The rooftop restaurant, Perch, floated above the Los Angeles skyline. It was a cold January evening, carrying the faint, rhythmic hum of the city below, but up here, it was all soft jazz, and the scent of jasmine from the potted trees lining the terrace.
Daniel Miller sat at a corner table, his hand resting near the stem of a wine glass he hadn't touched in ten minutes.
He was in a charcoal suit, collar open—a move Tom had practically forced on him after laughing at the tie. "It's a date, Dan, not a deposition. Lose it."
Opposite him sat Florence Pugh.
Radiant. No other word fit her. She was in a backless emerald silk that glowed in the candlelight. Her hair fell loose, framing a face currently propped on her hand. She just watched him, her gaze amused and unblinking.
"Relax, Dan, the lighting's already perfect. I checked." she teased, her voice low and playful. Daniel let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. He picked up his wine. "I didn't pick the lighting. But you look... gorgeous, Florence."
"I know," she grinned, a quick flash of that fierce confidence he had admired since the first day of casting. "But thank you."
Daniel took a sip, the wine tasting sharp and grounding. His mind, usually of schedules and shot lists, drifted back to the conversation that had led him to this rooftop.
---
Two Days Ago
The editing suite at Miller Studios felt like a cave. It was dark, soundproofed, and illuminated only by the glow of three massive monitors displaying the color grading timeline for True Detective.
Daniel was obsessing over the yellow levels in the Louisiana sky. He wanted it to look sickly. He adjusted the curve by two percent, frowning.
His phone buzzed on the console.
Florence Pugh.
He wiped his eyes and picked it up. "Hey, Florence. Everything okay?"
"Better than okay, Dan," her voice came through, breathless and vibrating with excitement. "I just got off the phone with my manager. The phone hasn't stopped ringing. Since the box office crossed the billion mark. CAA, WMA, UTA... they're all fighting. I just got a script from Spielberg's office. Spielberg, Dan!"
Daniel smiled, leaning back in his chair. The exhaustion fading slightly. "That's amazing,. Seriously. You deserve every bit of it. You actually carried the emotional weight of that movie."
"We carried it," she corrected quickly. "But... it's all a bit overwhelming. I feel like I'm standing in a hurricane, Dan."
"Just keep your feet planted," Daniel advised. "And listen, don't sign anything yet. If you want, I can have the Miller Studios legal team vet the contracts. Make sure nobody sharks you on the backend points."
There was a pause on the other end.
"You're always trying to protect me, aren't you?" Florence murmured.
"That's my job," Daniel said. "I'm the director. I protect my talents."
"Maybe..." her voice dropped, becoming quieter, almost a mumble. "Maybe I want you to take advantage of me for once."
Daniel froze. "What?"
"Nothing!" Florence yelped, a nervous laugh escaping her. "I mean... nothing. Forget I said that. Oh god, that sounded terrible."
"Florence..."
"Okay, look," she cut in, her voice steeling with that familiar Leia-like resolve. "I'm going to just say it. Because if I don't, I'm going to regret it, and I don't want that. I want to see you. And not official. I'd like to have dinner with you."
Daniel paused. He hadn't dated anyone since his junior year of college. His life had been a sprint for the past year and even before that. He'd seen the looks Florence gave him during the shoot—the lingering glances in Tunisia, the tension at the premiere—but he had compartmentalized them. He'd tried to be professional.
But now, hearing the nervous hope in her voice, he just couldn't anymore.
He thought about the 18-hour days. The swamp shoot, and Harry Potter.
Then he thought about the way she looked at him when no one else was watching. He thought about how she made him laugh when the pressure was crushing him.
"Yes," Daniel said.
"Yes?" she repeated, sounding stunned.
"Yes. Friday at 8:00."
"Okay," Florence breathed. "Okay. Friday. Don't be late, Miller. Or I'll start without you."
---
The Date – Present Time
Back on the rooftop, the awkwardness was melting away, replaced by the easy, chemistry that had always existed between them. It wasn't new; it was a spark from Tunisia and roared to life on the red carpet. They were finally just letting it burn.
"So," Florence said, tracing the rim of her glass. "How's the edit going? Depressing enough?"
"Yeah, it's dark," he admitted. "The teaser got a huge reaction, but most of them are confused. They see the Star Wars guy, and they expect something… fantastical i guess. Instead, what they're getting is Matthew McConaughey talking about darkness."
