Day 1 Photography!AU/Superman Crossover Darcy/Steve Rated G
Day 1
Photographer AU- Superman Crossover
Darcy/Steve
Rated G
Metropolis- Daily Planet, Present Day
“Everyone, I want you to meet my new intern, Darcy Lewis. Darcy, this is… Everyone,” Jimmy announced in his very friendly, but less then eloquent way.
“Hello, Everyone,” Darcy drawled, sounding equal parts embarrassed and resigned as she gave a little wave to the group of people seated around the large conference table. Setting her camera case on the floor at her feet, she tucked her skirt under her knees and sat down in the chair she’d pulled out next to Jimmy. Several people around the table gave her a polite smile and nod, and she began filing away faces to add names to later. Names and faces were Darcy’s jam.
“Well, isn’t that just peachy,” the man at the head of the table snapped gruffly. “If you’re done introducing the help, Olsen, do you think I could start the staff meeting now?”
A feminine snort just down the table put a pause to the jolt of humiliation that Darcy felt at the Editor-in-Chief’s harsh words. “Careful, Perry, your grumpy old man is showing.” The woman stood from several chairs down and reached past Jimmy to shake Darcy’s hand. “I’m Lois Lane. That privileged, white, republican asshole at the head of the table is, unfortunately, our boss, Perry White, but don’t worry, not everyone that works here is a douche canoe of epic proportions. Welcome.”
Darcy shook Lois’s hand with a slightly stunned expression on her face that quickly twisted into a reluctant smile. “Good to know. Thanks, Ms. Lane.”
“Douche canoe, Lois? Really?” Mr. White sputtered, incredulously, as he recovered from his favorite reporter’s disrespectful smack down.
“Sure, didn’t you read Rogers' piece on contemporary linguistics shifts in an anonymity based online society? I found it very enlightening.” Lois Lane winked at Darcy and then nodded towards the awkwardly shifting man across from her.
“Christ help us all,” Perry White growled and rolled his eyes.
“Uh, Mr. White,” stammered the blonde guy with the glasses as he used a long, tapered finger to push them back up his nose, “modern slang aside, it only seems polite to let Jimmy finish. This is a staff meeting, after all, and she is, sort of, a member of the staff now, right?” His voice was soft and understated, but, despite his lack of conviction, Darcy appreciated the sentiment.
“Right,” the boss barked with a laugh, “because all you hard-hitting journalists are always so concerned with being polite.” After a few heavy seconds he gave a weary sigh and stood. “Fine. You’ve got till the time I finish refilling my coffee.”
The man picked up his personalized mug, (I’m the Boss, I don’t have Stress, I give it), and stalked from the room.
“Alrighty then,” Lois grinned as she took her seat. “You know me, Mr. White, and Olsen here, of course. That socially awkward butterfly is Steve Rogers...” She continued to go around the table, pointing and giving names, “Cat Grant, Ron Troupe, Franklin Stern, Iris West, Steve Lombard--” She names off a few more, but Darcy misses them due to the fact that she’s watching the man across from Lois as he turned to follow her introductions and caught a good look at his profile.
Darcy managed to swallow down the gasp that threatened to rise in her throat. It’s him… she thinks, after doing a mental double take. Her shocking recognition leaves her sitting in stunned silence until she notices everyone looking at her expectantly. Had someone asked her a question?
“I’m sorry, what?” she turned to glance at Ms. Lane. She was totally busted.
Lane glanced between her and Rogers with a knowing smirk and then said, apparently for the second time,” Tell us about you, Lewis.”
“Oh,” Darcy sighed with relief. If there was one thing she was good at, it was talking about herself. She needed a way to get her mind back on track, and doing something she excelled at would help her focus. “Well, I’m an undergrad at Met-U. I’m a political science major, minoring in Photography, hence the indentured servitude to Mr. Olsen,” she gave a small smile and a nod to Jimmy. “I’m graduating next year and haven’t decided if I want to go into public relations, or if I want to be a photo-journalist and cover political hot-zones like Baltimore or Venezuela.”
Lois let out a low whistle and leaned back casually in her chair. “I’ve got to say, Lewis, one of those would have you in the deadliest trenches, trying not to get your head blown off while you deal with slimy politicians, evil tyrants, and ethically despicable despots, and the other would put you smack dab in the middle of a potential war zone.”
