Serena waved to her across the floor, and then glided over. She glided really well. Emily straightened up, keeping her shoulder blades against the wall just in case.

"Hey, Em. Is the coast clear? Did Miranda leave?"

"No. She's in her office." Emily sighed in faux exasperation. "Explaining the concept of resposin… repsonsi… duty to Andrea."

"Still?" Serena grimaced. "She's been grilling her for ages. What did Andy do? Burn the Book?"

"She utterly screwed up the decorations." She tried to wave her hand around expressively, but changed her mind at the last moment. "As you can see."

Serena shot a doubtful look around. Was she blind?

"And she forgot to pick up the scarves." Emily added in triumph.

"OK, that qualifies, I guess." Serena said uncertainly.

"I'd say."

"Pity, I really thought she would last." Serena said. The traitor.

"Oh, God! Miranda, I can't last!"

Miranda was buried so deep in her. Was it two or three fingers? She could not remember. She could not think. Her insides were melting. She ground harder against Miranda's palm. She needed to… Right now, she needed to…

"You will last," Miranda whispered silkily, never raising her eyes from her lap. She held Andy's dress bunched up at the waist with one hand. Andy was entrusted with the task originally but the material kept sliding out of her grasp.

"Until I tell you otherwise." Miranda pulled her fingers out in warning. God damn it. She's been keeping Andy on the brink for ages.

"Please." Andy said through clenched teeth.

"I want to hear you."

"But, uh, someone - oh, god - might hear-"

"No, no, no." Miranda said lightly. She sounded almost amused. Andy wanted to kill her. "No excuses. I. Want. To hear you."

"I-" Andy rolled her hips, hunting for elusive fingers.

"Say it."

"Miranda, please." Andy shut her eyes, concentrating on the touch. Now light and caressing, then rough, rubbing her, but never where she needed it the most.

"You know what I want to hear." Yeah, Andy knew. But she wouldn't give in that easily. She wouldn't.

"Fuck me!" She blurted desperately the next second.

"Again." Miranda's breath hitched. Andy forced her eyes open. One look at Miranda's intent face and she almost came on the spot. Miranda was leaning forward a bit, staring intently at Andy's face. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes blazing. She was biting on her lower lip in expectation.

Andy gazed at Miranda's beautiful, wide open eyes. She could read her so easily right now. It was more than affection; she could see the love reflected back at her. She wanted to confess it all. But there was time for it later. Right this moment there were more pressing matters at hand.

"Make me come, please!" She cried.

"Soon, darling." Miranda breathed. "And when I do, I want you to scream for me."

"So." Jocelyn smirked. "The miraculous little assistant is not so miraculous anymore?" There was a satisfyingly evil glint in her eyes. Finally, Emily thought, someone who sees the positive side of things.

"I guess Miranda's finally had enough." Emily sighed, all of a sudden feeling very compassionate for poor, suffering Miranda.

"They've been gone for ages. My, Miranda is really letting her have it." Jocelyn said gleefully.

Now that Emily thought about it, there had been some tension between Jocelyn and Andy. She couldn't remember the details, but it had to do with Miranda taking Andy's advice over Jocelyn's, or something. That girl was stepping on everyone's toes.

"Alas." Emily smiled and gulped the punch. Jocelyn was nice. She liked Jocelyn.

"Oh, to be a fly on the wall."

"Mmmm." Emily agreed distractedly. Something was nudging at her brain. The snatches of the recent conversations were booming through her head, the recollections bombing her in stereo.

"…to tear at Andy in front of everyone." said Paul.

"…efficient, frugal, innocent girl…" said Irv.

"…a fly on the wall." said Jocelyn.

Inspiration struck like a thunderbolt. A wonderful, gut-clenching thing. A pure Michelangelo moment.

So fucking brilliant it made her giddy.

"Huh." Emily said, amazed by the simplicity of the thought. She dug in her bag and almost lost her balance. "Perhaps we can arrange that, luv."

She straightened up, held up by the tilting wall, raised her chin and raised her voice over the din.

"This is my present to us, the suffering, the hungry, and the proud! To us, the dignified, the unbending! To us who are left behind." In bloody New York. During Paris fashion week. "Let us all enjoy the demise of the fat wonderworker."

And then she flicked the tiny switch on the Bluetooth transmitter.