Lauren hates shopping, has she perhaps mentioned that? Well, it's true. What's probably worse than shopping is walking behind someone that is shopping, trying to be unobtrusive.
What's even more difficult than that, is trying to walk behind someone, trying to be unobtrusive when that person insists on discussing every fucking potential purchase with you as if you're some kind of a personal shopper.
"What do you think of these?" Miss Cabello asked her, holding up a pair of purple high heels. "I kind of like them, but I just get the feeling that they'd make me look like a teenager who's trying too hard!"
She shrugged in reply. It's five after ten. She has been awake for just over five hours and it feels like she has been in every flaming shop. She hasn't really. Miss Cabello seems to be very organized when it comes to shopping, but it certainly feels that way.
"Lauren, could you be a little bit more enthusiastic please?"
She ignored her, more interested in keeping a more than a casual eye on a pair of young men who were glancing at her companion in a slightly less than casual manner as they walked around the store. It's the third time she has seen them on the last two floors and they don't seem particularly interested in women's shoes and bridal wear. Deciding that enough was enough, she stared over at them, making it very obvious what she was doing; her eyes following them around the store as they flitted in and out of displays.
Eventually, they noticed her glaring at them and they spoke quickly to each other, laughed and walked away.
"Lauren?"
"Sorry?" she asked absently watching them as they walked down the stairs to the lower floor and out of sight.
"Have you been listening to anything I've been saying to you?"
"If it was something to do with purple shoes, Miss Cabello, then no, not really. I was slightly more interested in doing my job."
"God, you're impossible. Remind me why I brought you shopping? You haven't been interested in anything since we got here."
"Uhm, I'm sorry to point this out but you haven't brought me shopping, Miss Cabello. I'm here because I'm supposed to be watching your back, remember?"
"Yeah, well while you're here, you can help me shop, you can multi-task can't you, Lauren?"
"Well, I can chew gum and shoot people at the same time, if that's what you mean." She said flippantly hoping she'd take the hint.
"No, not really," Miss Cabello replied, taking the hint. "I just thought another woman's opinion might help, that's all."
"I'm not a woman Miss Cabello. I'm a soldier, GI Jane if you like. I'm not really qualified to help you with shoes and dresses and the like. Perhaps, you should have invited your sister."
The woman's face dropped at her barbed comment and she felt a little guilty; she had, after all, simply been making an effort to be nice. She had been making an effort to be nice ever since Lauren made a fool of herself in their offices yesterday and the latter had been pushing her away.
But she's just a package, that's all she can be. She's not her shopping buddy, she's not her bestest friend in all the world; it's like what she told her, she is her CPO and that's all she can be.
"I think you're a lot more than a 'GI Jane', Lauren, you do yourself an injustice. You're the sort of person who risks her life for a total stranger and then takes the time to offer them a bit of comfort when they're terrified; even though they've been nothing but a bitch to you. I can see through you, Lauren, you're actually a very nice person."
"I risk my life because that's my job Miss Cabello, that's what I get paid to do."
She held back a sigh as she explained this once again; She doesn't know why the girl can't accept this basic tenet of what she does. She has no idea why she's suddenly all intent on making her something she's not.
"Believe me," she continued, "if I wasn't getting paid to look after you, then I'd probably be somewhere else looking after someone else; that's just how it is."
"Or you'd be back on the streets," the brunette snapped angrily.
"Yes," she agreed sadly, trying to hold onto a modicum of dignity despite that particular blow landing far below the belt.
"There's always that option as well, Miss Cabello. Though, I think I'd do a lot more to avoid that next time around. For the record, I was doing my best to get myself under control before I met the LT, Miss Cabello; I was off the booze, I'd quit smoking and I'd started to get myself back into shape. I made it out the other side last time, so this time I think it'll be different. I'm not the same person anymore."