Everyone chuckled, including Darcy, who was nodding along. “That’s part of why I’m here, to figure out if I can handle exposing the truth to the world, or if I’d be better off getting paid the big bucks to lie to people.”
Lois tipped her head back and laughed. “At least you know the difference, and you’re here, so there’s still time to convince you not to go to the dark side!” She finished with a decent James Earl Jones impression that had everyone laughing along.
“What about when you aren’t working? What do you do for fun?,” one of the middle aged guys, she though his name was Stern, asked with an only mildly leering smile.
“You mean, besides drinking Pina Coladas and getting caught in the rain?” she joked, hiding her unease behind her humor. Stern chuckled and nodded looking somewhat abashed at realizing how he must have come across and apologetic enough that Darcy felt herself relax enough to answer honestly.
“Just the usual things: reading, watching Netflix, and playing Words with Friends.” She paused before hesitantly adding, “I do have a photography show that I’m putting together for a gallery downtown. Nothing fancy, just a few photos that I’ve taken around the city in my spare time.”
“She’s really good,” Jimmy said, jumping in over her modest hemming and hawing. He’d seen her portfolio during her interview process, and was more than willing to rave about her to anyone who would listen, as the poor unsuspecting ladies of HR had discovered earlier that morning. Darcy might have been more embarrassed by this if she wasn’t actually really proud of some of her shots.
“You’ll have to tell us all when your show opens,” Rogers said with a small smile. “I’m sure we’ll all want to make time to see your work.”
Darcy felt her cheeks heat up and fiddled with the pen, twirling it between her fingers. “Oh, sure…” she looked around quickly and then looked back at the encouraging expression on his face. “Actually, there is something-“
“All right, kids, settle down,” Mr. White interrupted as he came through the door backwards, his now steaming coffee cup clasped in his hands. Rogers gave her a slight shrug, and he and the others all turned their attention to the man in charge.
Perry sat back in his chair and Darcy let herself fade back into the background as he began the meeting. She tried to pay attention, but she found her gaze continually wandering back to the blond man across the table. Even with the large, thick frames of his glasses obscuring part of his face, she was still certain it was him, the man she’d been scouring the streets of Metropolis for weeks to find.
Assignments for the week were dealt out. She would be accompanying Jimmy to cover a press conference at Queen Industries’ satellite office that afternoon and a red-carpet gala event on Friday night for the new Luthor Corp charity foundation and soloing at “A Brunch with the Mayor” on Wednesday morning. In between those events, she would be assisting any and all of the writing staff on whatever pieces they were working on that might need a photographer. Any other free time she had was supposed to be spent lurking around the city at various celebrity haunts hoping to get some paparazzi shots for the online gossip blog that the Daily Planet endorsed. All of that, of course, was only as long as there wasn’t any kind of breaking news emergencies or natural disasters.
She didn’t necessarily relish the idea of stalking famous people, but that would, at least, give her time to do some people watching and keep her eye open for any possible candids that she could add to her show.
As her mind drifted from her work to the photos for the gallery show she found her thoughts and her eyes moving back to the blonde man who was detailing to Mr. White the story he was working on, (something about corruption between the mob and the city’s Department of Sanitation), his shoulders hunched and his words tripped over an obvious lack of self-confidence. Her eyes were drawn to his slender, well-shaped fingers as he fiddled with a stubby number 2 pencil and a small flip notebook.
She frowned and studied him closer. He was such a confusing collection of contradictions. He was classically good-looking, with a fantastic jaw line, great cheekbones, and piercing blue eyes, even hidden behind his bulky, retro glasses. She could see wide shoulders and muscle tone under the over-sized suit jacket that probably helped disguise his true size and figure.
He looked like every prom king jock she’d lusted after in high school, and acted like every shy, self-conscious nerd she’d ever dated. On top of all that, he seemed like a genuinely nice guy. She had photographic proof that he was physically strong and could be heroically brave. So why was he tripping over his tongue now?
