Chapter Twenty-Seven
Petra
Hawkeye was in his head as they walked to the elevator.
It had been a long, trying day. There was no need for banter or smiles.
As a matter of fact, Petra decided that she wouldn’t wear any masks at all with him.
She was simply going to say the words that sprang to her lips, express the emotions as they rose and shifted, not worrying if he could keep up or was uncomfortable with them. With her.
Because if any part of her could scare him off, she’d rather know now.
In past relationships, when she lowered her mask, it never went well.
It was a honed skill from childhood that she tried to present only the side of her that she thought was palatable.
Petra had figured it was an okay strategy for a casual date, or for a roll in the hay.
And she still thought that was true.
It had kept things calm so that she could have someone reasonably companionable accompany her to dinner parties, since she hated those miserable, smug questions about her being single.
She’d had fine talks and good meals, all very C+ when she naturally found straight ‘A’ s to be easily in reach.
Well, academically and professionally, that was true.
Relationship-wise? Not so much.
She regularly pissed off folks when her neurodivergence made her ability to process quickly and extrapolate out the variety of endpoints, which inevitably proved true. And people found her odd in ways that they couldn’t put a finger on. Mainly that had to do with how she communicated. A neurodivergent conversation was very different from a neurotypical one.
Better to mask.
Better to shapeshift.
When Petra had her wonky eyeball, she’d teased Hawkeye that she was an alien. But in some ways, she felt like that. It was just part of her variety of brain wiring.
Constantly second-guessing, always dealing with imposter syndrome.
She had a PhD. She’d moved through Quantico training. She was a badge-carrying supervisory special agent in the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit, where she used her knowledge of psychology and crime-solving skills to safeguard her country by spearheading the new world of propaganda and mind security.
And yet every time she badged herself into the J. Edgar Hoover building, Petra felt like she was wearing a costume—she was cosplaying—and at any moment, the guards would discover that she didn’t belong there and toss her out.
Or she would be presenting research to her peers, and again, it felt like she was acting on a stage. It didn’t matter that this, too, was a symptom of her brain wiring.
So little was known.
Medical research in neurodivergence was almost all centered around boys’ outward inability to sit still. Girls’ hyperactivity was often internal, with racing, catapulting minds.
Women of Petra’s generation and older—like her mom and grandma—were just now getting their diagnoses. And at this late stage, they were pissed at the amount of time they had spent suffering through trying to be something they simply weren’t and the amount of medical gaslighting they’d endured.
The light bulb goes off, and life makes a whole lot more sense.
Tamika got her diagnosis, too.
Yup, both friends sailed around in the same neurodivergent boat. Which probably explained why their relationship was so deep and such a relief to each of them.
Hawkeye, now he was interesting. He talked about his sister Cora like his relationship with her gave him a solid platform of understanding. And that he mentioned Cora’s neurodivergence and not his own meant that he’d been through an assessment and deemed neurotypical.
Could a relationship work between them?
Petra liked Hawkeye more than she ever remembered liking someone. Liked who he was, how he acted, what he thought, and how he expressed himself. She liked the way he smiled, and how he interacted with his team and his dog. Liked how her body relaxed when he touched her. How he was a lightning rod, grounding all of the sizzle and spark that ran through her body when he held her hand.
She felt more aligned with and more “right” with him than she’d ever felt.
It seemed to Petra that they might be wrapping a warp of understanding, shared experiences, and stories told, on which they could weave themselves a solid relationship.
“Here we are,” Hawkeye said, coming to a stop.
He had been silent the entire way up. “Your mind is obviously whirring.” Cooper came to a sit by his side while Hawkeye tapped the keycard on the locking mechanism. “Would you be willing to share that thought?” he asked.
“Darwin said it was survival of the fittest. And most people would look at someone like you and think that your kind of genes are the ones worth handing down. I was wondering if you have children.”
“No.” He pressed the door wide and gestured that she should go in first. “You?”
“No.”
“Most people would look at someone like me…” he repeated, letting the last part drift off. It was an interrogation technique meant to elicit a broader understanding of a concept. Or maybe, it was confusion that she would say something like that. Which would be fair.
“I’m playing that sentence over and over in my head,” she said. “It was quite rude, and then I coupled that with ‘Did you procreate?’ and it sounds terrible.” Petra wanted to scamper away but made herself stand her ground. No masks. He wanted her thoughts. There they were. “My shower or yours?”
“Your preference. I didn’t hear it that way. I heard that you had an alternative understanding of Darwin’s phrase.”
“I think maybe I do.” Okay, that was a surprising response from him. “Who do you think is fittest?” Petra waited while Hawkeye gathered a towel and a pair of sleep pants.
“Cooper load,” he pointed toward his bed and snapped his fingers. “I’ve never sat down and considered it. I guess I fall into the category of ‘most people.’ I’m going to pause and ask if you’re nervous right now.”
She blinked at him. Overwrought might be a better word. “It was an emotional day.”
He reached for her hands and held them between both of his, bringing them up to rest on his chest. “But brainy stuff helps?”
“It does. It forces me away from my lizard brain and fight or flight.”
“I’m going to take you back to Darwin in a second because I’m really curious. But first, I wanted to tell you how proud I am of you. On the beach today, you had everything in hand. You dealt with trying circumstances masterfully.”
