Part I: Dinner Party
I
She smiled as best she could. And she was good at it. She had plenty of practice on red carpets and in press interviews. She was a professional. But this felt different. She was no stranger to photoshoots. In fact this was her third in a week. She was on quite a roll, promoting her new movie. But this felt different. He didn't use strobes, which already marked him out to be unusual. Typically, only the serious ones that considered themselves artists shot without the use of flashes. Natural light painters. But this felt different.
There was nothing pretentious about him. He didn't affect the same air of lofty brilliance that she would've expected from a photographer of his style. Not that she particularly knew much about his style. She had just made some guesses based off the sparseness of studio, the lack of assistants, and the workmanlike quality of his shooting.
He didn't speak much at all. Sure, he told her to turn around, to look in a certain direction or another but he didn't try to make conversation with her. He didn't seem particularly interested in talking about how great these photos were going to turn out or how Rolling Stone magazine was going to love them. He didn't talk about famous galleries where his work had been featured or how much his latest photos had sold for. But neither was he starstruck by her presence. He didn't seem intimidated by her beauty or graceful demeanour. She had wondered several times throughout the course of the shoot if he was even aware who she was. But he had to have known, he was working for a famous magazine and greeted her by name when she came in.
It wasn't to say that he was unfriendly. But he didn't seem the least bit interested in trying to impress her or make her more comfortable, which most people did when they first meet her. It didn't offend her but it she did take notice. Not many people could resist the charms of Mary Crawley. Actress, model, philanthropist. She had been reading her own Wikipedia page again.
"Alright, let's take a break," he said simply, seemingly more interested in his lens than he was in her.
She exhaled and awkwardly moved away from the window, where she had been posing. She watched him curiously as he sat down at the laptop he had set up beside him. He didn't take any notice of her.
"How's it going?" the voice of her assistant came tunneling towards her with the usual tone of girlish enthusiasm.
"I can't tell," Mary said as she turned her attention away from the photographer towards her assistant. "He doesn't speak very much."
"Oh yes. I'll admit he's not very talkative," her assistant replied. "But I hope he wasn't rude."
"No, not at all," Mary admitted. "He just doesn't seem particularly impressed by me."
"What do you want him to do? Sing your praises? Ask for your autograph? Like all the others?" her assistant teased.
"You know I didn't mean it like that," Mary said demurely as she realized how she had sounded.
"He is unusual, I'll give you that," her assistant said.
"How do you know him, Rose?" Mary asked. "He doesn't seem like any photographer I've ever met. I've never heard of him before."
"Oh, he's a friend of daddy's," Rose admitted.
"Using your connections once again?" Mary asked her young assistant as she raised an eyebrow at her.
"Actually, I think daddy was doing him a favour this time around," Rose said.
"Well, I hope he's good," Mary said in a grave tone as if to silently add or else.
"Don't be so snobbish," Rose shot back at Mary. "Just because he doesn't fawn over you doesn't mean he's incapable."
"You always think the worst of me," Mary said jokingly.
"I just think you don't like the idea of a man, who's not gay, who doesn't instantly fall for your natural charm," Rose replied coyly.
"I've never said that," Mary replied, feigning indignance.
"You don't have to, you think it, and that's all it takes for me to know," Rose said as she stuck out her tongue at her boss. "He's handsome though, isn't he?"
Mary's gaze returned back to the photographer. She supposed that Rose was right, his dirty blonde hair and his strong shoulders did make him rather more attractive the average photographer she usually got. But it was his eyes that captured her attention the most. Those clear blue eyes that seemed to stare right through her. She couldn't tell if it was mere disinterest or a muted sadness, but there was something ineffable about them. A feeling that she got that she just couldn't shake.
He was still there, hovering of his laptop, completely entranced by it. He seemed humourless, a craftsmen rather than an artiste. There was a certain matter-of-factness to his movements and his way of handling the camera. He didn't cherish it or love it the way that some photographers did. Nor did he just toss it around like it was nothing. It was just a tool in his hand.
"He's not terrible looking," Mary conceded, affecting an unimpressed tone.
Rose didn't reply. She just smiled at Mary, knowingly.
"Did you know his last name is also Crawley?" Rose asked.
"What?" Mary asked.
"You think there's any relation?" Rose continued.
"I don't think so," Mary answered, "He's American, I don't know anyone in my family who emigrated, since at least as far back to my grandfather's time."
"Well, quite the coincidence, wouldn't you say?" Rose asked.
"I'm not sure if it's that interesting," Mary said, feigning boredom.
"I can tell he's going to drive you crazy," Rose replied.
"Whatever," Mary replied as she waved her hand dismissively.
"Shall we start again in five minutes?" The photographer shouted from across the room.
"Yes?" Mary half-answered half-questioned.
"Yes?" He echoed.
"Yes, that will be fine," Rose replied in her stead.