Some people had a paralyzing fear when it came to public speaking, and she supposed that could be all it was. Still…
The part of her that wanted to unravel every mystery and shine a light on any and all hidden truths was peaked, not to mention the part of her that wanted to climb him like a tree and do all manner of-
“Hey, Intern girl, its Lewis, right?”
Her eyes jerked away from Rogers and focused on Mr. White with laser speed and precision. “Yes, sir.”
“You don’t have to be to that press conference till this afternoon, right?” he asked, looking over the notes he’d taken over the course of the meeting.
“That’s right, sir,” she confirmed with all the professional gusto she could summon.
“Great! Why don’t you go with Rogers here and see if you can’t get a photo to help substantiate his story.”
Darcy forced her face not to reflect the foolish glee that threatened to overwhelm her.
“Sure,” she shrugged, as casually as casual could be, “I’ve got a few hours before I have to meet Jimmy- uh, Mr. Olsen.” She refused to cringe through her correction, but it was a struggle.
“I’ll e-mail you the address,” Jimmy said with a smile, and she nodded her thanks.
“I think that’s about it, people. Let’s get to work.”
With that dismissal everyone stood, gathered their things, and began to filter out of the room. She watched as Steve made several attempts to engage in polite pleasantries with the other members of the staff as he held the door for them, and she was flabbergasted at the way they all ignored him or brushed him off, the women especially.
Was she the only person who could see his appeal through his bashful facade?
She shot a ‘see ya later’ to Jimmy and waited while the rest of the staff filed out.
Once they were alone she hugged her notebook and tablet to her chest and smiled up at him. “Well, shall we?”
“Are you ready to go- I mean- Do you have everything you need?” He asked pushing his glasses up his nose with one finger.
“Um, I think so-“ she glanced down and realized that she had been so lost in her fascination with the guy that she’d forgotten the most important thing. “Oh! My camera!” she laughed at herself and stepped back around the table to pick up her case by the wide nylon strap before slinging it over her head to drape across one shoulder. “Can’t forget that…” she muttered.
“After you,” he gestured, still holding the door.
“Thanks,” she said with a shy smile and started walking through the bullpen.
Once they were past the crowded room of people, Darcy turned and let Steve catch up with her. “I have to confess, I’m glad we’re getting the chance to work together. I had something I wanted to talk to you about-“
“Oh? What’s that Miss Lewis?” he queried with genuine curiosity.
“Well, this is kind of awkward, but I need to ask if I can use a photo of you for my show, the one I told you about during the meeting.”
He gave her an odd look and shook his head. “A photo of me?! But why would you want to take a photo of me? I’m not very photogenic, I’m afraid.”
“Well, that’s just not true,” Darcy gaped as she turned the corner and headed down the hallway towards the elevators. “I already have a photo of you, actually. A really great one I took after that bus wreck back in June-“
His jaw dropped in surprise and he was so stunned he stopped walking and stared at her. After taking a second to collect himself he glowered at her and shook his head. “I think you’re mistaken, Miss Lewis, I wasn’t involved in any bus wreck.”
“What?” she frowned back, confused and turned on her tablet. “I could have sworn it was you…” she murmured as she opened the file containing the photo in question. “Here,” she said hastily, shoving the device into his chest. “You’re seriously telling me that that,” she pointed down at the black and white picture selected on the screen, “isn’t you?”
She raised her eyebrows skeptically and looked between him and the picture. “I mean, you aren’t wearing your glasses, and you’re in flannel and khakis instead of a suit, but if that’s not you then you have a twin brother I don’t know about. Granted, that wouldn’t be much of a stretch, since I know almost nothing about you. Do you have a twin brother, then? Is that it?” She didn’t sound like she believed he had a twin. She sounded frustrated and confused as to why he would lie to her about the role he played at that crash site. Was he really so shy, or humble, he didn’t couldn’t admit to playing the hero?
In an instant, he had her upper arm in a firm and insistent grip and was pushing her towards a closed door marked ‘Maintenance Supply’. Gone was the bumbling goof. He was swift and decisive as he pushed her inside the dark closet and closed the door behind them.
Before she knew it her back was pressed against the door as he loomed over her in the shadowy gloom, the only illumination coming from her tabled pinned between them.
“What do you want?” his voice was still soft, but it seemed deeper, somehow, and full of intense purpose.
