Lena blinked and Monday had rolled around like a grim omen, it's clutches nipping at her skin as the crisp morning air wafted through the windows she had cracked open the night before.

Lena shivered, wrapping the blanket around her tighter as she tried to shake the damp coolness that seeped into your bones and made the world feel just a little quieter.

The clouds still hadn't lifted when she climbed into the driver's seat of the rental truck that Cordelia had ordered her.

She.took a slow sip of her coffee, letting the heat cut through the chill as she cruised down the winding roads leading into the highway.

The drive was peaceful — five hours of mist clinging to the windows, and the mountains in the distance were just barely visible through the gray dawn.

Lena had always loved mornings like this, where the world felt untouched, waiting for the day to begin. It really did remind her of the Great Smokies.

Of course, that peace was short-lived as Cordelia’s voice rang through the truck’s Bluetooth system.

“Lena, are you even listening to me?”

Lena hummed, adjusting her grip on the wheel. “Uh-huh,” she lied, taking another sip of coffee before placing it down snug in the cup holder.

“Really? Then what did I just say?”

“You were . . . passionately lecturing me about something.”

Cordelia groaned. “About professionalism, Carter!”

Lena let out a noise, got 'em. “See? I was listening.”

She could practically hear Cordelia rolling her eyes. “You’re infuriating. I was saying that today is important. First impressions are everything — I'm giving you the full tour, then you’re meeting your family, and, most importantly, you have your first screen test.” Lena hummed in acknowledgment, her fingers tapping lightly against the steering wheel.

She couldn't get Waylon Jennings, Luckenbach, Texas out of her head. But she wasn't willing to slip the cd in and  blast it either — the last thing she needed was the mounties getting all up in arms and pulling her over for her blatant patriotism.

Not that they would, it was just a thought.

“You do understand what that means, right?” Cordelia pressed. Lena gave a sigh, fingers drumming again.

“It means they’re gonna put me in some expensive clothes, make me sit still while a team of professionals fixes my face, and then I stand in front of a camera and hope I don’t look like a deer in headlights.”

Cordelia sighed, rethinking her choice in career momentarily. “Sometimes, I don’t know why I bother.” Lena didn't either. She was characteristically sarcastic and mule-headed.

“You bother because you love me.”

“No, I bother because your success is my success, and I refuse to let you embarrass yourself on day one.”

Ouch.

The trailers came into view as Lena merged onto the busier lane, the quiet of the mountain drive fading into the buzz of set chaos.

“Alright, I’m pulling in now,” Lena said, a strain in her vocal chords as she turned into the designated production parking lot.

“Good. Do not be late.”

Lena snorted, pulling into the parking spot near the production trailers. She turned off the truck, took a deep breath, and stepped out, stretching her arms above her head. The keys dangled in her fingers like an acending lifeline.

“Cordelia, I’m already here.”

A pause. Then, in a much sweeter voice, Cordelia cooed, “I knew I could count on you.” Lena rolled her eyes and hung up.

Showtime.

The lot was a whirlwind of activity — crew members scurried between trailers, setting up lighting rigs and cameras, while production assistants balanced clipboards and coffee cups like seasoned professionals.

Somewhere amongst the crowd would be Cordelia. She just had to find her. And it wasn't hard, she was commonly the tiniest and also most fit woman on the whole damn set.

Lena had barely taken a few steps before she spotted a familiar figure power-walking toward her, clipboard in hand, her expression both relieved and exasperated. “Thank God,” Cordelia huffed, linking her arm through Lena’s. “Come on, we have so much to do.”

Lena let herself be pulled along, glancing around with interest. “Aren’t you supposed to ease me into this? Maybe offer me a breakfast pastry first?”

“No time for pastries,” Cordelia dismissed. “You’re getting the full experience today. Kripke is expecting you in two hours, but first, we need to get you through hair and makeup for your test shots.”

Lena sighed dramatically. “And here I was hoping to just roll onto set looking like a slightly less exhausted version of myself.” Cordelia gave her a look, as if to day 'wishful thinking.'

Cordelia dragged her across the lot, weaving through more clipboards and up the steps of a trailer marked HAIR & MAKEUP.

Inside, it was a controlled chaos of stylists and makeup artists, and the air smelled of hairspray and foundation. The steady hum of chatter filled the space.

One of the stylists immediately spotted them and waved them over. Lena grinned at her softly.

“This is the one playing Layla?” she asked, already assessing Lena with a critical eye.

“This is her,” Cordelia confirmed.

The stylist clapped her hands together. “Great. Sit.” Lena obeyed, sinking into the chair as the team got to work.

Someone fluffed her hair, another dusted something across her cheeks, blush or bronzer or something. A third woman adjusted the collar of her shirt, saying something about just keeping the wardrobe she already had on.

