Chapter Text
There’s gravel in her shoe.
It’s grating against the ball of her foot, but she ran in these damn four-inch heels in the middle of a heatwave to hail a taxi so she wouldn’t be late to this stupid interview, and if she stops now the shoe will never get back on her foot and she’ll be forced to retire at the tender age of 24 and she’ll never be able to finish paying off her Dad’s mortgage and then—
Her phone vibrates insistently in her hand.
“You’re spiralling, aren’t you?” Betty says before she can spit out a greeting, her tone making Michelle huff out an exhale through her nose. “Calm down, honey. It’s only a fun little interview.”
“Interviews are not fun. They require me to talk about myself. To people .” With a shudder, Michelle takes a sharp right and barely avoids bumping into a mother and child. “You know how I feel about people.”
Betty’s nod is audible through the phone, as is her keyboard clicking while she multi-tasks. “I know. They’re the worst. But this will be good publicity! Making you more accessible means more roles. Maybe even the role.”
“You’re my publicist, not my agent.”
“Aren’t I a little bit of both?” The clacking pauses, and Betty’s tone softens from 'professional' to 'friend'. “It’s okay to be nervous, but I promise you; you’re going to be fine.”
Michelle takes a deep breath, trying to release the tension from her shoulders and jaw like her mother always taught her. “This would be easier if you were here.”
“I know that, too, and I’m sorry. I’d be there if I could.” Betty clears her throat, returning to her default mode. “But I’ve already pre-approved all the questions—nothing too personal, mostly just fluff or inquiries into your acting process—and there’s a strict time limit of thirty minutes.” She can hear the smirk in her voice. “You’re oh-so busy with preparing for your newest secret role, don’t you know.”
Her shoulders finally relax. “I adore you.”
“There’s already wine and your favourite dinner in your fridge when you get home, and some new documentary recommendations lined up in your queue. I booked you a car for 4:30 and don’t you dare turn this one away; I know half the reason you’re so stressed is because of your travelling. If you had just let me—”
“I don’t need fancy cars taking me everywhere. I have two perfectly good feet at the end of my legs.”
“And how’s that going in those heels?”
A growl vibrates in her throat. “You’re the worst.”
“Love you! I’ll call you after my meeting to see how it went, okay?”
The gravel shifts and digs into her skin a little harder. “ Ow —Yeah, okay. Love you, too.”
She’s only two blocks away from the hotel, but the pain makes her regret feeling too paranoid to give the taxi driver her real destination. Still, she shakes out her hair, tugs down the hemline of her dress, and perseveres. Nothing stops Michelle Jones-Watson from achieving her tasks; especially not tiny insignificant rocks.
But then disaster strikes.
She’s barely over the crosswalk when the gravel twists, its other side so sharp that she can feel it pierce her skin, and she jolts so violently that she crashes straight into the back of the pedestrian in front of her.
“Woah!” The man barely budges, but Michelle loses her balance in her heels and makes peace with meeting all the gravel’s siblings and cousins when two remarkably strong arms catch her effortlessly around the waist. “Are you okay, ma’am?”
Michelle blinks three times. “A little dazed, but otherwise fine. Thank you for the save. Also, I’m sorry.”
“No biggie.” The man lets go of her and she finally focuses in on his face, a warm smile and kind eyes looking back. It’s almost enough to make her overlook a grown man using the word ‘biggie’.
Something about the way he looks at her makes her flustered, like the city just cranked up the heat a further twenty degrees and then wiped all logic from her brain. The only part actually functioning idly wonders if he recognises her, if he's perhaps just being polite. It's a welcome change from most reactions she gets when people look from her to the billboards and back again. She quickly catches herself, shaking away the thoughts that threaten an over-elevated sense of self. “Uh… I should—I have—“
“Shit, I’m getting in your way, right? Don’t wanna make you any later.” He presses his lips together, then licks them, and then for good measure he smiles again. “Have a lovely day.”
She frowns, her brain still re-booting. “You... too?”
Michelle steps to walk away, reminding herself of the pressing time constraint, when the stranger speaks again. “Oh, excuse me, miss! Is this yours?”
When she turns, he’s crouched down on the sidewalk with something sparkly in his hands, and she gasps when she realises what it is; the vintage tennis bracelet her grandmother left her, the one Michelle wears everywhere for luck just as she had once done. “Oh my—thank you! Yes!”