Darcy found herself stammering over an apology. He seemed almost… angry. “S-sorry, I’m sorry, I just wanted to use the photo for my show.”
His eyes narrowed and he squeezed her arm a little tighter. “Is it blackmail, then? I have to warn you, I don’t have money, and I don’t take kindly to threats.” He wasn’t almost growling now.
Darcy had never been so confused in her life. “What!? NO! I’m not! Look,” she countered, trying to pull her arm from his grasp, but his grip was like steel, “I’m a photography student, right? I take pictures. That’s what I do, and I just happened to be there that day and take some pictures of people as they were being helped out of that overturned bus. Okay? And this picture,” she pointed to the one still light up on the tablet between them, the one that depicted him helping down a battered and bruised old woman who was smiling at him like he was the second coming, “this picture was the best of the lot.”
He looked like he was about to interrupt so she pushed on. “My show is- well, it’s a bunch of candids that I took around the city, right? And the theme is, like, everyday heroes and acts of kindness, okay, and, for obvious reasons, this picture in particular really resonated with me and I really want it to be a sort of center piece for the show because it really ties the theme together. But the gallery, because they want to sell prints and earn commission, I have to have the legal consent of all the subjects, or whatever. Which has been no picnic, let me tell you. I spent weeks tracking down the woman in the photo. Her name is Margaret Carter, only she goes by Peggy, and she agreed to consent as long as she got a copy of the photo to remember the ‘handsome young man who saved her’ by. The thing was, she didn’t know who you were. She said that after you pulled her down from the bus and carried her to the paramedics that you went back to help the others and she lost you in the chaos. She couldn’t help me find you, but she said that if I ever did I was supposed to send you her way so she could ‘thank you good and proper’. I think she meant with baked goods or a hug, but she could mean with a kiss and a pinch on your, uh- cheek. She was quite the firecracker, after all, even though she’s got to be pushing 90 and suffering from, well, I think it’s dementia, but it might be Alzheimer’s, I don’t know.”
She paused here, her sadness at the fiery old lady’s confusion towards the end of her visit was a fairly recent memory and she had to take a deep breath and shrug off the sudden onset of melancholy.“Anyway, after I found Peggy I tried tracking down the police report and the reporter who covered the story for the Plant, which is how I found out about the Internship here, actually, but nobody had a name for you or knew who you were. So here I am, out of leads, ready to take out a freaking personal ad on craigslist or something equally as desperate, but that just seemed like asking for trouble, so I was getting ready to give up on it all together, but then-“ she stopped babbling and looked up into his face.
Steve Rogers was gazing down at her with an expression that she struggled to interpret. If hard pressed she’d have said his face was somewhere between ‘oh dear god don’t you ever stop talking’ and ‘I think I’ve made a mistake thinking this girl was a blackmailing mastermind’. She sort of hoped it was closer to the second one.
Remembering she’d left her sentence hanging, (a horrible habit her mother was forever trying to break her of), she soldiered on. “Then, I was sitting down for my first staff meeting on my first day of my awesome new internship and there you were. And I couldn’t believe that it could be you, that I could have found you because the odds seemed so totally astronomical, I mean, I don’t think my roommate Jane could even calculate the odds of me finding you like this- Well, probably she could, but it would be a ridiculous number I would probably zone out before she could finish explaining how ridiculous it really was.”
She shook her head and reminded herself to try and stay on topic. “Anyway, the point is, I didn’t know you would be here. I don’t know anything about you except that you are crazy photogenic and you like helping out little old ladies during a crisis, and I don’t understand why you would think I’d be trying to threaten you with this, I’m just trying to get your permission to use it in my show because It’s a really good shot, the best shot I’ve ever taken, really, and I want people to be able to see it because it’s incredible- what you did was sort of incredible, and I thought it was so inspiring that others couldn’t help but be inspired, too, because this,” she pointed to the picture again, “this right here is what people should be inspired by. I mean- everyone makes a big deal about that Superman guy, right, but he’s just some… some weird mystery guy in spandex and a cape with abilities that no mere human could ever hope to possess, let alone measure up to. Don’t get me wrong, I still think he’s a hero who does a lot of good and helps a lot of people, but it’s not like all the little kids who say they want to be like Superman when they grow up can actually get super powers and fly or be strong enough to keep a building from collapsing onto a crowd of people or stop a nuclear missile with their bare hands or anything, but they can be like the guy in this photo.”