"That teaser gave me chills, Dan," she said seriously. "I watched it three times. That tree? It felt... evil. How did you even find that?"
"Spent three days in mud up to my knees," he shrugged. "Glamorous Hollywood life."
She laughed, a warm, genuine sound that cut through the ambient jazz. She reached across the table and took his hand. Her skin was cool against his palm, her grip firm.
"I missed you," she said simply. "After the premiere… everything was a mess, and suddenly I was back in London with my family and you were in the bayou, and it felt... quiet. Too quiet."
Daniel looked at her hand in his, then up at her eyes. The honesty in her gaze disarmed him.
"I missed you too," He said softly. "More than I thought I would. It's strange... I usually prefer the quiet, you know. It helps me work. But lately, the quiet just feels… empty."
He tightened his fingers around hers. "Florence, I've got to be honest with you. I like you; I really do. I think you're brilliant, and beautiful, and terrifying in the best way. But you know me. I'm scared; I don't know if I'd be able to give you the time you deserve. I don't want to be the guy who cancels date night because a render farm crashed. You don't deserve that"
Florence smiled, squeezing his hand. "Dan, look at me. I'm an actress. I spent the last month living out of a suitcase. And I'm about to go on a press tour that spans three continents. I don't need a partner who sits on the couch every night at 6 PM. I can understand, that obsession you have. I've got it too."
She leaned in closer, her eyes dancing with mischief. "Besides... I don't need all your time. Just give me half the attention you give Stan Lee, and I'll feel like the luckiest woman in the world."
Daniel laughed, a loud, unguarded sound that made a couple at the next table look over. "Stan's high maintenance. You might be aiming too high."
"I like a challenge," she smirked.
The rest of the dinner flowed effortlessly. They talked about movies, fame, and the specific anxiety of waiting for reviews. It was intimate, far from the industry posturing Daniel dealt with daily.
By the time the check came, the air between them was thick with unsaid things.
"Ready?" he asked.
"Ready," she said.
---
The Parking Lot
The valet stand was quiet. Daniel's car, a Neptune Blue, Porsche Taycan, was pulled up. He tipped the valet and walked Florence to the passenger side.
The L.A. night was cool, but the heat between them was palpable. They stopped by the door. Daniel turned to face her.
Florence looked up at him, the city lights reflecting in her eyes, with a soft, vulnerable anticipation.
"Thank you, Dan," she said softly. "I'm glad I asked."
"I'm glad you did too," he said. "I would have eventually. I just... needed a push."
"You're a director," she whispered, stepping closer. "You're supposed to call the shots."
"Sometimes," he murmured, "it's better to let the scene play out."
He reached out, his hand gently cupping her cheek. Her skin was soft, warm. Florence leaned into his touch, her eyes fluttering shut.
Daniel leaned down.
A slow, firm, and deeply passionate kiss. Tasting of wine and promise, with months of unspoken tension.
Florence's hands came up to grip the lapels of his jacket, pulling him closer. Daniel's other arm wrapped around her waist, holding her steady against him. For a moment, it was only her.
They pulled away slowly, breathless. Florence's cheeks were flushed. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, looking down with a shy smile that Daniel had never seen on screen.
"We should go," she whispered, her voice a little shaky. "If a paparazzi caught that... the internet would melt."
"Yes, ma'am," Daniel said, his thumb brushing her cheek one last time. "No PDA until we're official."
"Deal," she smiled.
He opened the car door for her. "After you."
Florence slid in, casting one last look at him over her shoulder.
---
Miller Studios – The Next Morning
Daniel walked into Miller Studios at 7:00 AM, holding a black coffee, his mind already shifting gears.
He felt lighter.
Arthur Vance called at 8:15 AM.
"Daniel!" Arthur's voice boomed through the speakerphone. "Have you seen the trades? The Oscar nominations are out!"
"I haven't looked yet. I assume we made the list?"
"Made the list? We are the list!" Arthur laughed. "Juno got four nods. Best Picture, Best Original Screenplay, Best Actress for Ellie, and Best Director for you. You're officially an Academy Darling, kid. The youngest Best Director nominee in history. The voters loved the Normalism."
