There Is Something About Her

By Shadower


Fandom: The Devil Wears Prada

Pairings: Miranda / Andy (sort of…)

Discleimer: 'The Devil Wears Prada' belongs to 20th Century Fox & Lauren Weisberger (who wrote the novel). I own nothing. I don't even own a Prada...    I think I should marry rich...

Rating: PG or K. depending on your system.

Author's note: I just watched this movie last night, finally. I've been waiting for it ever since I saw it was about to come out when I was in Thailand... Hey, I like Meryl Streep, sew me. The point is, I read some fanfic about the movie before I saw it, and came to it thinking that people took things too far in their perception of the two assistants. I still think so, but I digress. I had an over whelming urge to write in the middle of the theater, and when I came home, this is what came out. Hope you enjoy!

She was never the one to show emotion. Emotion got you no where in this business. On the contrary, if you wanted to survive you needed to be cold, calculative, and driven, or in laymen's terms, not that she would ever admit to using those: a bitch. She has made being so into an art form. She had mastered it, and all who knew her, or knew of her, knew it. The only thing that she did feel, was for her daughters and it was more a possessive instinct then what she read a mother should feel.

Her life was her work, and her work was her life. There might have been a time where this wasn't so, but it was too long ago. She knew the blood of the industry. After all, she was a major junction for it for many, many, years. Collections rose to heights unimaginable or changed before ever seeing the light of day based on the tiniest change of her facial expression. People learned her, or they were out, and they left quickly. Things were all looked at the same level: How hot her coffee was, how fast it got to her, how many times she had to say something before it was done. But most of all, how well it was done.

When that girl walked in to the office that faithful morning she had no idea what came over her to take the poor thing under her well manicured wings. Later she rationalized it as wanting to see if a girl, who so clearly didn't fit the obvious mold of all her former assistants, could do this job. Before that, it was wanting to see if she could change the poor excuse for a wardrobe the girl had.

When she did change for her [oh heaven...] It has taken all that she could do not to stare for longer that appropriate. She used to, of course, when she wore those god awful sweaters, to make her point clear, she was working at a fashion magazine for goodness sake. At HER magazine. At RUNWAY. THE most influential trendsetter of the fashion world, and there she was looking like an ad for shopping at Wal-Mart. Ugh... she cringed at the very thought. Once she changed though, it was a whole other story. The haircut, the makeup, the nails, the clothes, bag and, thank heaven, the boots. She started catching herself thinking 'what will it be today?' and not in the 'don't look straight at her, Miranda' that she used to do two paces from the door. It became a genuine thrill. [She's gorgeous...]

The other night, when she came to her house to drop off the dry cleaning and the book, she waited for her on purpose. She wanted to see the excitement on her face when she told her that she is coming to Paris wit her. Paris, the city they called the city of love. The city she viewed as the city of endless work. Especially now, when that pesky Irv brought Jacqueline into the picture. Details, details, so many threads that need to be put together just right. After all – it the perfection that differ Jimmy Choo from Jimmy Chan. And she would be dammed if she ever SAW a Jimmy Chan, much less had one. So she told her, and those [beautiful] dark eyes clouded over. Her first thought being Emily. Couldn't she see that she was so many leagues above that girl that she was practically on another planet? A few moment after the customary quite dismissal, she put her head in her hands. What on earth was this feeing? [Disappointment?]

On the plane ride to Paris she thanked the heavens [damn you all!] for the endless tasks that kept her occupied enough so she could avoid looking at the long legs seated next to her, or send her out for what ever it was that popped into her head at the moment [she mastered walking on 5 inch stilettos quite well].

The breaking point, though, was when she got the call that her marriage was over. She didn't really care about it all, except for the publicity maybe [where on earth is she?], the press should be concentrating on the issue, not her personal life. She has heard it all before. She was a workaholic, driven individual, but now, after all these years, she has found someone like her. True, younger, more refined, but if she's lucky enough she could refine her in more then her wardrobe. Mold her into someone that she could be seen with, not just in a two steps behind her distance, but on a closer level [where is that girl?]. Like the way she was with that journalist today. She didn't mind the man at first, he was harmless to her, but the closer he got to her young assistant, the more aware of him she became. He was a nice upgrade from her current slob of a man, but there was something about him that kept nagging at her consciousness [where the hell is she?]. That man was wrong, therefore he must be excluded.

When the girl [finally] stepped through the door, she couldn't help but grouch at her. She couldn't deny she was attentive, she had even offered to do more for her, to cancel her evening, to stay [Yes! Stay!]. The workaholic won though. You must keep up appearances. After all, in the fashion world, appearance is all you had.

That was months ago [3 days, 6 hours, 23 minutes], and now it was all different. She was without her, another cutout had come in to fill the mold, but that mold was broken. That raven haired girl [beautiful woman] has taken care of that. Even Emily felt it. When she got the request from the Mirror for a recommendation for her, she wrote it herself. Maybe, if she got the job, she would come and thank her. The tired old mask of indifference would come on again and she'll have to 'shoo' her away, but maybe, just maybe, she could see her again.

As she sat in her car she raised her head and froze. There she was. She has started to return to her old ways, but the months with her made an impact on the girls' style. Then a wave, and all she could do was look at the girl until she turned away and left. She smiled [Goodbye, my love] and chucked at the thought [well, who knew...].

"What are you waiting for? Go."


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