"Emily, Watch My Head Spin"

Thanks so much to everyone who read and reviewed my Harry Potter drabble, "Respect"! I really enjoyed the comments.

This drabble is based on DWP the movie, not the book…in which Andrea is injured, Miranda goes nuts, and Emily's had enough.

"Miranda, Watch My Head Spin".

When Miranda burst through the door of her office, Emily nearly collided with her. It was always her habit to spring to her feet whenever that door opened. But Miranda was moving at such an incredible speed—almost running, in fact—that she nearly knocked Emily into a nearby rolling rack.

The junior assistant, Megan, had jumped up too. She was looking back and forth between Emily and Miranda, her face pale. "You!" Miranda snapped. "You are chained to your desk from now until the Book arrives, do I make myself clear? You move one inch and you can go right up to human resources."

Megan paled even further; she looked chalky. "Y-yes, Miranda."

"That's all. You" she pointed to Emily. "Come with me."

Emily didn't need to be told twice. She grabbed her purse and scuttled out behind Miranda, wondering what in the hell could have happened. Miranda was actually flushed and she looked furious, her eyes glared straight ahead and her mouth was set in a thin line. Clackers dove out of sight as she and Emily made their way down to the lobby and out of the building. The car was already waiting at the curb, and Emily ran around the back of it to throw herself in on the passenger side.

"Mount Sinai!" Miranda barked to the driver. The driver, seeing the look on her face, peeled out so suddenly that Emily, who was in the middle of buckling her seat belt, was pitched against the front seat. Miranda didn't even bother to roll her eyes. Emily felt like her stomach was full of ice water; something was very, very wrong. One of the twins…it had to be! They had gotten hurt or something. She stayed quiet as Miranda whipped out her cell and punched in a number.

"Miranda Priestly here" she said shortly. "Connect me with Andrea Sachs' doctor at once. That's all."

Emily felt like she might faint. Andrea? All of this panic was for Andrea?!

There was a pause, the Miranda spoke again in her most glacial tones. "No, I am not a family member and that is really none of your business….I do not care what your policies are. Connect me at once either to Ms. Sachs' doctor or your supervisor. The choice is yours."

Another pause, then, "Yes? Is this Andrea Sachs' doctor? What do you mean, you're the on-call? I see. Yes…" Miranda's hand, which held the cell phone, had begun to tremble. "No, you will NOT move her there. You will take her to Sloan Kettering when she's out of surgery. I will be arriving shortly and I will handle those details. Be ready. That's all."

She hung up and stared out the window. Emily licked her dry lips. What the bloody hell?!

"You will not say one word, Emily. To anyone. If you value your career in fashion at all, you will do exactly as I tell you today. If you choose otherwise, you can forget about working at Runway, in New York, or in any other place in the industry. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Miranda."

"Good. When we get to the hospital, you will contact Andrea's parents and let them know what I have decided. You will also handle the financial end for me. Will that be beyond your capabilities?"

"No…of course not." Emily took a deep breath; she had to ask, "What happened, Miranda?"

Miranda did not respond, and for a moment, Emily thought she wasn't going to. Then she said tonelessly, "She's been shot."

"What?!" The word burst from Emily before she could stop herself. She flinched, wondering if Miranda was going to let her have it, but the older woman didn't even turn her head. "They sent her to cover that student riot. Shots were fired during the melee, and she got hit."

Emily shook her head, stunned and sick. What she had suspected for some time was true. Miranda cared for the girl. God only knew why…Andrea was fat, stupid, incompetent, and a traitor… but she did. Emily had given up her whole life—boyfriends, school, free time, her bloody soul, thank-you-very-much—to Miranda. She had striven to fulfill every demand and anticipate every need, and did Miranda care? No. Not at all.

"Get that look off your face. Emily" Miranda said icily, breaking into her thoughts. "I'm warning you…don't be stupid."

"She doesn't even work at Runway anymore. She left you in Paris without so much as a by-your-leave, after screwing me out of something I worked for two years for, and you're telling me not to be stupid?!" Emily gave a soft, bitter laugh.

"You screwed yourself out of that trip, Emily."

"How? By getting hit by a car?! By getting the flu?! By not remembering one person out of the hundred or so I greeted at the benefit?! By not throwing myself at Irv Ravitz?! Tell me, Miranda, which of those things did it?" Emily snorted. "Or was it just that you're not into redheads?"

"Pull over!" Miranda barked to the driver. The car lurched to the curb and Miranda jerked her head at her soon-to-be-ex assistant. "Get out."

Emily smiled, her violet-lidded eyes like two chips of green ice. "I have something for you" she fumbled for a moment in her Prada bag and pulled out a sheaf of papers. "I intended to give this to you on Friday. I've accepted a position at Vogue. I'll send my official resignation tomorrow."

Miranda stared, and Emily saw with vicious satisfaction that she looked a little stunned. She recovered quickly, however, and took the papers and tucked them into her own bag. "I meant what I said, Emily. And if you think you'll find life easier under Anna Wintour, you're going to be very disappointed."

"Well, I don't love Anna Wintour, so at least I won't have that to deal with. Goodbye, Miranda."

The sight of Miranda's mouth dropping open almost made the pain in Emily's heart bearable. With as much dignity as she could muster, she stepped out of the car and walked off down the street, her hand up to hail a cab.