A/N 1: Hey guys! This is my very first "The Devil Wears Prada" fanfic. I really like the movie. Though I have to admit that sometimes Andy annoys me a little with her naivety and her whining.

However I do think that there is some kind of chemistry between Miranda and Andy. The fact that I like the "couple with age differences" storylines might have something to do with that too. I watched friends and even though I totally shipped Monica/Chandler I really loved the Monica/Richard relationship.

A/N 2: Thank you so much to merylomaniac (Anke) for reading through this chapter beforehand and correcting my mistakes and HUGE THANKS to Writer-Monkey-Esq who made this chapter to a much better one than it actually was by replacing some words and re-modeling some sentences. Thank you so, so much for that.

A/N 3: There is some violence in this story. You have been warned!

A/N 4: This story is set before Paris

A/N 5: you just read 4 A/Ns… You really deserve to read the first chapter now. :D Here you go:

Savior - Chapter 1

Andy was late. Again.

She had promised Nate she'd have dinner with him at eleven, but there was no way she could make it on time. It had taken an hour longer than usual before The Book was made ready to be offered up to Miranda's critical eye and by the time Andy left the Elias Clark building it was already half past ten. And despite the fact that Roy was a magician when it came to traffic, the ride to the town house was going to take at least fifteen minutes.

She fidgeted in her seat and nervously tapped her fingers on The Book. Thankfully the streets were fairly empty, though she supposed her time in New York had skewed her perspective of how empty 'empty' was.

When the car stopped in front of Miranda's town house Andy took hold of the dry cleaning and leapt from her seat. She thanked Roy, briefly but sincerely, for the ride and bid him good night. She could've asked him to drop her off at the restaurant where she was supposed to meet Nate but she didn't really want to cause anyone else to miss out on time with their loved ones, not at this time of night.

Andy rummaged in her Jimmy Choo bag for the keys, almost losing her grip on The Book in the process. She yelped out a curse and mentally berated herself – why she couldn't have done this in the fifteen minutes it took to get here!? Her warm fingers touched cold metal and she breathed out a sigh of relief and let herself into the townhouse, before tip-toeing to the first table with the flowers and depositing the book.

She was on her way to the closet to hang up the dry cleaning when she heard it: Shouting.

She could barely make out the words, but the voice was definitely male and definitely angry. Andy was shocked - it was Stephen's voice.

With the dry-cleaning still hung over her arm she made her way to the stairs. She looked up but couldn't see anything.

The shouting was getting louder and she was able to make out some of what he was saying.

"…you and your precious magazine …you don't fucking care! …spoiling the kids …coldhearted bitch!"

Andy swallowed. He was shouting at Miranda. He was shouting at Miranda Priestly. Miranda Priestly who would kill with just one glance anyone that dared to raise their voice to her.

Andy felt her hackles go up and goose bumps spread down her arms. She suddenly had the overwhelming urge to march up the stairs and punch Stephen in the face. She had never liked him. Ever. He was unfriendly and he drank far too much, far too often, but she would never have expected him to be this angry, this loud, or this aggressive. And she never would have dreamed that Miranda would simply… let him. She had assumed that Miranda would sooner kick him to the curb than allow him to raise his voice to her or the girls. But she obviously hadn't, and she certainly wasn't. She didn't seem to do be doing anything. Stephen shouted and shouted and shouted but there was no response from Miranda... Nothing, not even a peep.

Andy knew that she should leave. If Miranda saw her she'd fire her. She'd fire her on the spot and make absolutely certain that she would never work in this city again. But to be honest: she didn't care. She didn't care at all. She couldn't leave right now... She couldn't. She was worried, worried what Stephen might do and how his outburst might end. She couldn't go now. Screw all the privacy rules, screw Emily who told her every single time not to stay in the house longer than absolutely necessary, and screw Nate and their reservation at her favorite Italian restaurant. She'd stay. She'd stay until she was sure he wouldn't do anything stupid.

Andy was torn away from her thoughts when the shouting suddenly stopped, and the silence gave her chills. She heard a quiet, muffled voice. She couldn't hear what was said but she did hear that a loud bump and a yelp followed.

Oh, God – Miranda!

