merylpeerts

Title: Warmth
Status: one shoot.
Fandom: Devil Wears Prada
Desclimer: I own nothing. I make no money out of this.. blah blah blah..

Author's Note :  I wanted to throw more light on Miranda as a mother. This is my first fanfic,  any feedback will be appreciated, but   feel  free to criticise if you feel you should! 
Thanks Emma for BETA! :*


The soft gust of wind brushed away a couple of the silver strands from Miranda's forehead, as she unlocked the door of her townhouse. The cold knob touched the warmth of Miranda's soft hand which, everyday, made endless notes on the pages of the Book, destroying any hopes that the people at Runway had for any hint of Miranda's satisfaction.  The hand, which in one move chases away all these frightened people that are weaving through her office every day. She hanged up her coat in the wardrobe. Three bags, packed by Emily earlier, were already there. She was sure everything was packed as requested. It was a long ago when she realised that whatever task she imposed upon the woman, she would accomplish it with perfect professional precision. Her devotion and loyalty meant a lot to Miranda, though she has been very quiet about it.

 
The sound of her black Jimmy Choos stilettos echoed on the high-polished wooden parquet floor muffled by the remote sound of the TV from upstairs.
Cara was waiting for her, it had been almost a year since the girl started to work for her. She was wise and quick-witted and it took her no time at all to get used to Miranda's characteristic presence, which was one month in comparison to all these long-working employees who used to flinch every single time someone mentioned the name starting with "M"?
"Hello Miranda," said Cara. Her long earrings were bouncing loosely on her round cheeks. "Girls sleeping since 9 pm. Dinner, as always, is waiting for you on the dining table and Francis left 5 minutes ago. Is there something I could do for you?" -the last question asked more out of politeness than real desire to serve Miranda, asked with little smile.

 
The time that went by changed Cara's perception of Miranda. Now, when her big green eyes met Miranda’s, The Glare of The Snow Queen could exert nothing but pity... A sense of non-existent superiority that were so obviously emerging into Cara's eyes.
Miranda did not care, just as much as she did not care about the opinion of all of the people who worked with her. She always felt lonely in her aim for perfection. Never in her life had she met anyone who would share her point of view on that matter, so why would she care about people who regarded her as nothing but a mean capricious bitch of a workaholic?
"That's all" - and with a nod of her head Miranda allowed the girl to leave her home. She headed towards the door. The sound of her steps wasn't able to drown the subtle sigh that was to be heard from Miranda’s direction.


She ate in silence. And unless in the office, solitude was indispensable and inviolable, but in her home was extremely upsetting for her, even though three months had passed - enough time to get used to being alone doing something as trivial as eating. The solitude was far from overwhelming, rather a dull ache somewhere in the background, teasing the most remote areas of Miranda's mind.   The emptiness of her stare was piercing the border between her steak and the white porcelain plate.

She stands up; the ringing sound of her heels accompanies her during the walk all the way back to the hall. With one gentle move of her hand she snatches up The Book, which everyday makes its way from various sets of hands in circles, until it reaches her for endless corrections. She heads to the second floor and enters the first room on the left. She lights the light dimly giving the divinely designed room true elevated elegance. She sits by the desk - the only piece of furniture which remains out of the reach of all maidens and cleaning ladies. Everything that was there reminded in their place as Miranda had left it earlier that evening: Portfolios of the new collection by James Holt, framed picture of her daughters smiling at her with their endless number of milk teeth, and a couple of old issues of Runway.

Complete silence bathed the house, even blowing through Miranda's silver hair. There was no-one who would poke their head into the room to offer her tea, no-one who would insist that it's high time she went to bed, and no-one that would approach her quietly and ask if she would sit with them until they would fall asleep.   There was no clock in her study as there was no need for that. Miranda always made sure that every page of The Book was not left unnoticed. When she had finally finished making twenty-second or so note on the last page she put down her reading glasses.

She goes to her bedroom passing Cassidy's room. She knows that the girls probably sleep together in her bed. She opens the door and leans on doorframe. In front of her, two girls cuddled up tightly are sleeping. Cassidy was sleeping on her back, with Caroline's head resting on her chest. Her little arm entwined Cassidy's little waist. Yes, the older daughter always was this stronger one, the one who Caroline always relied on.   Miranda couldn't recall the last time she tugged them into bed. The last few weeks were so filled up with work and fixing results of workers' incompetence that it was very hard to be home earlier than 9pm. She knew that if she wanted to make that magazine the finest fashion magazine in the world she has to set herself some priorities. In that case it was Runway that was of higher priority than that of her daughters most of the time.  There were times when she was able to lavish the girls with her presence, but in these she didn't feel comfortable. A strange feeling of awkwardness tugged at Miranda's heart when those two pairs of the blue eyes glared at her occasionally. Apparently, the girls themselves didn't feel natural by her side. Every time they would find some way to run away from her, and always disappearing from Miranda's view. She didn't mind, but somewhere in the depth of her heart she felt a small surge of mixture of guilt and helplessness.

