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A mini series of one shots all (roughly) contained within one thousand words.


A/N: This is not a thousand words or less. Sue me. ;)
A/N 2: I wrote this in 2 hours as a stress relief. If it seems hasty, that’s why lol.

Andy really isn’t thinking when she picks up the phone that it would be anyone but a telemarketer. Instead, she gets the shock of her life.

She’s sitting behind Miranda’s home desk, putting the finishing touches on an article and waiting for her wife to arrive home with dinner when the rarely-used house phone begins to ring.

“Hello? Priestly residence,” she says evenly, despite the fact that the twins are off to Northwestern, and the only native Priestly living here is Miranda herself. But she’s been living here for at least ten years, so she may as well claim the title.

A bubbly female voice greets her, and Andy’s not entirely certain that she isn’t speaking with a garden elf instead of a real person. “Good evening,” the chipper voice says, “This is Dr. Condrey’s office. Is Ms. Priestly there?”

Andy fights the urge to hang up, thinking that this is someone’s idea of a practical joke. But against her better judgment, she replies, “No, but this is her wife, may I take a message?”

The voice keeps on, without missing a beat. “Oh! Well hello there. This is just a service call to remind Miranda Priestly about her appointment tomorrow.”

Andy’s hackles rise immediately. What the hell is going on? Is Miranda sick? If so why didn’t she tell me? She tries to play it cool despite the hard thrumming of her heart in her chest. A quick Google search of “Dr. Condrey NYC” brings Andy to the bright and sparkling webpage of a plastic surgeon. Her worry turns to confusion.

“Yes, right,” she says absentmindedly, “what exactly is the appointment about again?” Maybe if she pretends to be as ditzy as this elf-woman sounds, she will manage to weasel some information out of her. It works.

“She’s scheduled to have an Abdominoplasty at 10:30 tomorrow morning, of course.” The woman actually giggles.

Andy in turn, feels as though she’s going to be sick. She’s no doctor but she’s pretty sure Abdominoplasty is just a fancy word for “tummy tuck.” If she knows one thing in the world, it’s that she wants Miranda’s gorgeous body nowhere near a scalpel.

Andy makes a split second decision. “Hmm, well,” she says casually, “I don’t think she’ll be needing that after all.”

The elf-nurse on the other end of the phone startles with confusion. “A-Are you sure?”

“Yep. Thanks. Bye.” Andy hangs up in a hurry and fights the urge to vomit. Why on earth would Miranda be getting plastic surgery? Especially on her stomach. Andy loves her stomach, loves her whole body. Maybe this is her own fault for not showing Miranda that.

It dawns on her to check Miranda’s date book. It’s sitting right here on the desk and the one book contains her wife’s whole life. She’s almost afraid to crack it open to see what’s scheduled for tomorrow’s date.

Andy does not have to search far for what she’s looking for. Sure enough the date is circled in red. Not only that, but there’s a pamphlet tucked into the crease of the page for Dr. Condrey’s office. The smooth and shiny paper displays a bunch of disgustingly smooth and shiny people. This is just wrong.

Miranda is due home in thirty minutes, which only gives Andy that much time to stew over this. She’s angry. Probably irrationally so. She understands that there’s a significant age difference between the two, but if that bothered her she wouldn’t have agreed to marriage. A decade ago. Truly and honestly Miranda is the most gorgeous human being she’s ever seen, Andy’s never had eyes for anyone else. After a few minutes though, her anger cools down from a raging boil to just a simmer.

Andy hears the front door’s lock click open and the telltale sound of Prada pumps on hardwood floors. Her wife is home, and she’s got some explaining to do. Andy does not go downstairs to greet her like she normally would, instead she waits for Miranda to come to her.

The doorframe of the upstairs study is soon filled with a sight for sore eyes. Even after the workday, Miranda still looks impeccable in her skirt and blouse. Andy is almost jealous when she takes a look at her own wrinkled slacks.

Miranda can tell her wife is upset about something, but tries a greeting anyway. “Hello, darling,” that soft breathless voice sounds just as charming as ever. Andy would swoon if not for the information she’s holding in her hands.

Andy means to answer the sweet greeting with something like “I’ve missed you today,” but what actually comes out is, “What the hell is this?” Calm and rational thought has been swiftly thrown out the window.

Andy tosses glossy folds of paper across the desk, still firmly planted in her seat. Miranda blanches.

“Andrea,” she says placatingly, wringing her fingers. Miranda is nervous, and it’s such a strange sight to see.

Andy cuts her off before she can get another word in, “Were you just not going to tell me?” Her voice raises and octave, “Did you think I wouldn’t notice if you had surgery?”

Usually Andy is not this combative. She is well versed in Miranda’s moods, so she’s typically the one to wait out the storm. Today however, she is the sole creator of this hurricane.

The only thing that stops her tirade is that Miranda looks genuinely sad. Her blue eyes study the floor instead of looking up at her love. Andy takes a deep breath, letting all of the anger seep out of her. She rises from the chair to come around the desk and rest against it.

“Come here,” she says gently, and Miranda steps into the space between her knees. Still not meeting her eyes, Miranda plays with the necklace around Andy’s neck.

“Why?” Andy asks.

Miranda takes a deep breath of her own, eyes traveling to the ceiling before conceding, “I was hoping it would be a pleasant surprise.”

Andy’s hands come to rest on Miranda’s sides, thumbs gently caressing the area of concern. “Honey,” she says, a smile in her voice, “I hate to break it to you, but that would have been the most unpleasant surprise ever.”

Miranda smirks.

Still, Andy wants to get to the root of the problem, hoping to ease all of her wife’s fears. She can’t help but continue, “Miranda, I love everything about you.” She uses her right hand to tilt Miranda’s chin, and look right into those blue eyes she can’t get enough of.

“Do I not show you that?” Sadness clouds brown eyes, but she works valiantly to keep tears at bay. She hates feeling like this. She hates the thought of being the cause of Miranda’s pain.

“Oh Andrea, of course you do,” Miranda’s hand comes to rest on the curve where Andy’s neck meets her shoulder. A deep breath leaves Miranda’s lungs, and her own shoulders noticeably sag.

“I guess I’m just being silly,” she concedes, “The mirror is not always my friend.”

Andy brings Miranda’s hand to her lips and kisses the palm. Miranda lets out one of her breathy little sighs with a smile. “Well when you and the mirror have another disagreement,” Andy starts, “You be sure to come to me.”

At that, Miranda smiles the smile that is only for her wife. It’s a smile of relief and contentment and unabashed affection. “Of course, darling.”

“I love you. All of you.”

“I love you, too.”

Andy now stands to properly kiss her wife, letting her lips fall on a forehead, two cheeks, and a nose before settling on smiling lips. The kiss deepens when Miranda’s tongue meets her own, and Andy cant help but let out a moan. Her fingers continue to massage Miranda’s stomach and hips, causing the older woman to shiver.

Fingers tangle in dark brown hair, as they continue to kiss deeply. “Let me show you,” Andy whispers when they break for air. Blue eyes meet brown, searching.

“Let me show you how much I love you.” Andy’s eyes are pleading, and Miranda, as always, relents.

A smile and a kiss. “Okay.”

“Okay.”