She glanced down at it again, her eyes sweeping over the crisp lines of his profile, his nose smudged with dirt, or the way his strong, muscular arms flexed as he carefully, gently, tenderly cradled Peggy’s frail body as he lifted her down. “People can help others when they’re hurt or when there is some kind of emergency. People should step up and help, be a Good Samaritan, like you did. You didn’t know Peggy, you didn’t have to come to her rescue. You could have stood on the sidelines and taken pictures with your cell phone, like a lot of people did. Like- well, like I did, actually. But you didn’t you were better than that, better than me with my stupid camera and my stupid pictures.”
She took another deep breath and sagged against the door. “The thing is, Steve Rogers, when I look at this picture I think, ‘Next time, I will do more. Next time, I won’t just stand on the curb and take photos. Next time, I’m going to be like the guy in the flannel shirt, and I’m going to help.’ That’s what I think when I look at this picture, and if it makes me want to do better, to be better, then maybe other people will see it and think the same thing and then, just maybe, me standing around taking pictures won’t have been such an awful waste because this picture will have helped others be better, and, in some small way, maybe I will have helped make the world a better place. Just like you.”
She alternated between looking at the tablet and staring past it at the floor, the newly formed silence pressing between them with an uncomfortable weight.
“Are you finished?” He asked, after what seemed like more than a minute.
She nodded a bit shamefully. Darcy Lewis’ famous verbal diarrhea strikes again, she thought dolefully.
“Okay then,” he said, straightening up and leaning back, releasing her arm and doing his best to quit looming over her threateningly. “First of all, I’m sorry if I frightened you. I guess you surprised me with this, is all, and I’m not used to being surprised. I reacted badly. I apologize.”
She shrugged and gave him a strained smile. “Surprises all around today, I suppose.”
“I suppose,” he agreed returning her smile, small though it was.
“Secondly, you’re right. That is me in the photo. I suppose I owe you another apology for trying to deceive you. It’s just that I value my privacy very highly, so I’m just- not used to being recognized or photographed. I usually try to avoid attracting other people’s attention.” He seemed almost to squirm at that admission.
Darcy grunted and whispered, “Yeah, I noticed,” under her breathe.
“Yeah, you did,” he nodded along, apparently having heard her, and she met his gaze. It was warm and held a measure of gratitude, despite the fact that he seemed to make a lot of effort to keep just such a thing from happening.
“Thirdly, I think you’re right. This picture is really good, incredible even, though I think that says more about your talents as the composer then it does about the subject of the composition, and it should be shared. You were right about what you said about Superman being a less relatable kind of hero, too. I guess, if you really meant what you said about being inspired, then- well, I guess I’m honored that you feel that way.” Steve paused and folded his arms over his chest.
Any hope Darcy had started to feel as he spoke shriveled up and withered away at his closed off stance. She could practically see the ‘but’ coming.
“That being said, I don’t think I like the idea of strangers buying a photo of me and hanging it who knows where. Like I said, my privacy is very important to me and I don’t think I can consent to some gallery offering up my name and face like some kind of collectable art piece. No matter how inspiring it is, or well-intentioned you may be. I’m sorry.”
Darcy pressed her lips together and nodded. “No, it’s fine… I get it.” She attempted a laugh and hugged her elbows. “There’s a reason you’ll only ever find me behind the camera, never in front of it.”
She twisted her mouth from side to side as he handed her back her tablet and she gave the photo one last lingering glance. It was such a shame. Her show wouldn’t be nearly as good without it, and more importantly, no one but the few people she’d shown during her quest to find him would ever get to see it. It was a real tragedy. Still, the part of her that wanted nothing more than to protect the good people of the world, and the people she cared about, even if it meant helping them hide their secrets was burning brightly, and she understood not wanting to have his image sold to whoever was willing to pay the galleries ridiculously high prices.
Then an idea, so simple it made her giggle out loud, burst into her mind.
“What’s so funny?” he asked with a level of caution she thought she might need to be offended, but then decided to appreciate it instead.