You see, this is exactly what happens when you open yourself up to people; you give a bit of yourself, however unintentionally, to another person and eventually they'll use it to hurt you. Miss Cabello had done it. Lucy did it all the time and everyone she'd ever known apart from her mom had done it as well; right back to her schooldays. Even her best friend Luis had tried to use her sexuality against her after he'd found out, it'd only taken the combination of a bruised fist and a broken nose to correct that mistake.
People are fuckers. Thank you, Miss Cabello, for reminding Lauren of that little fact.
At least, her little shot at Lauren's ego had made her sure of one thing. She's not going back onto the streets. She's not the lost and pathetic person who left the army with no hope and no ideas; she's stronger than that now, she knows she is.
Miss Cabello looked chastened at her comment as if she realized that she had taken nothing more than a cheap shot. She spent a few seconds looking at her feet before finally she looked up at the dark-haired woman.
"Lauren, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that; it was just..."
"It's fine, Miss Cabello, it really doesn't matter." Lauren interrupted to save the brunette and save herself from the situation. It does, though. It hurts.
'Why does it fucking hurt? I don't do hurt, not anymore. Get out of my head, Cabello! I don't fucking need this!'
o+o+o
Three shops later and they were sat on the comfortable seat of a Starbucks café, drinking the overpriced coffee and resting their feet. It's been nearly two hours of constant shopping and Miss Cabello has bought precisely nothing, not even a pair of shoes.
'Fucking typical.'
Miss Cabello had, however, insisted on treating Lauren to a coffee and an almost stale muffin, telling her that she should "have to take a break sometime."
Well, she doesn't. Lauren doesn't take breaks and she doesn't lose focus. When she does that, people die; it's that simple. There was a plus point to the last hour of traipsing around shop after shop, whatever ceasefire were operating under seems to be holding; the brunette has only asked her opinion on a couple of items and that's fine with her. She also hasn't told her how to do her job and seems content to just let her do it which, again, is fine with her.
She has decided that as long as their truce is holding, she can try to be nice; as long as she remembers the boundaries then Lauren can be polite, friendly even. It makes the job a lot easier than when she was fighting with the bitch from La Cabello land. Maybe, they might even be finding a happy medium between her wanting to kill Lauren and wanting Lauren to be her BFF.
Somewhere between those two, she can operate. Somewhere in the middle, she can do her job properly.
"How's the coffee?" a raspy voice cut through her like a bayonet, dragging her thoughts back to the job at hand.
"It's ok, I've had better. Just another chain trying to make out they're doing something special, I guess." She shrugged, "it's only coffee at the end of the day; some ground up beans and some hot water."
"You really are a cynic sometimes, Lauren Jauregui, you know that?"
She sounded so much like Lauren's mother. The green-eyed woman couldn't help but snort at that, the hint of laughter creeping past her usually stoic appearance.
"Well, damn it, so you can smile."
She frowned at the comment, only to see the amusement in her companion's brown eyes. "No don't stop, Lauren. It almost suits you; stops you looking so serious all the time."
"I have a serious job, Miss Cabello."
"I know you do, Lauren, but it doesn't mean you can't relax every now and again. This isn't Afghanistan; it's Miami, there aren't people waiting around every corner trying to kill you."
'No Miss Cabello, they only do that on the highway, don't they? Stupid girl, why won't you learn?'
"Miss Cabello, can I ask you a question?"
She nodded taking a sip of her latte.
"Why do you feel you have to be nice to me? I mean, I don't want to overstep the mark here, but I'm just another employee and you're not usually nice to your employees. You keep trying to engage me in conversation and be all nicey-nicey to me; yet, it wasn't forty-eight hours ago you practically spat in my face and told me to fuck off."
She stared across at her, bravely holding her eye contact, those brown eyes hardening to granite again before, almost impossibly, softening before her.
"I'm being nice, Lauren, because I think you're worth it. I didn't think that before and you pulled me up on it. You were right. I assumed you were going to be like all the other assholes Papi's tried to get to protect me. Just another meathead soldier, another idiot with a gun; but you proved me wrong, didn't you? I treated you like shit and you never did anything but treat me with respect. I did do everything but spit in your face and yet, you sat with me while I fell apart and made sure I was ok."