It was a well-practiced routine, and Lena simply let it happen, watching in the mirror as Layla Kenner slowly took shape. Looking so very, "Darlin' won't you ease my worried mind."

“So,” Cordelia mused, scrolling through emails on her computer. “excited?”

Lena met her gaze in the mirror, lips pressed thin. “Excited? No. Terrified? Absolutely.” She said, eyes meeting Cordelia's as she looked at the woman's reaction behind her in the mirror.

Cordelia halted her keyboard clacking and placed her computer in her lap. “Good. That means you care.”

At least someone was satisfied out of the duo.

Lena rolled her eyes but couldn’t deny it. She did care.

This was different from her past projects — it was somehow bigger, more at stake, more people to impress. And as she sat there, watching herself transform into a character that fans hadn’t even met yet, it really began to hit her.

Layla Kenner was coming to life. And she hadn't even ran her lines yet, this was just a character first look photoshoot.

Lena studied her reflection as the team worked their magic. It was a strange feeling — watching herself become someone else, even before she had spoken a single line as Layla Kenner.

The makeup artist smoothed the foundation out over the natural redness in Lena's cheeks and Cordelia scolded the woman about completely covering up her natural flush. Her reasoning being the fact that, "Layla Kenner is not a Barbie and doesn't need to look completely like plastic." Even though both Cordelia and Lena knew it really needed to be done; as Lena had become so flushed over the hour that she looked like she was cosplaying as a tomato.

The stylist, a woman she have come to know by Vanessa, stepped back and studied her with a critical eye. She seemed to like her handiwork, and turned her swivel chair out. “Alright, that should hold for now. We’ll adjust under the lights if needed.”

By the end, light contouring sharpened her already defined cheekbones, and a subtle touch of mascara made her green eyes stand out. A hairstylist came in after, teasing her wavy blonde hair into more defined curls that bunched slightly at the ends.

She looked like herself — but different. More television-ready. As with any role she had ever taken on.

Lena ran a hand through her hair, feeling the weight of the styling products. “It’s weird seeing myself like this,” she admitted. She hadn't worn much makeup in forever. Farm work didn't call for it, and there wasn't much of anyone in town who would care.

Cordelia tsks, pencil tapping on her own brown clipboard. “Get used to it. You’re going to be seeing yourself on giant billboards soon.”

If there was one thing Lena didn't miss, it was the publicity.

“Let’s get through today first, yeah?”

Vanessa chuckled, playing a bit more with Lena's hair as they talked. “She’s got the right mindset. Alright, off to wardrobe with you.” Cordelia was already moving before Lena could protest, tugging her along like a determined older sister.

The wardrobe trailer was next door, a long space lined with racks of carefully curated clothing — flannels, leather jackets, faded jeans, and well-worn boots. When shooting the X-Files, wardrobe was in a warehouse, but that's only because it was a massively established televison show at that point. Supernatural was new and that created a lot of wiggle room.

A woman with a tape measure around her neck looked up from a rolling rack and grinned. “You must be Lena.” she brought out a series of flannels, checkered reds and white with a mix of brown and green, and laid then out across the table.

“That’s me,” Lena said, offering a small wave. She didn't feel out of place. The crew, while bustling, hadn't discarded her entirely.

“I’m Rachel, head of Layla's wardrobe for the show. We’ve got a couple options for the look, but we’ll start with the test outfit.” Rachel handed Lena the clothes, jeans, socks, flannel, undershirt, a whole curated outfit, and gestures toward a nearby curtain. “Go ahead and change.”

Cordelia had sent her sizes two weeks prior. Which was a Godsend. Wardrobe was typically her second least favorite thing, makeup and hair being first, but the process went like a charm. Clothes were granbed quick and breezy, like the childhood summers she had spent in Indiana with her grandparents.

Lena took the clothes — a purposeful faded Henley, and a red and white checkered flannel that had brown streaks running horizontally. She stepped into the small fitting area, slipping into the dark washed jeans, and sturdy boots, before fastening the last buckle on Layla's boots and stepped out from behind the curtain.

She felt like a brand new woman.

Cordelia seemed to think so ask well, as she let out a low whistle, that held an air of sharpness to it. “Damn. You look like you belong here.” Lena turned, doing a little twirl as she rotisserie'd for the wardrobe girls and Cordelia.

She had to admit — Layla Kenner was starting to come to life. And she liked it.

Rachel nodded in approval, adjusting the jacket slightly before stepping back. “We might distress the jeans a little more, but otherwise, I think this is the look. Let’s get you to Kripke and onto photos.”

Cordelia checked her phone. “Perfect timing.” She glanced at Lena. “Ready?”

Lena took a deep breath, rolling her shoulders. “As I’ll ever be.”