The photographer replied to both of them with a friendly smile before returning his attention back to his laptop.
"What did I tell you?" Rose teased.
The rest of the shoot went by smoothly. Mary had a few more wardrobe changes but nothing that required her to redo her makeup or change her hair. It was a casual shoot, with the usual expensive clothing and heels, designed specifically to make her look gorgeous, elegant, and untouchable. It was just a shame that the photographer treated her that way as well. She would've liked for him to at least try to engage her a little bit. As it was, she felt like little more than a mannequin.
He was far too serious, she decided. He never smiled except in the most decidedly appropriate of circumstances. And there was something restless about him. There was something of a perfectionist streak in him, the way he pushed the couch around the studio until it finally caught the perfect lighting coming in from the tall windows of the studio. He wasn't afraid of labour and doing things and had no assistants to help him, which she found odd as well.
Mary took a deep breath and relaxed herself on the couch once he had finally announced that they were finished.
"How do you think they will turn out?" Mary asked as she kicked off the heels and put her feet up onto the couch.
"Good, I think," he answered simply.
"Well, you can give me a little more than that, can't you?" Mary pushed for a more detailed answer.
"Miss Crawley, you don't have to worry," he replied. "I know what I'm doing."
"Yes, that's what they keep telling me," Mary said as she stretched herself out on the couch. "Rose seems to think quite highly of you."
"I think that's more her father's opinion than her own," he replied.
"If you're so good, why haven't I worked with you until now?" Mary asked suspiciously.
"I wasn't a fashion photographer until recently," he answered.
"They sent me to work with an amateur, that's just great," Mary said sarcastically as she turned to stare at the ceiling.
"I'm not an amateur," he replied coldly.
"I didn't mean to offend," Mary said derisively, challenging the meaning of her words with her tone.
"I'm not offended," he replied in the same professional neutral tone as before.
Just then, the clicking of heels caught both of their attentions. Rose had returned.
"How did it go, you two?" Rose asked as she approached.
"Mr. Crawley here seems to think it went well," Mary said as she sat up and put her feet back into her heels.
"Miss Crawley doesn't agree," he responded in kind.
"Did something happen?" Rose asked as she put her hand on her hip, displaying her potential disappointment.
"I don't disagree," Mary said as she shot him a sinister look, "I just haven't seen your work before so I can't make a proper judgement."
He simply rolled his eyes as he continued to pack his equipment away. He didn't seem interested in picking a fight with her. She got the distinct feeling that he found her entitled. It was a fair criticism. She was self-aware enough to know that she received certain privileges given her work and her fame. But she hadn't been a bitch to him and she couldn't understand why he was acting like that's how she had treated him.
Rose hurried Mary along, getting her up off of the couch and walking with her back behind the screen so that she could change back into her regular clothes. By the time they were done, the stylist and makeup artist had long since left. It was just the photographer waiting for them.
"You waited for us," Mary said, "how kind."
"I've got to lock up," he said with his perfunctory smile as he held up the keys.
Mary simply replied by rolling her eyes.
They walked out of the studio together in an awkward silence. Rose and Mary were polite enough to wait for him as he brought down the iron gates that secured his studio space.
"Oh, I almost forgot," Rose said, "it's your party tonight isn't it, Matthew? Should I bring anything?"
"Oh, I didn't realize you were still coming," he said with a pleasant lilt in his voice. "I thought you were only in town for work."
"Of course I'm coming. I can work and play at the same time you know, it is possible," Rose replied.
"Don't you start too," Matthew said.
"What party is this?" Mary asked curiously while eyeing Matthew with a devilish stare.
"Oh," Rose said nervously, "we're celebrating Matthew's first job in well…"
"It's been a while," Matthew finished off Roses' thought.
"My, my, I suppose congratulations are in order, I hope I was a good reinauguration," Mary said.
"You should come, Mary!" Rose suggested.
Neither Matthew nor Mary spoke as neither knew exactly what to say in that situation.
"That is…" Rose said as she tried to backtrack, "if that's okay with you, Matthew."
"Of course," Matthew answered awkwardly, "but don't you… have some sort of premiere or late-night talk show or party of your own to attend?"
"We just have The Daily Show today," Rose said as she scrambled for her phone to confirm their appointments. "But we've already taped that. So we're effectively free."
"Well if that is the case," Matthew said, "of course you are welcome to join us. But I must warn you, it probably won't be the kind of party you're used to."
"I will do my best to lower my expectations," Mary answered coyly.
A/N: This is my first modern A/U MM story and I'm still trying to figure out their dynamic. How do you take them out of their historical context and place them in the modern world and still have them be Mary and Matthew at their core when so much of what makes them who they are have changed? That said, I tried to find analogues to their original dynamic, their class difference, their original hostility, and even some of their life experiences. I'm not sure if I've pulled it off completely but I hope you enjoy it anyways.