Ten minutes later, Christine—the Vanity Fair reporter who had been waiting—walked in with her photographer.
This reporter had a history with Tony Stark, and she wasn't hard on the eyes. That had been part of why Daisy agreed to the interview in the first place. Given a choice between conversation with a heavyset woman and conversation with a young, attractive one, the decision wasn't difficult.
Still, Daisy was genuinely curious about this reporter. In the film, one minute Christine was grilling Stark about weapons manufacturing, and the next they were in bed having a very different kind of conversation. The logic was hard to follow.
If it was purely about money and status, Daisy didn't quite buy it. Eventually she chalked it up to Tony Stark simply being charming.
Christine opened with the usual pleasantries—small talk to break the ice, questions about campus life, past experiences. The standard warm-up routine.
Wakanda, the Mandarin—nothing like that was on the table. Daisy had to improvise from her own experience, and years of reading web novels in a past life gave her plenty of colorful material to pull from. Christine listened with wide eyes and barely-concealed surprise.
After half an hour of warm-up, they got to the point. The core question was what Saving Private Ryan was really about. Christine asked it directly: "Miss Johnson—do you actually agree with the idea of eight men risking everything to save one? If you were one of the eight, what would you feel? And if you were Ryan, what then?"
There was no single right answer, but to stay aligned with military sensibilities, Daisy delivered a well-worn "no man left behind" speech with practiced conviction. Phrased the way she phrased it, there was nothing to argue with.
Christine didn't get the headline she'd been fishing for, and she looked mildly deflated. But since Daisy held firm that this really was her creative intent, there wasn't much to push back on.
At the end of the interview, Christine asked to take some photographs for the cover of the next issue.
Honestly, Daisy had mixed feelings. What if some weirdo out there did things with her photos she'd rather not think about? The thought alone turned her stomach a little.
But with Christine and her maid both insisting, she eventually gave in.
Her maid selected a red off-shoulder minidress, then carefully chose a jade pendant necklace from the jewelry collection.
"No stockings. Absolutely not." Daisy rejected the armload of hosiery her maid produced without hesitation. The reasoning was simple enough: women on this side of the world barely wore stockings at all.
"Please try them, miss—they really do look lovely..." Her maid urged earnestly, but Daisy was immovable. There was nothing to be done.
They settled on a pair of beige single-strap heels—eight centimeters (about three inches) of lift.
Then came an hour of makeup. Light and natural in the end.
Click. Click. Click.
"Hold that pose—yes, just like that—don't move."
Click. Click. Click.
"Turn slightly—a little more to the side—perfect, hold it."
Click. Click. Click.
"Keep smiling—relax your face just a touch."
By the time they finished, Daisy's smile felt permanently welded on. She watched the photographer circle around her hunting for angles, and every part of her was uncomfortable.
One hour for the interview. One hour for hair and makeup. Half an hour for photos. She finally sent the whole crew on their way.
She had a newfound respect for actresses. Heels transferring all your weight onto your knees, a skirt locking your legs in place so only your calves could move—it was a genuine test of balance and endurance. And those women didn't even have the Heart-Shaped Herb to help them along.
She made a private vow: never again. Not for any cover.
What she didn't notice was her maid slipping out of the makeup room with backup copies of the photos tucked under her arm, expression radiant, like someone who'd just struck gold.
She was just about to change when her phone rang.
"Daisy—I need backup." Coulson's voice on the other end was rough and strained.
"On my way." Coulson and she had always gotten along well. If he was in trouble, she was coming.
Only then did Daisy look around and realize her maid had vanished. Where had she gone?
Without her maid, she didn't even know where her regular clothes were. And from the strain in Coulson's voice, this was urgent—showing up slowly by car was not the right move. More and more people knew about her abilities these days anyway. One more witness hardly mattered.
She decided to go as she was.
Following the GPS coordinates on her phone, she teleported to the location.
She looked around and recognized the area immediately. This was near Stark Industries—not far from where she'd set up the nuclear reactor a few days ago.
Her heels clicked against the pavement in the dark, slow and loud. Not ideal for speed or stealth. She activated her gravity manipulation and lifted off the ground instead.
Less than three minutes later, she found Coulson.
He was buried in a pile of rubble. He spotted Daisy hovering—feet not touching the ground—blinked once, then waved her over.
Daisy respected Coulson. Not for his combat ability—for his character. She skipped the pleasantries and started clearing debris with her gravity control.
Once she'd cleared the outer layers, she found the problem: three interlocked support beams were trapping him underneath, with hundreds of pounds of bricks and metal pressing down on top of them. The beams had wedged against each other in a way that had, somehow, kept all that weight from coming down directly on Coulson. The man was a genuine good-luck charm.
If anyone less resilient had been in that position—Pepper, for instance—they'd have been screaming for help.
"You're not hurt?" Daisy asked.
Pinned with almost no room to move, Coulson had still methodically tensed and tested every muscle group his training had taught him. He was fine. Not a scratch.
"There were a few of my people with me when we came in..." He turned his head left and right, scanning the rubble. He couldn't see anyone.
Daisy swept the area with her SHIELD-issue phone. "I'm sorry. You're the only life sign in range."
Of course. The good-luck charm had apparently absorbed everyone else's share of fortune. Two bodies were visible in the debris. Additional remains nearby suggested others hadn't fared better.
His team was gone. Coulson, meanwhile, had barely broken skin.
"Get ready—I'm lifting everything." She studied the structure carefully, confirmed there'd be no chain reaction, raised her hands, and used her gravity control to lift the beams and everything stacked above them.
Coulson rolled sideways without a word, cleared the drop zone, and was back on his feet. Daisy set it all back down gently.
When she asked what had happened, she learned that a great deal had taken place in the two hours she'd spent on that interview.