, this feels like her first chance to sleep.
“I don’t know why I turned on all the lights,” Miranda says.
“I don’t know either.” Andrea kisses what she thinks will be Miranda’s cheek but turns out to be the side of her mouth.
Andrea will go home and finish the breaking up that Nate started before she left. She will leave her job, which hopefully will not amount to the same thing as leaving Miranda. She’ll start carrying notebooks again, writing down the little things that interest her, eating and drinking the things that bring her pleasure. And right now, important above all else, is the rest she will get until six-thirty tomorrow morning.
“Goodnight,” Andrea says, as if the circumstances of this night are ordinary. She can feel delicious dreams lapping at the edges of the bed.
“Goodnight,” Miranda says back, as if politeness comes naturally. She rolls closer and places her arm so her wrist is planted against Andrea’s sternum and her elbow presses lightly against Andrea’s stomach. Inexplicably, the position makes Andrea think of a figurehead on the prow of a ship. The gesture is stabilizing, Miranda exerting gentle pressure and Andrea receiving it, and they fall asleep.
Fandom: The Devil Wears Prada (film)
Pairing: Miranda/Andy
Rating: R
Disclaimer: I have no rights whatsoever to The Devil Wears Prada.
Summary: My take on what happens between the moment when Andy stupidly drops her phone in the fountain and her return to New York.
Author's Note: I was hoping to have something ready in time for the International Day of Femslash, but it just didn't happen. I have some longer stuff in the works, but this piece is quite short. Enjoy!
Andy leaves; Andrea comes back. Only an hour has lapsed. She waits at the Place de Concorde, gets in the car when it arrives, and resumes her duties without exchanging so much as a word with Miranda. Perhaps Miranda has decided it isn’t such a good idea to talk about important things in a moving vehicle. Vehicles tend to roll to a stop eventually, and passengers who make a run for it don’t always decide to return.
After the day’s remaining shows—ethereal, cold—and the fancy dinner, Andrea is so tired that she almost falls asleep in the car. Her feet and legs ache, and the plush car seat feels like a cradle after a day of discomfort.
“Andrea,” Miranda says when they pull up to the hotel, her voice barely rippling the silence.
Andrea jerks to attention. Apparently, while her eyes were closed, day made a complete transition into night. It’s only been a few days since they arrived in Paris, but this is the first night during which she doesn’t register the lovely, exciting way evenings here flicker and glow.
Once upstairs, they linger outside the door to Miranda’s suite. The moment goes on long enough that a disturbing sort of apathy takes over and Andrea allows her eyes to blatantly roam Miranda’s face. She searches for anger, exasperation—mild irritation, even—and comes up with nothing but exhaustion.
“My two weeks start now.” Regardless of how worn out Miranda is, Andrea has to be clear about this. She came back today because the circumstances of her leaving were idiotic, beyond unprofessional, not because she wants the chance to hold onto her job.
“I should dismiss you immediately,” Miranda says, though the words lack bite.
“You probably should,” Andrea replies. She’s so tired and flat and miserable that she can’t even try for contrition. She feels worse than she sounds.
Miranda doesn’t have dark circles under her eyes, but the skin just around her eyelids is very pink, much pinker than usual, though not as noticeably as last night. It’s actually kind of a pretty shade, Andrea thinks. The color would work nicely in a dress or a summer blouse. Drifting back to the present, she realizes all the awkward silences today have been more than half her fault: within eight hours she’s questioned Miranda’s morality and lorded her own weak excuse for a conscience over her, she’s run away like a child, and even now, when Miranda finally seems ready to talk, she can’t maintain focus long enough for a rational discussion or a proper argument.
“I’ll miss you,” Andrea says before she can stop herself, and then Miranda’s hand is a sudden, unfamiliar weight on her shoulder and they’re walking into the suite. They set their handbags down by the door, Miranda flips the nearest light switch, and a large but dim lamp flickers on. When Miranda takes off her coat and drops it on the floor, Andrea takes off hers and does the same. They step out of their shoes. After a moment’s hesitation, they look at each other and wordlessly decide to unclasp their dresses, to struggle with their own zippers. If they don’t help each other, if they keep their hands to their own clothes, the decision to undress remains in each woman’s personal control. They leave their bras and underwear on, everything black lace to suit the requirements of their dresses, and walk toward the bedroom. Neither of them says anything complimentary about the other’s beauty. They are beautiful, but wearing a hideous day.