"I'm an unqualified bitch, Lauren, you've probably spotted that. And there are very few people in my life I trust and respect, but like it or not, you're now one of them. You have had my trust since you took me back to yours after that car chase. You have had my respect since you comforted me in my bedroom when Sofi was so spectacularly stupid."
She took another sip of her latte as Lauren sat there in stunned silence, the foamed milk from her drink still stuck to her lip in a sticky white mustache.
"I'm trying to be nice, Lauren, because I want to be nice. I actually kind of like you; I didn't think I would, but I do. You're considerate, loyal and you've got character and you're not afraid to stand up to people, including me and my family. I respect that, ok?"
"Right," Lauren said as she stopped and took another sip of her drink. "Well, that's certainly cleared out then."
Lauren certainly wasn't expecting that from the snotty woman and it's pretty much thrown her off balance; she doesn't like being thrown off balance, it's dangerous and she fought to keep her professionalism intact.
"So, why don't you want me to be nice, Lauren? Why are you trying to make things difficult all of a sudden?"
Her question surprised Lauren more than a little. She wasn't aware she had been making things difficult. Miss Cabello seriously couldn't be accusing her of that because she won't use her first name, could she? That would be ridiculous. She looked across at those huge, brown eyes and retreated back into defensive fire line number one.
"There has to be boundaries, Miss Cabello," she told her carefully, saying out loud what she had thought before. "If I'm to do my job, there has to be an understanding. I'm not your friend, I'm your employee; I'm just another Ally or Troy or Paul from the driving pool."
"You're definitely not like Paul," she said pulling a face, "I'm sure they only send him to drive for me because they know I hate him. I'm not exactly well loved in the driving pool."
"Or in Accounts," Lauren responded, regretting her joke as soon as it had left her lips. The banter somehow seeming natural; something she'd definitely have to stop.
"No," Miss Cabello agreed with a frown, "they fucking hate me too; I can't stand douchebags and that's what most of those guys are. They bug me, they deserve all they get."
They sat in silence for a few minutes, sipping at their drinks and watching the world go by.
"Problem, Miss Cabello?" she asked quietly, still trying to ascertain what the girl was looking at. She shook her head slowly, her eyes fixed on a small boutique across the pedestrianized street.
"Seen something?"
"Sort of," she replied not taking her eyes off the doorway. "There," she announced and Lauren whipped her head around to look. She didn't see anything but a tall woman laden down with bags. She was in her late forty's and really wasn't much to look at. She wondered why Miss Cabello was staring at her.
"Someone you know?"
"No, not at all," she replied," it's just...."
She tailed off sadly, a hint of regret in her voice. For some reason, she couldn't stop herself from asking why.
"Just what Miss Cabello?"
"Well, just look at her, I'd love to have hair like that."
She looked back at the woman. To be honest, she doesn't see anything special about her hair. Well, apart from the fact that it's purple. To be perfectly honest, she's not convinced it suits her. Her hair is too long for starters to carry that color, it's just a little too much.
"You want purple hair?" she asked trying to keep the disbelief out of her voice. Miss Cabello's got gorgeous hair actually, a dark brown bordering on black depending on the light. It has its naturally sexy waves and it's so well looked after it positively glows.
Considering what she's been through over the last couple of days, Lauren is amazed it looks that good.
"Not like that shade exactly, I don't think that would suit me, but I've always wanted to do something dramatic with my hair the way she has, it looks fucking awesome."
"But you've got a gorgeous hair, Miss Cabello," the words slipped out before she realized what she was saying, "why ruin it."
"Thanks, Lauren" she replied, not catching her eye and looking down at the table, her right hand absently running through those long shiny cascades. "I think you're hair is great, it really suits you. It's amazing how you were able to keep those locks well-maintained in the desert.
"Oh, believe me, my hair didn't look very nice after spending days stuck under a helmet in the fucking desert."