"That's good news," Daniel said, marking it down on his mental checklist. An Oscar nod would boost the backend profits for Juno significantly and add immense prestige to the studio. "Send a gift basket to the Academy voters. The nice ones."
"Already done. Now, about the Star Wars campaign..."
"Handle it, Arthur. I've got to go, an urgent meeting."
Daniel hung up. He looked at the poster on his wall—the black Harry Potter teaser poster that Marcus had sent over.
THE BOY WHO LIVED.
COMING SOON.
The "Mystery Campaign" was already generating buzz. Theaters were reporting people stealing the posters from the lobbies because they looked so cool.
But today wasn't about wizards. It was about a man in an iron mask.
Elena walked in, looking concerned. She placed a file on his desk.
"The meeting's confirmed for noon," Elena said. "But Daniel... I need to remind you. I spoke to the bond company again. They won't insure him. Robert Downey Jr. is a toxic asset in this town. He's doing B-movies for lunch money now. If he relapses during production, we lose everything."
Daniel opened the file. He saw the headshot of Robert Downey Jr. from this timeline. He looked tired. A bit rougher around the edges than the RDJ of Earth-199's 2008. He had the same eyes, but the light in them was dim.
In this world, RDJ hadn't made his comeback yet. He was still the guy who had it all and threw it away for a high.
Daniel looked at the Oscar nomination list, examined the billion-dollar box office report for Star Wars, and reviewed the True Detective editing timeline, where Matthew McConaughey was currently redefining his career.
He had the capital. And he knew something the bond companies didn't.
"I'll self-insure," Daniel said calmly.
Elena's eyes widened. "Daniel, that's... that's $140 million. If he fails, you bankrupt the studio. Even the Star Wars profit will be gone."
"He won't fail," Daniel said. "He just needs someone to bet on him. Set the meeting, Elena. And not here. Send him the address for The Griddle Cafe on Sunset."
Elena hesitated, then nodded. "Okay. But if this goes south, I'm adding 'I told you so' on my resignation letter."
"Fair enough."
---
The Griddle Cafe – Noon
The diner was loud, smelling of maple syrup and bacon. Daniel sat in a back booth, nursing a coffee.
Robert Downey Jr. walked in five minutes late. He was wearing sunglasses indoors, a leather jacket that had seen better days, and he looked... jittery. He scanned the room, saw Daniel, and hesitated.
As he walked over and sat down, he took off the sunglasses. His eyes were bloodshot, and weary.
"Daniel Miller," RDJ said, his voice raspy. " The Golden Boy. I gotta ask... did you lose a bet or something? Why are you here with me? you need a villain for Star Wars? A drug dealer in cantina?"
"No, not a villain," Daniel said. "I need a hero."
He slid a menu across the table. "Order a burger, Robert. We have a lot to talk about."
"A hero?" Robert scoffed, picking up the menu with trembling hands. "Kid, you got the wrong guy. The only thing I'm saving these days is 10% on car insurance. Nobody hires me for hero."
"That's exactly why I'm hiring you," Daniel said. "I'm making a movie about a man who has everything and loses it all because of his own arrogance. A man who builds a suit of armor to protect himself from the world he helped destroy. A man who has to crawl out of a cave to find his soul."
Daniel leaned forward. "It's called Iron Man. And you are perfect for Tony Stark."
Robert stared at him. For a second, the mask dropped, and Daniel saw the raw, terrifying vulnerability underneath.
"You know I'm uninsurable, right?" Robert whispered. "Nobody will bond me."
"I know," Daniel said. "I'm putting up the bond myself. My own money. If you screw up, Robert, you'll ruin me."
He looked at the young director. He saw the seriousness in his eyes. He saw a lifeline being thrown into the middle of the ocean.
"Why?" He asked.
"Because I believe in redemption," Daniel said. "And because I think you're ready to fly."
Robert looked down at the menu. He took a deep, shaky breath. He looked back up, and for the first time in years, there was a spark in his eyes. A glimmer of Tony Stark.
"I'll have the cheeseburger," Robert said, a small, crooked smile forming. "And Miller? let's build the damn suit."
Daniel smiled.
And as he signaled the waitress, Daniel knew that he had found his first Avenger.
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A/N: Definitely didn't forget that you guys existed and forgot to upload 💀
Edited by king_louis da goat
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