She dropped the dry cleaning and sprinted upstairs, breaking a dozen or so of Miranda's rules in the process, but she didn't fucking care.

All noises had stopped so it was hard to tell where they were. There was no light on the first floor, so she hurried onto the second.

She heard movement and then Stephen's voice. He was much calmer now, but his voice had a cruel edge: "Would you look at that? Runway's Bitch weeps!"

There was no response from Miranda.

Andy entered the hallway and spotted Stephen through an open door, standing in what appeared to be the living room.

He smirked: "What would Page Six say if they could see you now?"

Before Andy could help herself, she was standing in the door frame. Miranda was sitting on the floor. Her cheek was red. Her eyes, teary. There was no doubt in her mind: the bastard had hit her.

Andy was out for blood.

Stephen stepped towards Miranda, his head cocked to the side. "…And what about your brats? …What would your brats say, hmm?"

Miranda's teary eyes hardened at his mention of her daughters. "Don't you dare…" she hissed.

He ignored her and laughed. "…They think you invincible, that their mother always has the upper hand... What would they think if they could see you lying there? If they could see you as you are – as nothing more than a pathetic old woman."

He reached for Miranda. He wasn't about to slap her, but Andy didn't care – she was not going to allow him to touch her again.

"Don't you fucking dare touch her!" She was surprised by the strength of her own voice.

Both Miranda and Stephen were startled, turning towards the voice in the doorway. Stephen looked surprised, and not a little pissed at this turn of events, but Miranda… Miranda looked mortified.

She was humiliated that Andrea had seen her like this. The look she sent her way made her shudder. Miranda would punish her for this, Andy was sure about that.

"Of course - your spineless slaves would throw themselves into oncoming traffic for you, wouldn't they? Will you still worship at the altar of La Priestly after seeing her like this? After seeing how pathetic she is?"

"The only pathetic one here is you… "Andy's voice was level but firm. "Step back." She demanded.

Stephen laughed, disregarding her instruction.

"I told you to step away from her!"

"Andrea… don't…" Miranda had lowered her eyes to the ground, and didn't seem able to lift them.

Stephen turned away from Miranda and stepped towards Andy.

Oh shit.

Andy clenched her hands before he could see them tremble. She'd promised herself that she would remain calm.

"You are bold for a gofer, aren't you?"

"And you are surprisingly bold for a man that I've just called 911 on."

"You're bluffing."

"Really?" When she saw that he was getting nervous, her confidence rose.

"And even if… I was just having a discussion with my wife. Last time I checked that's not a crime."

"Hitting your wife, however, is… if I were you I'd run fast, and I'd run far."

He glanced back down at Miranda. Her cheek was so red, and beginning to purple – everyone would believe he hit her. He narrowed his eyes on Andy again and hissed: "You bitch."

"Better a bitch than an abusive drunkard."

But apparently that was one step too far. Stephen's face turned red and Andrea was sure that she was in for it now. He was going to strike her, and Miranda thought so too.

"Stephen!" Miranda's voice was firm, reminiscent of the woman Andy knew.

It was enough to make Stephen hesitate.

He looked at Andy, then at Miranda and stormed out.

For a second Andy felt paralyzed. She couldn't believe what just happened.

Out of the corner of her eyes she could see Miranda beginning to stand and, snapping out of her trance, immediately turned towards her.

"The girls…" Miranda's voice was purposefully level "I need… to check if he went upstairs."

"I'll check." Andy said and left the room to make sure he was actually gone. She walked to the staircase and looked down. She couldn't see him but she heard the front door slamming shut. Andy crossed the hallway and looked out the window and watched him get into his car. Ordinarily she would have been concerned about the fact that he was about to drive whilst heavily intoxicated, but these were not ordinary circumstances and Andy was just glad that he was gone. She waited until he pulled out of the parking spot before letting out a relieved sigh when he drove off.

As soon as his tail lights had disappeared from sight she returned to the living room. To her surprise Miranda was still on the floor. She seemed quiet, far too quiet.

Andy approached the woman gently. "He's gone now", she assured her.

The editor just nodded.