The brunette eyed her carefully, "What was it like out there Lauren, in the desert?"
"Hot, sometimes cold," she answered vaguely.
"That's not what I meant."
"I know."
She knows she's being evasive but there are some things you just don't talk about over a coffee in a Starbucks café. There are some things you just don't talk about at all, not to a civvy anyway. Civvies just don't understand; and despite how nice she's being to her, she has no doubt if Miss Cabello heard of some of the things she had done in Iraq and Afghanistan, she'd be back to being the baby-eating monster faster than you could say boom!
She's not a monster, just some days she feels like one. They say the first victim of war is innocence, she believes the second victim of war is the warrior's heart. You lose the ability to care after you've lost someone close to you, you ball yourself up and hide yourself away so you can cope with the loss.
Civvies don't understand that; lots of people don't understand that; the truth is they don't want to.
"So why don't you do it then?" she asked trying to change the subject.
"What?" Miss Cabello replied her eyes confused.
"Dye your hair blonde or pink or something."
"Because people wouldn't take me seriously would they, Lauren? Can you imagine what our clients would think if I turned up to a meeting with bright orange hair?"
She got the feeling that the woman wasn't just talking about their clients here, but she didn't let on. She decided to see how far she wanted to go, to take Troy's advice and save her from herself and her own insecurities.
"I think they'd see past the hair color, Miss Cabello, see the talent and the passion underneath. Maybe, they'd see past their idea of who you are and see a bit of the real you, you know, the one who wants to be an individual."
"You think that?"
"No, Miss Cabello," she said, trying to be deadpan but not helping matters by having the sides of her lips twitching as she attempted it, "I said it because I think it would be hilarious for you to dye your hair bright orange and then sit back as your dad and your sister laughed at you."
Brown eyes glared at her for a second before chuckling and getting up.
"Bitch, for that I'm not going to get you another muffin."
"That's ok, Miss Cabello," she said gesturing at her half eaten cake, "I really didn't enjoy that one, I'm sorry."
"Really, Lauren, are you sure?" She said with a slight smirk on her lips, "I thought you liked munching muffin?"
Lauren almost spat her coffee over the table as she held back a snort of laughter, Miss Cabello looked at her with a hint of relief in her eyes as if she thought she'd be offended by her little joke.
"Nothing wrong with muffin, Miss Cabello; I just don't enjoy musty ones, you know what I mean?"
"Ugh, thanks for that image, Lauren," she said pulling a face, her eyes twinkling making any face she pulled look instantly beautiful.
"My pleasure, Miss Cabello, you should ask for your money back, you know. It was pretty stale."
"Don't bother, it's only money," she said casually, "Want another cappuccino?"
"If you're offering, Miss Cabello, though I should really get these, it's my round."
"Nonsense, Lauren," she said heading for the counter, "it's my treat."
She had a few moments to herself as Miss Cabello ordered the drinks. If it was anyone else, she'd have called what had just happened flirting. As it was, she has no idea what the hell it was. She eventually decided it was a bit of friendly banter, the kind of harmless flirting that friends do. The woman told her that she trusts her. She has been let into that little inner circle of people she doesn't feel like she has to be Sofi Cabello in front of. Part of Lauren feels privileged, part of her is terrified.
'You're going to have to face this some time, Jauregui. You like her and you're scared that you might let that slip if you get too close.'
"Did you mean what you said before?" she was asked as a cup appeared in front of her.
"What, about stale muffins?" she said, poking at the offending foodstuff with a finger, "absolutely, it was pretty revolting actually and I've eaten out of rat-packs. Even cold tins of stew is appetizing than that thing."
"No, about dyeing my hair to express my individuality."
She sat back on the sofa, balancing the oversized cup she'd brought her on the leather arm. "No, Miss Cabello, that's not what I meant. You don't express your individuality by dying your hair; dying your hair expresses your individuality."
Her pretty brown eyes looked at her as if she was talking Croatian and thinking back, that's entirely possible.