She turned off the light on the bedside table, turned on her heel and closed the study door behind her.  In the bathroom, she turned the hot water which, as it streamed, washed away all her thoughts. Her head was now relieved from all of her ponderings as her silk nightgown envelops her smooth skin.

 
She wakes up and, still blind, she turns of the alarm clock. Complete darkness. After a brief moment the Tiffany lamp bathes the bedroom and Miranda in multiple soft colours. Miranda, who is still very sleepy and unfocused, very unlike the Miranda that easily arousing fear in everybody,  smiles at the fact that probably more than half of these people could not fathom the shock caused by seeing her like that, with her hair totally messed up and swollen eyes. She was human, after all.  An hour later, fully dressed she walked through the door of her townhouse. Roy is already waiting by the doors of her limousine. He opens them up for her, and then directs himself to the wardrobe to grab all Miranda luggages. The whole activity does not take more than three minutes. The car disappears around the corner as Cara is turning the key in front door.

 
In the evening, as Paris seemed to be waking up, Miranda pushed the door of her apartment. It was long tiring day and she dreamed about nothing else but taking a shower and trying to fall asleep. However, all that was on her mind was that on the other side of the globe, there were two small girls, her daughters who hadn’t even noticed her departure.
She dialled the number to the Richard's house. She asked if the girls could stay at his house during her stay in Paris. He agreed without any hesitation. Why would she limit his access to his own children? Miranda had no reason to do so.
"Hello?" - Cara's young voice rang in the receiver.
"Is everything all right?" - Miranda knew she didn't have to introduce herself.
"Yes, Richard is supposed to be home in one hour and girls are upstairs watching Little Mermaid for perhaps, I don't know, the trillionth time now... - There was fake irritation to be heard in Cara's voice.  Miranda nodded her head which obviously couldn't be noticed by Cara and silence fell between the two women.
"I can get them on the phone if you wish Miranda"
This idea didn't please Miranda very much; it actually caused a quick pang of nervousness throughout Miranda's body. What would she say to two seven year-old girls with whom she hadn't exchange a word with in 4 days..?
"No, don't disturb them. Tell Richard that I called and will call him at Thursday. That's all." Miranda hanged up without any word of goodbye. Putting down the cell phone on the coffee table in front of her she headed to the bathroom. Tomorrow was going to be an exhausting day.

Wednesday proceeded without any spectacular events or unexpected failures... So far everything was running smoothly and as planned. Miranda once again had to admit that the professionalism of Emily was highly satisfying.
When Thursday evening arrived, Miranda called Richard's house. She hadn't expected the undeniable sound of one of her daughters’ voice at the other end of the receiver.
"Oh, hello, it's your Mother speaking"
"Hi mum" - Miranda couldn't tell if the voice that was speaking to her belonged to Cassidy weather to Caroline.
"How are you?" that was the only simple question Miranda could think of.
"Everything's great, mum" The girl at the other side seemed to be intimidated by the fact that she was talking to her mum. As always, that common feeling of awkwardness that engulfed all Miranda's "conversations" with her daughters had returned.
"Why Cara didn't pick up the phone? Where is Cara?"
"Um….. She’s sleeping, mum. She was sitting with us watching Pocahontas and she fell asleep. We went down to the dining room for dinner and then you rang so i picked up "
"Where's your dad?" -asked Miranda.
"He will be home in short time. Wait, I think he's coming in right now."
"Could you ask him to come over and speak with me?" The phone was passed to Richard
"Hi Miranda" - his meek voice was blowing through Miranda's silver hair.
They had managed to retain a decent relationship, well decent enough to ensure he would be able to see his daughters.
"How are the girls?" - asked Miranda. After all that was the reason she called.
"Good. Yesterday, we took a nice walk around Central Park. We took Patricia with us. We had a great time." Miranda could hear a hint of superiority in his voice. Indeed, he was very good father. Miranda quietly envied him that ease he had in building a relationship with his daughters. He was just natural for the job.