“Here, let me help put this back where it belongs.” He gently takes her hand, looping the bracelet around her wrist. “Huh. Looks like the clasp is broken. You know, my aunt could have that fixed in a snap.”
“Oh, that’s very nice of you but I don’t—” She pauses, taking back the jewellery as he gets back to his feet. “Thank you. You have no idea what this means to me.”
His answering smile makes her smile too. “I think I can take a guess, going by the look of relief. I’m serious about the fix, though, if you need it. Take it by F.E.A.S.T. and May’ll have it good as new.”
Michelle opens her mouth to speak—she doesn’t even know what the words were going to be, but it definitely involved sticking around a little longer—when her phone buzzes once more in her hand, her five-minute warning until the start of the interview. “I appreciate that. I should, uh… I should probably go though.”
“Of course, yeah. Good luck with your... whatever has you rushing about.”
She nods, biting her lip to temper down the smile that has yet to leave her face, and turns once more to walk away.
He follows after her.
“We’re going the same way.” His cheeks flush. “I’ll just wait here for the ground to open up.”
With that, she laughs and throws over her shoulder, “Bye, and thanks for being my saviour!”
The hotel room is blissfully cool, and Michelle relaxes minutely into the rigid back of her chair without loosening any of her armour. If there's one thing Betty has taught her, it's that going into any kind of interview is like preparing for war, and any signs of weakness will only lead to your blood being spilt all over the battlefield.
Thirty minutes. That's all she has to survive.
Thirty minutes and she gets to return to her apartment and the vacation she swore she'd take after six exhausting months of non-stop filming.
The interviewer loads up his notes on his laptop across from her, the little camcorder already up and running. He looks considerably less put together than her, though she supposes he’s not getting his photograph taken for candids as she carefully recites her practised answers in a thoughtful and casual manner. Said photographer stretches around the circle lights placed strategically around her, and Michelle can’t resist childishly poking her tongue out as the flash leaves red spots in her vision.
The older blonde barely contains her exasperated sigh, but it humours Michelle to cause them a little bit of chaos in the midst of what they've inflicted upon her.
“Okay, let's begin, shall we?” Jack finally meets her gaze, his body language changing so drastically that she almost asks if he wants to trade professions. “So, Michelle! Lovely to meet you. Lets start simple; how are you doing?”
“I’m well! Enjoying the sunshine,” she lies.
“Mm, yes… Tell us a little bit of how life has been since wrapping your breakout role on Netflix’s Overture .”
Michelle, too, shifts into her assigned role. “I’ll be honest, having to leave Stephanie behind and knowing I’ll never be her again was really hard, but the support and love from our fans has been amazing. It's strange to think of me and my other cast members at that first table read, having no idea what our little show would grow into and how it would change my life forever… It’s been such a blessing. I was only seventeen when I first auditioned— Overture is all I’ve known my entire adult life—but Stephanie taught me so many amazing things that I’m getting to carry forward with me into everything that’s coming next. I can’t wait until I get to share with all my fans just what that is.”
“Sounds like you’ve got a lot of exciting news hidden away. Anything you want to share with us today?"
Michelle fakes a warm laugh, her armour still firmly in place. "Nice try, Jack! Not yet, but good things come to those who wait."
"Hey, you can't blame a guy for trying, right?" His own smile isn't as well acted as hers. "Speaking of Stephanie, I'd love to get your take on her ending as the—"
Just then, there’s a ding from Jack’s laptop, and his eyes naturally shift from his notes to whatever notification has popped up. The photographer’s phone vibrates on the side table across the room. Her own device lights up in front of her.
Nothing good could possibly come from that kind of synchronicity. She swears she can feel the whole world shift on its axis.
Jack’s eyebrows raise, his eyes light up, and when he looks at her she feels the deathly blow that his next words will surely inflict upon her.
He turns the laptop so she can see the screen, filled almost completely with a photo of her and her saviour from just ten minutes ago, him on one knee and her grinning as he places something shiny on her left hand, a headline screaming above it.
MICHELLE JONES-WATSON STUNS THE WORLD WITH SURPRISE PUBLIC PROPOSAL TO MYSTERY MAN
Betty's name appears on the screen, announcing her call, but she can't remember how to control her limbs. How to breathe .
Her body lies broken and lifeless on the battlefield.
Jack smirks, unable to believe his luck. “Care to comment?”
“Uh… I… what?!”