“What if-“she hesitated and then carried on, deciding it was better to risk rejection than to miss out on a possible solution. “What if it wasn’t for sale?” She watched him raise one eyebrow and tilt his head before charging ahead, once again. “I mean- none of the subjects of any of my photos are named. With this kind of gallery show its more about what the photo represents then what’s actually in the photo, so you don’t have to worry about people seeing it and making you into some kind of personal celebrity, or stalking you, or whatever. I could just tell the gallery people that this piece isn’t for sale. People can come and see it during the show, but they can’t take any prints of this one home. For all I know it will make my show sound mysterious and compelling and even more people will want to come see it.” She wrinkled her nose in self-disgust. “That just sounded way more elitist and pretentious then I intended. This show isn’t about me, not really. I just really want people to see this and feel the same way about it that I do, the more people, the better.”
He tilted his head back and forth, considering before raising an eyebrow at her. “My name wouldn’t be displayed anywhere?”
“No way, girl scouts honor!” she said with a jaunty salute.
“What happens to the picture after the show is over?” he questioned with a suspicious glint.
Technically, Darcy was the owner of all the pictures, the gallery just picked up a commission on anything that sold during the show. She would always have the originals, plus digital copies, but… “You can have it to do with it whatever you wish.”
The corner of his mouth twitched up. “And you can just tell the gallery that they can’t sell any copies of it?”
“I can do whatever I want. It’s my show. Us artistic types are supposed to be eccentric and unpredictable in our demands, don’t you know?” She let her own self-deprecating half-smile meet his.
He considered for a few more moments, just for effect, Darcy thought and then leveled at her the most blindingly brilliant smile she’d ever seen in her life, and she spent a good portion of the last few years telling people to say cheese.
“I guess you have yourself a deal, Miss Lewis.”
She aimed for calmly pleased and hit somewhere in the range of tickled pink. “Awesome.” Her hand shot out to offer to shake and hit him in the gut.
His grunt and flinch seemed to come a half second later then it should, and Darcy could have sworn it felt like she’d just tried backhanding a brick wall. That confirmed her theory that Steve Rogers was hiding some seriously cut abs under all that poorly fit clothing.
“Sorry,” she grimaced. She really hadn’t done it on purpose. Much.
“Its fine,” he said, straightening with a smile. He took her hand and shook it gently, which was good, because her knuckles were still throbbing lightly. “Now that that is settled, we should probably get to work. What do you say?”
“Right,” she nodded with professional enthusiasm. “The news waits for no man. Or woman.”
He reached past her and twisted the doorknob and pulled the door open which, incidentally, pulled her closer to him, and she was suddenly pressed against his chest.
“Sorry,” he muttered, looking down at her with a few different things reflected in his face. None of them were apologetic.
She felt her cheeks heat up under that gaze and she dropped her eyes. “Oh- uh… its fine?” After a heartbeat or three he stepped back and held the door open for her, gesturing for her to go first. She stepped out and waited as he closed the door behind himself. “I wonder if Mr. White knows he’s sending the two klutziest people in the department up against the mob and a bunch of corrupt government officials?” Darcy asked as they neared the end of the hallway. “What could possibly go wrong?”
Steve smiled at her again and reached out to press the down button. “I think we’ll manage.” She smiled back and they stood in companionable silence before he turned to her as the elevator dinged and the doors slid open. “I know what I want you to do with my photo. After the show is over, I mean.”
“Oh yeah,” she says as they step aboard the lift. “What’s that?”
“You should give it to Peggy.”
“Wow,” Darcy whispers as she presses the P1 button, “You know what they say about beautiful cinnamon rolls?” She gives him an awed look and tries to remember what her mother always told her about men that seem too good to be true.
His smile turned bashful and he gave the carpet of the elevator a slow toe kick as if to say ‘aw shucks, ma’am, twern’t noth’n’.
“Takes one to know one?” he said, finally, glancing up at her from the corner of his eye.
Yep, she thought, definitely too good to be true.
“Birds of a feather?” He tried again, a hopeful twinkle in his timid smirk.
Darcy just tipped back her head and laughed as the doors slid closed.
She was so screwed.