 Sometimes Miranda and Richard were so different and there were times when she wondered how did it happen? How did they marry? She was keeping him at distance for long time. Was she inadequate for the generous man? As the time went by she lowered her guards down for him. But this was before she took over the editor-in -chief of Runway.
"Very well" - she managed to choke two words.
"How it's in Paris?"
"Good, Emily as always has done her homework"
There was a brief moment of uncomfortable silence. Miranda could sense that Richard was about to tell her something... Soon she found out she was right.
"Miranda, they miss you." The apartment in Paris reminded quiet.
"I know" - she said in small voice though really she was far from believing it.
"Really, I think it's high time you did something to show them that you care. You are their mother!."
"I know"
"That's good you know, Miranda. Use that knowledge"
After another one minute of uncomfortable silence she managed to say "Say goodnight to them from me"
"Why don't you do it yourself?" as the phone was passed to one of her daughters, she hung up, she couldn’t quite bring herself to do it.


He was right. It hit her now more than anything. She had neglected her daughters emotionally in every field possible. She didn't know how to be a mother. She never wanted to be a mother.


The rest of the week in Paris didn't surprise Miranda in any way. A couple of creations captured Miranda attention. Emily was, as always, at her side writing down every command. It wouldn't be risky to say that Miranda was simply beginning to become bored with all the hassle that being an editor-in-chief entailed.
______


Roy has just put the last of the luggage in the wardrobe. He said a quick goodbye and left the townhouse. A familiar smell enveloped Miranda's nose as she came in. She sighed lightly.
Cara was descending the stairs. Her long earrings still bouncing around her cheeks.
"That's all. Roy is waiting for you" said Miranda before the girl managed to utter a word.
"Goodnight Miranda," - she snatched her coat and went out. Miranda headed to the living room.

For the inexperienced observer two identical girls were standing at the top of the stairs. They went down the stairs hand in hand. A brown teddy, who was clutched tightly in Caroline's hand, was dragging against the floor.
At the sight of their mother the girls stopped in their tracks.  Two pairs of blue eyes were starring at Miranda, the very same eyes that looked at her every day, in the mirror.  But her daughters' eyes, in opposite to her own, weren't at this particular moment or any moment empty. Their eyes were filled with longing and disappointment.  At that moment, the strong wave of pain and guilt hit Miranda.
"Hi girls" she managed to utter, her eyes transfixed at the floor.
The girls approached her slowly, sensing fear, each trusted themselves around her legs which, today, were enveloped in black Valentino pants.  Miranda surprised by this open expression of feelings was standing there, still her eyes transfixed at the floor. She was feeling more awkward than ever but, acting on instinct, grabbed two small hands that were clutching her thighs and walked out of the room heading towards Cassidy's bedroom. She opened the door, light the lamp on bedside table and brushed away the already messed up quilt indicating to the girls to get into bed.

The dim light bathed the books on shelves and the blue silk curtains. The girls put themselves obediently into bed, fearful of what would happen if they didn’t. The brown teddy-bear was placed on Caroline's chest wrapped in her arms, the blue eyes still staring at Miranda.
"Mum, please don't leave" Cassidy said in small voice. It was not a command nor was it a demand rather a request. A request for what, was not yet within her children’s grasp.  These four words seemed to choke Miranda deeper than anything has ever done before. That eerie silence again filled the townhouse. Without looking towards the girls she sat at the edge of the bed.
"Now, go to sleep" - was all she said.

The girls closed their eyes and seemed to toss and turn for what Miranda thought was forever. Miranda looked at them. Despite of the fact that their eyes were undeniably closed, Miranda knew they were not sleeping. She was distraught, knowing that her own children weren't even comfortable enough to fall asleep in her presence.
"Girls…" she whispered.
They both simultaneously opened their eyes.  Not expecting a response, she didn't know what to say. She couldn't overcome the fact that her own children were feeling unsafe when she was around.
"What mum?" asked Caroline.
Miranda, instinctively grabbed Caroline's little palm. Not knowing what to say, she simply wrapped her younger daughter in her arms. Her small head rested on her chest. Light in weight and in warmth, her daughter's body brought about an overwhelming sense of safety.  At that moment she felt Cassidy's hand on her arm. She softly released herself from her daughter's tiny arms and kicking off her black Jimmy Choos, she sat in the centre of the bed with each arm around her daughter's small backs. Their heads rested on her abdomen and she was sure that right now, they girls can feel her heartbeat.

To her surprise that feeling of awkwardness disappeared and was replaced with a wave of warmth that encircled Miranda's body. She was hugging two little girls. Her girls. It was at this moment she realised that these two little beings cuddled up with her right now are really present in her life.
She rests her head on the bed frame. Miranda is deeply disappointed at herself.

Her obsessive compulsion with work and perfection set aside everyone that ever meant anything to her. Gradually she had locked herself in a cage that solely existed as a place where people who loved her were excluded, those who right now were clutching to her so tightly. As her daughters' breaths became smooth with sleep, one crystal tear rolled down her cheek.

                                                                                                 The End.