Distortion

At the first camera flash, she straightened up. Perfectly. Precisely. As she had always been accustomed to doing when others' eyes fell upon her. Lauren sat in the audience, having chosen the second row. Not too close to be intrusive, and not too far to keep everything under control. She was like a kindergarten teacher, ready to gesture and guide a child on what to do, though she understood James was capable of acting on his own. Lauren felt responsible for his every action, and it weighed on her more and more, sometimes constricting her breath so much she felt like clawing at her own face, just so he would stick to the plan. Barnes sat on stage, at a table with young politicians, discussing their paths in Congress. James wasn’t the most fitting mentor figure, having accomplished little in his time in office, but Lauren had wrestled this meeting from the hands of organizers and sponsors. That’s why she sat in the hall, her predatory gaze clinging to every thought and intention that flickered across the man’s face. When the queue of people wanting to ask questions began to form, Lauren was among the first, slipping into the aisle. She waited for her turn, replaying the pre-prepared question in her head again and again. Catching the eye of an audience member sitting in one of the seats, she realized she was gripping the soft handle of her bag too tightly. “Go ahead,” an unseen staff member in black adjusted the microphone so the girl could be heard. “What is your role in the Thunderbolts?” Lauren tilted her head to the side with interest, letting the soft cloud of her hair fall onto her shoulder. “That question isn’t entirely on topic for today’s discussion, but I’ll answer. To show that people can change,” James, meeting her gaze, leaned back in his chair. “To prove not with words, but with actions, that only deeds define a person’s change, regardless of what they did before.” “Thank you,” she said softly, on an exhale, stepping away from the microphone. Returning to her seat, Lauren was pleased. Their recent clash in the archives hadn’t stopped them from sticking to the chosen course. Placing her bag on her lap, she thought about how James would look against the backdrop of the other “Thunderbolts.” Drunkards, rather dim-witted killers driven only by emotions. They needed a firm hand to guide them, to help them grow. Valentina couldn’t provide that, giving in to her own feelings, making them work for her interests. She was a good player, but her true self showed as soon as the cameras turned off. Lauren wasn’t like that. She had lived within the game for so long that the mask had fused to her face, and even Barnes, who had tried to break through it out of curiosity, couldn’t tell when the girl was speaking the truth. Waiting for the meeting to end, Lauren went outside, circled the building, and met Bucky at the black exit. They exchanged a glance, heading toward the car where a driver was already waiting. “You handled it well,” her praise sounded like condemnation, distrust. She paused for a moment, as if expecting him to open the car door for her, but then touched the handle herself. “Everything was exactly as you said,” James got into the other side of the back seat. “I was afraid that after what happened in the archives, you’d act out of spite,” Lauren said, closing the door after sitting down. “You have to separate work and personal matters,” Bucky smirked, trying to dispel the chill that had settled between them, but Lauren, turning to the window, said nothing. “What’s the next plan? Gonna put me in a cage in front of everyone?” Lauren leaned forward, closing the partition between them and the driver. She looked at James, as if debating whether to ask. “I need access to the lower floors,” she requested quietly, placing her hand on the cold leather of the seat between them. “Will you help me?” “That won’t work on me. Not anymore,” he looked at her slender fingers, where the predatory gloss of red nails shone. “Why do you need access?” “There’s something down there that interests me,” Lauren withdrew her hand, placing it on her knee. “You’ve already figured out I like digging into forbidden things. It inspires me.” “Inspires you to implant some new feature in me?” he shrugged his shoulder, watching the buildings flash by. “No,” Lauren shook her head. “It’s related to me. I just want to make sure it’s not a fabrication.”