"What I'm trying to say is that, the fact that you want to dye your hair is enough. That should be the reason you want to dye your hair. Some people dye their hair because they think it will mark them as an individual, but that's not what it's about.
It's like tattoos, some people get them because they want to show them off, to say 'look at me... I'm different'. Other people get them because they want to get them because it's just them, and they have no need to shout to the world about them. They're the real individuals.
If you want to do something, you should do it because you want to do it and for no other reason; otherwise, you're just running with the crowd. If you want to dye your hair, then you should do so, for no other reason than that it would make you feel good, that it would help you express who you really are. Only then would people see you the way you want them to see you. Does that make sense, Miss Cabello, because I sure as hell ain't making sense to me,"
The pretty brunette smirked at her comment, sitting back and staring at her until she felt distinctly uncomfortable. "I think so, Lauren. I think I get it. Do you think I'm really hiding away?"
She's pretty much cornered now, fought herself back to her very last defensive line and she has nowhere left to go.
"Miss Cabello, you're a bright, smart woman. You're also pretty brave and, as I've already said, I'm positive you're a fighter. I'm pretty much convinced, even after only a few days in your company, that you could do anything you wanted to do if you put your mind to it. I'm pretty much convinced you could be anyone you wanted to be as well. But I think you'd prefer to be you."
"Do you mean that?" she asked as Lauren took a deep sip of the warm foam and scaldingly hot coffee underneath.
"Yeah, I mean it, Miss Cabello, you dealt with gun-toting terrorists, survived a car chase and faced down your sister without blinking. I'm sure you can do anything."
It's a lie, but it's a good lie. She really thinks she could do anything, she just needs to believe in herself. The rest, well, Lauren has no shame.
Miss Cabello sat back for a while, sipping her drink and saying nothing. Lauren took the opportunity to strengthen her defensive lines; digging a few more slit trenches and setting up the barbed wire, minefields and machine gun nests. She knew this would be a bad idea. She knew she'd sneak in under the wire; she pulled the tatters of her professional distancing towards her and attempted to patch them up.
o+o+o
Two phone calls and half an hour later and she's back where it all began for her, the private little spa where Ally had disinfected her life. They walked in through the glass doors and she strode up to the desk.
"Miss Camila Cabello to see Franco, she has an appointment."
The receptionist smiled and gestured for them to go through to his little salon. She walked into the place of her own personal transformation and smiled as she saw Franco fussing over another overdressed doll. Finally, he finished, kissed his goodbyes to his latest creation and turned to her.
"Miss Jauregui," he cried, "I saw you on the television the other day, what have you done to my hair? I'm so glad you have returned to me so I can patch up the disgrace that you have made of my creation."
"Nice to see you too, Franco, and there's nothing wrong with my hair that a pair of scissors and a razor wouldn't fix. We're not here for me, we're here for my employer, Miss Camila Cabello."
He looked across at Miss Cabello who had sat on one of the chairs and was looking into one of the high gloss fashion magazines that seem to plague these places.
"Surely you are joking, Miss Jauregui, there is nothing I can do to Miss Cabello's hair, nothing that would be little more than a travesty for such beautiful hair."
"I told her that too but she seems a little insistent. Miss Cabello, please tell Franco here what you want."
"Well," he said turning to the brunette, "what can I say? What can I do for you, Miss Cabello?"
"Camila," she said throwing the magazine down on the table and shaking his hand, "I wanted to dye my hair earlier, Franco but..... I changed my mind. I just want something striking but not over the top, something that would suit me, but make me stand out a little."
"Miss Cabello saw a woman with purple hair today, Franco, that's what started this off."
He shook his head vigorously, "purple would be a bad color for you, Camila; trust me, with hair like yours, it wouldn't suit it. I'd say blonde is out as well, it wouldn't work with your eyes." He gestured for her to sit in his chair and he began preening her hair while staring at it in the mirror, lifting strands up into the light and letting them fall.