Andy offered her a hand to help her get up. Unsurprisingly Miranda made no move to take her assistant's hand. Instead she held onto the table nearby and pulled herself up. As soon as she was standing upright she straightened her skirt.

"God, Miranda! You're bleeding!" Andy exclaimed, her voice slightly panicky.

On Miranda's forehead was a little cut, and not a little blood. This injury hadn't been caused by the slap. What else did that bastard do to her?

Miranda's fingers went to her head. As they touched the cut and came away red she hissed between clenched teeth. "…Stupid table."

The woman had hit her head on the table when she'd fallen to the ground after Stephen had slapped her. Miranda may have had a steely temperament within the walls of Runway, and immense strength of will against the board members she fought, but she didn't stand a chance against the hand of a husband, a man almost twice her size. Not in a physical fight.

"I'm going to call an ambulance." Andy decided.

"Don't be ridiculous. I'm fine." Miranda wasn't able to meet Andrea's eyes. She wouldn't be able to stand the pity she'd find there.

"At least let me call the police."

"No."

Andy couldn't believe her ears. "You can't let him get away with this!"

"Where is The Book?" Miranda brushed past her to the sofa, completely ignoring Andrea's protest.

"Screw The Book! He hit you, Miranda!"

"Yes… and since I have no desire to read all about it on Page Six tomorrow, you will keep your little mouth shut."

Okay. Andy got it. Once the police was involved the possibility that the story would be leaked was bigger. A police car parked in front of Miranda Priestley's house at this hour couldn't help up draw attention.

"…So you're not going to do anything about this?"

"When I do something, Andrea, I will do it my way."

"And your way is what, exactly?" Usually Andy would never presume to ask such a question but today was hardly a day for 'usual'.

"It is certainly none of your business." Miranda ran her fingers gracefully through her hair, ensuring nothing was out of place. "Fetch The Book, Andrea."

"Let me clean your cut, Miranda - where do you keep your first aid kit?"

"Andrea, The Book." Miranda's voice had dropped to little more than a whisper but it had never sounded more threatening.

Andy acquiesced, and nodded. "I'll get it."

She went downstairs to get the 'Bible', and when she returned Miranda was sitting on the sofa. She held out her hand, still not meeting Andrea's eyes, waiting her to hand over The Book.

"Can I do anything else, Miranda?" Andy asked.

"That's all."

"Ok… then I… then I'll go?"

"Yes."

"My cell phone is on… the entire night. If you need anything… that is."

Miranda didn't respond to that. Neither did she respond to Andy's 'good night'.

Andy couldn't believe what had just happened. She couldn't believe that Miranda – the most independent and self-confident women she knew – had been struck by her own husband. She felt like she was just waiting to wake up, as though it were all just a bad dream, but despite how much she wished it were so she knew it wasn't the case. It had happened and she had no clue what to do now. Go against Miranda's wishes and call the police anyway? Trust that Miranda would do something? Go about her business like nothing had ever happened?

Andy could tell right now that Option 3 was absolutely out of the question. She wouldn't sit by and do nothing. Women throughout history had fought hard for their rights, and fought hard for their freedom. She owed it to the Sisterhood to do something, even if it was just persuading Miranda to report the bastard to the police.

She folded her arms and tried to warm herself. She had left the townhouse a few minutes ago but she was still standing on the front step. It was cold, but even though she was freezing she couldn't bring herself to leave, despite however much she wanted to. What if Stephen came back? Miranda wouldn't call 911, she would try to deal with it herself – like she always did – and that would probably end just as badly as before… or maybe even worse. In the workplace Miranda was a strong woman. She silenced people with the lift of an eyebrow and cut them to shreds with a pursing of her lips. No one would ever in a million years conceive of the possibility that anyone would dare to hit her, let alone imagine that that person would be her own husband. And that was probably why Miranda was so afraid that this story would ever become public. It would destroy her reputation as the Head Bitch in Charge. Even worse: people would pity her. Miranda hated pity. It would destroy her.

Lost in thought, staring up at the townhouse, Andy startled at the voice behind her. "Of course you're here… Where else would you be." It wasn't a question.

For a fraction of a second she thought Stephen had returned, but it wasn't his voice. It was a far more familiar voice. Nate.