Miranda keeps turning on lights, even the one in the bathroom, and Andrea waits for her at the edge of the bed until she realizes Miranda is brushing her teeth. She darts back to her purse and pulls out the small toothbrush she always keeps with her. The bathroom door is ajar, so Andrea pushes her way in. Her boldness wakes her up a little, but not much. “I get to brush my teeth too,” she says, reaching across Miranda to turn on the faucet.
They’re so tired that it takes some effort to wrestle with the crisply made bed, yanking the bedcovers out from where they’ve been tightly tucked under the mattress. It’s odd how hotels force one to start over again and again. You mess up the bed, let water puddle to the side of the sink, leave a tissue on the nightstand, and when you leave the room a maid steals in to put everything back together. Whatever happens here tonight will be erased from the surface of the room within an hour of Miranda’s leaving tomorrow. When she comes back, the bed will be perfect again.
Anyway, it’s not as if there’s anything fabulous left to lose; the stakes aren’t particularly high. They’ve both fucked everything up, and it doesn’t matter if they fuck up some more.
Or, incidentally, if they fuck. Andrea doesn’t know if she likes women or if Miranda likes women or if either of them likes anybody anymore, but when their matching spearmint mouths press together she feels an unexpected relief. She paws at the clasp of Miranda’s bra until Miranda breaks the kiss, makes an agitated sound, and unfastens it herself, sliding the material down her arms. The feel of Miranda’s breasts, soft and heavy and warming up, makes Andrea gasp.
“I’ll miss you,” she says again, wishing she hadn’t as soon as the words leave her mouth.
“Then there must be something wrong with you.”
That makes Andrea stop cold. It dawns on her that she doesn’t want to have sex with anyone who feels this terrible. But even as she pulls away, she takes off her own bra for the sake of fairness and the mirror image. They sit in the middle of the white bed wearing their black underwear, both breathing hard, both saddened by what Miranda has said, so weirdly similar in this moment. Suddenly, this matters quite a lot.
“We have plenty of time,” Andrea says quietly. They might. She gets up and goes into the other room, rifling through Miranda’s bag until she finds her phone. When she gets back to the bedroom, Miranda is already lying down under the covers.
“My phone is gone, so I’m setting the alarm on yours for six-thirty. Don’t say anything,” she adds when Miranda opens her mouth. Andrea walks around the suite, turning off every lamp. When she lies down, she feels the weight of her limbs and her eyelids more acutely. After over seven months of alertness, this feels like her first chance to sleep.
“I don’t know why I turned on all the lights,” Miranda says.
“I don’t know either.” Andrea kisses what she thinks will be Miranda’s cheek but turns out to be the side of her mouth.
Andrea will go home and finish the breaking up that Nate started before she left. She will leave her job, which hopefully will not amount to the same thing as leaving Miranda. She’ll start carrying notebooks again, writing down the little things that interest her, eating and drinking the things that bring her pleasure. And right now, important above all else, is the rest she will get until six-thirty tomorrow morning.
“Goodnight,” Andrea says, as if the circumstances of this night are ordinary. She can feel delicious dreams lapping at the edges of the bed.
“Goodnight,” Miranda says back, as if politeness comes naturally. She rolls closer and places her arm so her wrist is planted against Andrea’s sternum and her elbow presses lightly against Andrea’s stomach. Inexplicably, the position makes Andrea think of a figurehead on the prow of a ship. The gesture is stabilizing, Miranda exerting gentle pressure and Andrea receiving it, and they fall asleep.
no subject
Date: 2009-07-20 06:55 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-07-20 10:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-07-20 08:20 am (UTC)Sad but hopeful.
no subject
Date: 2009-07-20 10:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-07-20 09:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-07-20 11:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-07-20 11:07 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-07-20 11:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-07-20 01:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-07-20 11:27 pm (UTC)Thank you! That means a lot. I'm so happy you enjoyed reading this, and I appreciate that you shared your thoughts.
no subject
Date: 2009-07-20 03:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-07-20 11:28 pm (UTC)*uses appropriate icon*
Date: 2009-07-20 04:38 pm (UTC)It dawns on her that she doesn’t want to have sex with anyone who feels this terrible.
Given recent fandom discussions about warnings, rape, ambiguous consent, etc., I especially appreciated this line. Andy is in a position to have sex with a vulnerable person who doesn't really want to; she realizes this, and stops. Simple as that. It's a new take on an old situation, and I think it works beautifully. Thank you.
I'm looking forward to your longer work, of course, but this is a wonderful way to tide us all over until then!