"Lauren, this may take a while and will require my full attention so I don't ruin this lovely hair, why don't you go and get a drink or a manicure or something...? Oh and you and I will be talking about conditioner before you leave here today."
She grinned at him and left the room. She had no fears about Miss Cabello's safety here, this place was so exclusive it was untrue.
As she sat around, she called Dinah and told her where she was and what she was doing and what time she thought they'd be meeting up. She mentioned that Miss Cabello still had some shopping to do but that they shouldn't be late. She seemed happy enough with the situation.
Following the conversation, she popped out to reception to pay for Miss Cabello's treatment. She almost blanched when she saw how much it was going to cost for her consultation with Franco but she shoved the company credit card into the machine and punched in the four numbers. If Dinah wouldn't pick up the bill, then she would; to keep Miss Cabello happy seemed to be a good way of making her job easier and it might just help Dinah get the contract for work with Alejandro.
Finally, she walked back into the salon to see Miss Cabello on the phone to someone, presumably Ally from what she heard of her discussion as she walked in. She was dumbstruck because the woman now sported the most gorgeous hair she thinks she has ever seen. She took a seat at the back of the salon and waited for her to finish her call; winking at Franco as she did so.
"Yeah, Ally, that's the one, can you have someone deliver it to the office?... Yes, I'll need it in my overnight stuff for the party...Fabulous, thanks, I appreciate it, see you later."
The woman turned to look at her as she stood in the doorway and fluffed her hair at her. It looked fabulous. Franco had done something to make it look thicker, more 'full of body' as the adverts would put it; and it had a faintly curled look. She has no idea if that masterpiece would survive a trip to the mansion or not, but she was glad she'd seen it in all its glory.
In fact, the only thing that made it look better was the beaming smile on woman's gorgeous face; for the first time since Lauren met her, she looked totally content and happy. Though to be fair to her, they had spent most of the last two days in a world of pain.
"What do you think?"
"I think Franco has surpassed himself again," she replied as she noticed another customer walking towards the door. "It looks stunning, though I knew he could do it." she finished modestly, "he is the best you know."
"Well, I'm convinced," the beaming woman said getting up from the chair and giving the man a hug. "I don't think I could go anywhere else now, and I'll be sure to tell Sofi about this place as well."
"Any friend of Miss Jauregui's is a friend of mine and always welcome," Franco said with a bright smile on his face. "Now, Miss Jauregui, we need to talk about conditioner, your hair looks dreadful and only after three days."
"I'm sorry, Franco, we really don't have time. Next time, I promise; you can tell me off next time, ok?"
He nodded and waved them out, next time indeed; even on her new salary, she'd be pushed to afford his rates. No wonder it took a phone call from Ally to get the in. She doubts that Miss Cabello would have a problem again, though; and they would probably love to see Sofi in there, she's exactly their type.
As they climbed into their respective seats in the car, Troy whistled as he looked at Miss Cabello in the rear view mirror.
"Nice hair, Camila, that's definitely stunning,"
"That's what Lauren said, Troy, thank you. I'm pretty pleased with it myself."
"Yeah, it looks great, Camila, really suits you. So where are we off to next, ladies? More shopping?"
"Don't think so, Troy," she said looking at her watch, "we're going to have to meet up with Dinah and head over to the heliport if we're going to make it home before the party."
'Heliport, no-one mentioned a fucking heliport!'
o+o+o
They pulled onto the small private heliport without any major hitches or even any major arguments with Normani and Dinah following in another car. Miss Cabello hadn't been talking to her along the way, though she has to admit, she hadn't been very talkative either; she was too busy looking out of the car for signs of people following them or looking at possible ambush sites. Troy was looking on with interest.
"Jesus H Christ, Lauren, don't you ever switch off? Relax, girl; seriously, we're in no danger." He'd said, as they passed out of the city.
"She's always like this, Troy," Miss Cabello had commented, "I don't think she ever does switch off."
"Dinah's not paying me to switch off, Miss Cabello. She's paying me to keep you alive and, well, I can't do that if I relax now, can I?"
