shattered souls won't mend themselves (supercorp au)

mission, confliction

//Lena POV//

It's obvious after a few seconds that this girl isn't going to be moving or speaking any time soon. I see it in her deer-in-the-headlights expression, despite the way her feet are planted resolutely, as if she's expecting a physical blow. Good. I'm glad I don't look that approachable.

"Can I help you?" I ask in a voice so cold and harsh that she flinches visibly.

She looks surprised, almost as if she's been pushed onto the stage of a play she never rehearsed for. "I, um, actually didn't mean for this," she says in a remarkably timid voice.

It takes all my willpower not to roll my eyes (that would make me seem more relatable). However, I can't keep a faint tone of annoyance out of my inflection (my face stays impassive) when I reply: "You didn't mean for what ?" I make sure to accentuate the what . Maybe I can make her flinch again. She doesn't.

"Like, I didn't mean to walk to you, really. I was just looking."

I almost laugh this time. Not an amused laugh; an incredulous one. Instead I raise my right eyebrow, ever so slightly. "Looking."

She shuffles her feet, eyes darting around the floor awkwardly. "Y-yea, like, looking at you. Not for anything weird, of course, 'cause that would be weird."

"You don't say," I respond dryly.

The girl starts to reach for the giant sketchpad under her arm (how did I not notice that?). She pauses for a second, unsure, but then grabs it out anyway. If I weren't watching and reading her every move, I would have missed the hesitation.

"Ok, fine. I was gonna draw you," she says. "It is a little weird."

"Yes, it is."

"But just to let you know, you're not special," she continues. "My book is full of them already." Both corners of her mouth move up into a close-mouthed little smile. It's near devious enough to be a smirk, it's more mischievous, with a little bit of sheepishness thrown in. She moves her hand to her glasses and adjusts them the tiniest bit. She's trying to lighten the mood. I just glare at her in silence. Her small smile goes away quickly, replaced by a determined, set line. She pushes her glasses up, this time a swift motion that seems unconscious.

"Here, look." She opens her sketchbook to the first page, turning it towards me so I can see it better. "This is some girl that I drew yesterday. I don't know who she is, though."

To be honest, neither do I. I set my face to look unimpressed (even though the drawing is actually spectacular).

"Do you normally take it upon yourself to walk up to strangers and draw them?" I ask. Dammit . Too amicable.

Her cute (what?) little half-smile returns. (What the hell did I just think? What was I thinking? First I let her through a crack in my armor (it doesn't matter how small it is, I'm stronger than that!), then I think her annoying little smile is cute? This has to stop.)

"Actually, you're kind of the first person tha-"

I cut her off before I let any more of my emotions get the better of my thoughts. "Well, I don't know about these other girls, but I am not interested in being a model for some pathetic new girl."

My words have the immediate, desired effect. Her damn smile disappears. Her head droops, her shoulders sag.

" I-I guess I'll be on my way then," she says quietly, defeatedly.

"Mm, quite so," I reply, confident now that I am back in control (of the conversation and myself).

"Sorry...," she all but whispers, and walks away. I let a huff of air out through my nose (the closest I'll get to a laugh), smirking internally. I regained control and got what I wanted: to be left alone.