Oh shit! She had completely forgotten about their dinner plans!

"You used to at least feel the need to tell me when you weren't going to make it to dinner."

"Nate… I'm sorry."

"You always are, but you never actually do anything to make sure that it won't happen again."

"I completely forgot about dinner."

"…Because it wasn't important to you."

"That's not true. We had to deal with a crisis, I couldn't leave earlier."

"What kind of crisis requires you to be standing at her door this late at night?"

"I was just taking a breath, Nate."

"And you couldn't do that on your way to the subway?"

Andy sighed. "Please… let's not do this now."

"No! Now is exactly when we are going to do this!"

"Nate, I'm tired."

"So am I! I'm tired of your job always coming first. I'm tired of you not showing up to our dates. I'm tired of you not showing up to my birthday party. I'm tired of getting woken up at 3-fucking-am because Miranda won't stop calling you with her ridiculous demands!"

"I'm Miranda's assistant, Nate. My job is to assist her, to be there when she needs me. It's my job to make her life easier, even if it is at '3-fucking-am' in the morning. I knew my job… my life was going to be insanely busy when I signed the contract, and so did you."

"I didn't realize that meant you were going to be her personal slave."

"I'm not!"

"Andy, it is almost midnight and you are at her house!"

"…And? If I wanted a 9 to 5 job with fixed hours I would become a hairdresser or a saleswoman."

"She uses you."

Andy sighed. "Let's go home."

"You sure you don't want to stay? She might need someone to tuck her in, read her a bedtime story."

"You know what? Screw you." Andy brushed past him and simply walked away. She didn't wait for him to catch up. She didn't look back once. She didn't want to see his face or hear his voice. She had no patience to deal with him right now. She wasn't hugely sympathetic to his 'problems' at the moment. She had bigger concerns. Andy was concerned about Miranda. Like… really concerned. Probably more than she should be.

She pulled her phone from her purse and texted Miranda.

"Call if you need something – no matter what, no matter when. My phone will be on me - Andrea"

Andy knew that her message was completely redundant. It wasn't as though Miranda had any qualms about calling her at all hours of the night. She needed no invitation, but somehow sending that text made Andy feel better.

She wasn't surprised when Miranda didn't respond. She hadn't expected her to.

Andy took a cab home. She wanted some peace from Nate and she knew that if she took the subway he would just sit himself down next to her and he probably would have continued their discussion and that really was the last thing she wanted.

Once she was in her apartment she immediately got ready for bed. She didn't even make herself a sandwich. She wasn't really hungry anyway. All the events of the night had ruined her appetite.

She heard Nate entering the apartment and she was more than relieved when he switched on the TV in the living room. He wouldn't be coming to bed for a while and she'd have a moment of much needed peace.

She checked her cell for new messages. Nothing. Not a single one. And even though she knew that Miranda never answered texts, she was worried. She was probably just overreacting but, hey… it was better to be safe than sorry, right? So she sent another text:

"I know u don't answer texts but please let me know if u r ok? He didn't come back did he?"

She waited 20 minutes before she sent another message:

"Miranda please let me know u r ok... Otherwise I'll come and check myself."

Just a few moments after she hit the send button her phone vibrated and the ringtone she should have been dreading by now penetrated her ears.

Andy immediately picked up. "Miranda?!"

"Have you lost your mind?"

Andy let out a sigh of relief. Miranda was okay… well as okay as you could be when your husband was a violent asshole.

"I was worried that he might come back."

"That is not an excuse to give me a headache with your constant text messages." Miranda said. Then her voice lowered, taking on a note of vulnerability that Andy didn't normally associate with her boss: "I put the key in the lock. This way he can't open the door from outside."

Andy was surprised Miranda shared this info with her. "Good."

"I want you to call a locksmith's shop first thing tomorrow. Have the locks of the front and the back door of the town house changed." The older woman ordered.

Andy's lips formed curved into a smile. "…My pleasure." She said.

"And get the girls this new video game they claim they can't live without."

"Sure. Was there anything else?"

"That's all."

Before she could say anything else Miranda had already hung up.

Andy fell asleep only a few moments later, her phone lying next to her pillow.

TBC...