Troy cocked his head at her and shrugged, and that had ended that particular conversation.
They arrived at the heliport. The strip itself was little more than a platform that jutted out. With a couple of smaller pads on what looked like a car park next to it, but the hotel area where they were to wait for their charter was lavish and luxurious. Miss Cabello, Normani and Dinah looked extremely comfortable. Lauren, on the other hand, must have looked like a bag of boiled shit; she really wasn't looking forward to this at all.
They were asked to wait in the comfortable lounge and their bags were taken away so a member of the ground crew could, presumably, load them onto their flight. They sat around looking at a river, the three of them chatting aimlessly and, after only five minutes of abstinence, Dinah ordered a round of drinks; frowning at Lauren's request for a bottled water.
"Lauser, have a drink, you look like you need it."
"I don't drink anymore, Dinah, remember?"
"Yeah, but I can try to tempt you, can't I?"
She could, oh how she could. Lauren couldn't help but think back to her last flight in a helicopter; she doesn't remember much of it, but she does remember the pain and the wooziness. She remembers the anguish of knowing that her team was dead and that she had once again failed them; what she remembered wasn't good.
Her transfer flight to the hospital hadn't exactly been the 'get back on the horse' experience that she could have benefited from, the diversion and the rough landing contributing to her current feeling of dread.
She wasn't happy about flying, so sue her... She's got good reasons.
But that offer of a drink sounded so good right then.
'screw you, Dinah Jane, screw you for tempting me.'
"Are you okay, Lauren?" Miss Cabello asked quietly as Dinah shared a joke with Normani; sipping at the bourbon that had arrived while she was lost in her memories.
"I'm fine, Miss Cabello, just don't like flying anymore, that's all."
"I used to be scared of flying, but I've done it so much now I'm pretty much blasé about it. How long have you been afraid, all your life?"
"Since December," she replied watching in horror as a dark blue Sikorsky helicopter eased down onto the platform and came to a halt.
"That's our ride," Dinah interrupted happily, sparing her any further explanation. "Come on people, let's haul ass, daylight's wasting and Alejandro Cabello isn't a man to keep waiting, and I'm dying for a party."
Reluctantly, she got up and followed them across the 'car park' to the helicopter, it's rotors spinning slowly as its engine idled. Instinctively, she ducked as she ran towards it. There's no real reason for doing that, the rotors don't come low enough to be able to hit you but you can't help doing it, and it's actually part of the helicopter training she'd done in the MPC.
Dinah and Normani got on board first, taking the best seats, the ones that were facing forwards and she gestured to Miss Cabello to take the next place. Once she was in and seated, Lauren was ushered on board by one of the crew, who pointed to the last remaining spot. She climbed on board, sat down and began strapping herself in; pulling the headphones with the boom mic over her head. She could hear the chatter of the others as she watched the door slam closed and the crew member climb in through the co-pilot's door and settle himself in. After a quick round of introductions over the headset, she could feel her hair racing in time with the blades as they spun up the turbines and eased us into the air.
Everyone was looking at her as they made to take off; they could probably tell how terrified she was. As the helicopter lifted off the pad, she had her eyes squeezed tightly closed, the memories flooding back of that Blackhawk. She felt a movement next to her and something warm press onto the hand she hadn't realized was gripping the seat until the knuckles were white. She opened her eyes and looked down to see a perfectly manicured set of fingers covering her own and for some reason, everything felt a whole lot better.
"It's ok, Lauren," she heard over the headphones, the noise of the helicopter still making hearing difficult, "you'll make it; you're a fighter too, aren't you?"
She closed her eyes at her words, trying to push them away; but Miss Cabello made no effort to remove her hand from hers. In fact, she made no effort to move at all.
As the helicopter leveled out into normal flight and she could feel the acceleration as they headed off, Lauren finally opened her eyes once again...
...and they were met by the most knowing smirk she thinks she has ever seen.
'Dinah Jane Hansen, what are you thinking?'