Re: *uses appropriate icon*
Date: 2009-07-21 01:08 am (UTC)I really appreciate that you recognized that Andy's actions were motivated by issues of ambiguous consent. I didn't want to hit people over the head with it, but I did want it to be clear that they were both in a pretty fuzzy, exhausted place, and were both feeling pretty awful, and that Andy has a brief moment of clarity there. Thanks so much for commenting on it and for being such a supportive reader, as always.
no subject
Date: 2009-07-20 05:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-07-21 01:08 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-07-20 05:43 pm (UTC)I have to admit - Andy leaving Miranda, for me, is old news. Hugely important to the story and all that is Mirandy, but not something I long to read about.
You changed this in a very big way. This was entirely unexpected and I found myself wishing this hadn't been cut out of the movie. Much better then sex could have been.
no subject
Date: 2009-07-21 01:10 am (UTC)You know, I feel the same way much of the time, and that's why I was sort of surprised when the idea to write this came to me.
Thanks so much for reading this and for your kind words.
I found myself wishing this hadn't been cut out of the movie
Eeee! This kind of feedback is just priceless for a fanfic writer.
no subject
Date: 2009-07-20 07:01 pm (UTC)this was unspeakably sad and genuine and perfect. i love that you recognized that it's silly/childish/unprofessional to just walk away from a job based on pride, and how you have andrea reeling from that and trying to work out something better for herself. and i love that they didn't have sex after all...you handled that beautifully.
this was raw and poignant - absolutely perfect.
no subject
Date: 2009-07-21 01:19 am (UTC)The ending of the movie always drove me crazy. Andy's actions were so unprofessional, and that never really gets acknowledged. It was not only cathartic for me to write this in a femslashy way, but also cathartic to finally say "Hello?!? Childish phone-throwing brat? What were you thinking!?!" and to write an Andy who gets that this is a pretty embarrassing thing to have done.
no subject
Date: 2009-07-20 07:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-07-21 01:20 am (UTC)Bittersweet.
I'm so gratified that it wasn't all bitter for you.
no subject
Date: 2009-07-20 09:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-07-21 01:28 am (UTC)I definitely agree with you that the filmmakers were struggling to find some big way for Andy to make a statement, and that part didn't ring true for me, either. It's not just because I'm queer and think Miranda's super hot, either. It seemed so obvious that Andy spends much of the movie realizing how interesting Miranda is, and for her huge epiphany to coincide with her throwing away that connection just doesn't make sense based on the trajectory set up by the preceding hour of film.
I'm glad the figurehead imagery worked for you. I couldn't entirely figure out where I was going with it, but I really like what you say about it. As a writer, it always makes me giddy when a reader finds a reason for something I wrote simply because I "had" to.
As for what you say about my stories, I can't thank you enough. I am truly touched..."close to my resonant frequency": that's beautiful, and I'm honored that you've said that about my writing. I'll definitely be writing and posting more, and will appreciate your continued readership. Have you considered trying your own hand at some writing (fanfic or otherwise?) You might surprise yourself.
no subject
Date: 2009-07-21 05:46 am (UTC)It makes my head hurt that I know exactly what you mean by this. (Remember the glass apple thing? That was totally out of left field for me.) Thanks for making me aware that there are other people in the world whose writing seems to take on a mind of its own, and to resist intervention. The image itself was beautiful, btw, and I'm glad you didn't edit it out.
no subject
Date: 2009-07-20 11:02 pm (UTC)I was left feeling cold, with a faint taste of optimism, which is what I think/hope you were aiming for?
It was clean, thought provoking and beautifully written.
Rage.
no subject
Date: 2009-07-21 01:29 am (UTC)Yes! Absolutely.
Thank you so much for reading, and for letting me know what you felt.
Reasons why you win
Date: 2009-07-21 05:36 am (UTC)In its small, perfect way, this is so touchingly sublime that it made me forget how to breathe, and yet it's not at all overdone. That's what makes you awesome: the little understated lines, so different from my own awkward flashiness. This is one such, and I love them all.
I also really enjoyed the fact that we aren't *sure* that they're lovers until their attitudes reveal it, when they undress in the hotel. It's obvious that this is normal for them, that they've undressed in each other's presence before, but it's a surprise to us -- it's almost like when a director chooses the same effect with video, in fact. It was a very sophisticated choice, and one I really enjoyed.
Whatever happens here tonight will be erased from the surface of the room within an hour of Miranda’s leaving tomorrow. When she comes back, the bed will be perfect again.
This paragraph is so excellent and so heartbreaking. It makes Andy's feelings painfully clear, but without directly saying any of it, and it tells me so much about their history. It's beautiful.
Also: I literally bounced and made a really girly noise of joy at the mention of the "longer stuff" you've got cooking. How goes it, BTW? Let me know if I can be of any help.
Re: Reasons why you win
Date: 2009-07-21 01:24 pm (UTC)Your comment is making me wonder if anyone else read this story as evidence that they're already lovers. I actually didn't imagine this when I was writing: my take on things was that they both kind of love each other (like they obviously do even in the movie), or at least care for each other deeply, and are so brain-dead and upset by the end of this day that they just stop caring about propriety and holding back. I think it's really cool that you interpreted it differently, though, and I can see how the wordless way they communicate about undressing and interacting physically could suggest that similar things have happened in the past. I love love love it when someone reads something I've written and finds that it means something completely new to me.
As for the longer stuff, I haven't done much work of late. I had to get this little story out of my head, and I've been really stupidly busy with other things that aren't nearly as much fun as writing either of the stories I'm working on. I've got more time this week, though, so we'll see how it goes! I'll definitely be calling upon you. And how are you doing with the "longer stuff" of your own?
Re: Reasons why you win
Date: 2009-07-22 03:35 am (UTC)I also didn't mean to pressure you about your story -- I'm well aware of the demands RL makes (obviously I am, or you'd have seen mine posted by now).
Speaking of which, I've given myself a deadline of tomorrow night. If I sense that another day would help it significantly, I'll push it to Thursday, but hopefully that won't be necessary.
Re: Reasons why you win
Date: 2009-07-22 03:56 am (UTC)And I've emailed you re: story-talk (!!!)
Re: Reasons why you win
Date: 2009-07-22 04:34 am (UTC)Um, really? Because I no haz it in my inbox.
Re: Reasons why you win
Date: 2009-07-22 04:37 am (UTC)Re: Reasons why you win
Date: 2009-07-22 04:38 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-07-21 06:42 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-07-21 01:26 pm (UTC)I'm so glad you enjoyed this piece, though, and think it works as a bit of a substitute!
no subject
Date: 2009-07-23 12:14 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-07-23 05:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-07-27 04:31 am (UTC)Wonderful! Hope the longer story is going swimmingly. (she said with hope glimmering in her eyes.)
no subject
Date: 2009-07-27 01:17 pm (UTC)I'm glad you liked it, and I love your interpretation of the final gesture. Conscious or unconscious, that's definitely what Miranda's doing. Who can blame her, really?
The longer stories are going...well, I wouldn't say swimmingly, but they're going. The one that's closest to done and will be posted first isn't very long at all, but it's taking a lot of energy. It's fun, though. And hmm, sometimes my eyes seem to glimmer with a similar hope when I think of your writing life. (Though you've provided everyone plenty to think about for a while with "Mercy"!)
no subject
Date: 2009-08-06 04:22 pm (UTC)I love the first line. It indicates something that you re-iterate in different ways all through this: A is no longer subordinate to M. And I love the mirror undressing for the sake of mutual undressed-ness (because they are neither naked nor nude).
Interestingly, did you know a lot of ship's figureheads were bare-chested because boobies were thought to calm the waves? The parallels to this made me smile.
Practical (they're too tired for drama), reasonable (I can totally see this happening in canon), oddly sweet for it fic. Yum.
no subject
Date: 2009-08-12 01:12 pm (UTC)I did not know that about figureheads, but that makes me really happy. (And is just one more reason why I *knew* I had to keep the figurehead imagery in the story even though I didn't totally understand why it was there.) I'd noticed the phrase "boobies calm the waves" as part of your LJ profile, but didn't actually ask to what it referred.
Thanks again for reading and commenting!
no subject
Date: 2009-08-07 01:37 pm (UTC)I just love the ambience of your stories.
Their exhaustion and unhappiness are painted so vividly. All is grey and bleak and still, there's this tiny light at the end of the story.
Thank you!
no subject
Date: 2009-08-12 01:13 pm (UTC)I'm very glad that tiny light was there for you; it was there for me, and essential to the writing of the story.
no subject
Date: 2009-08-13 06:04 pm (UTC)Thank you.
no subject
Date: 2009-08-14 03:04 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-31 07:41 pm (UTC)Well done.
no subject
Date: 2009-09-02 11:48 pm (UTC)