“Survival of the calmest. I like it when I can offer something. If I have nothing, I get anxious. A panic attack adds fuel to the fire. It’s contagious, especially on a plane.”
“Yes, we were just talking about the plane on the drive over here,” Hawkeye let go of her hand as she turned and went to her room, and he followed behind her. “Why, especially on a plane?”
“Okay, you got me, I shouldn’t have phrased it that way.” She opened the bathroom door and leaned over the tub to turn on the water, letting it heat. “Anxiety contagion was studied in airports, and they found that a single person at a gate showing signs of anxiety increased the anxiety of everyone in the area, which stands to reason.”
“My sister does that, too.” He was grinning.
“What’s that? Have anxiety attacks?” Petra threw a towel over the bar within arm’s reach of the tub.
“Yes, to the anxiety attacks, and they can be difficult. Also, leap from thought to thought like rocks in a raging stream. But, just now, I was referring to the end phrase. You said, ‘which stands to reason.’ You made some connection, made some mental leap there, but if you don’t take me along for the ride, I have no idea why it would stand to reason.”
“I’m just going to undress and get in, and then you can follow,” Petra said, and she couldn’t imagine a less sexy introduction to their being naked together.
But honestly, she didn’t have it in her to do anything more than peel off these clothes and maybe lift her foot over the side.
To be even more honest, nothing about this felt nervous. Petra could make it a thing, but that would be the stuff of novels and rated-R movies. Petra wanted the sting of hot water and the solace of Hawkeye’s hands on her. The fewer steps getting there the better.
“Yeah, sure,” Hawkeye said, shifting from foot to foot, then he turned his back to give her a moment of privacy.
Since they were about to be naked in the shower together, she wasn’t sure she understood the move, but it had a charming, gentlemanly feel to it. And since she was wincing and gyrating to get out of her clothes, the gesture was much appreciated.
“Which stands to reason,” she said, tugging at the string of her bikini top. “Think about a zebra on the periphery of a herd that perceives a possible threat. That zebra stills and focuses on assessing. The rest of the herd responds in kind. Danger for one could mean danger for all.”
“Got it,” Hawkeye said. “Sort of like yawning might have started as a signal that it was time for a tribe to go to bed.”
“Yes. If someone yawns, it tells the tribe that things feel safe and sleepy. That they aren’t on hyper-awareness. They can pass the feeling of safety around.” Petra slid behind the curtain and was once again grateful for a moment of privacy as the pain of the first water on her abrasions made her face deform in agony.
She could hear Hawkeye getting undressed. Then he stepped behind the curtain to stand with her.
“Darwin?” he asked, bottles of shampoo and conditioner in his hands.
Darwin indeed. Ho-o-o-o-lyyyy shit.
She licked her lips and forced her gaze to meet his. “Survival of the fittest means that if you have the right traits, you have a better shot at living,” she stammered. At least in the shower, he wouldn’t see her drooling. Small favors.
He pressed her shoulder until she turned away from him. “You keep going with that thought. I’m going to start with your hair, and then I’m going to clean the blood out of your cuts. You’re in worse shape than I thought. I’d hoped that once the dried blood was off, you’d have a few small cuts. I’m so sorry.” He kissed her shoulder. “I’m so grateful you put yourself through that and saved Terry’s life. God, woman, you are so damned brave. You are astonishing.” He dropped another kiss—and held his lips there a little longer.
She liked how he lingered like that. “I…” Sensations and thoughts overwhelmed Petra. Panic clutched her lungs.
“Petra,” he said, “you’re okay. Everything’s okay. You’re safe. It’s over. I’ve got you now.”
She nodded her head.
“Put your hands on the wall in front of you. Go back to one subject. You’re showing me something new about Darwin. Here are my fingers on your scalp.”
Petra took a minute to breathe and center. She focused on her index finger, which lay on the white plastic wall, and the gentle swirls Hawkeye traced over her scalp. “Survival of the fittest sounds like pulling yourself up by the bootstraps, like rugged individualism. But, in human history, people have always depended on others for survival. People get good at one skill and market that skill from storyteller to shaman to stone cutter. It was—and is—a rare person who attempts to go it alone. And that’s why ostracism was one of the worst possible punishments. Like being left alone on an island. Buck’s Island here in St. Croix, for example.”
“You’re straying again. I’ll ask about Buck’s Island later. About Darwin, what I hear is that survival of the fittest means the one who can contribute in some way. Can follow societal rules. Probably the one that is seen as a good person.”
“Exactly. That’s… people who can form alliances and make easy friendships. That doesn’t work out great for me.”
“What are you talking about?” he asked. “You’re friendly.”
“Am I? Hmm. I don’t think of myself as friendly. Since I’m neurodivergent, it’s more likely that people think of me as odd. I’m fine with that,” she threw in, lest he thought she was looking for compliments or even pity. “There are actually scientific studies which say that just from looking at the face of someone who is neurodivergent, neurotypical people think there’s something off that they couldn’t place, and so they assume a red flag and distance themselves.”
Petra would love to know what Darwin thought about that.
Still, had she just told Hawkeye that people found her odd?
Petra was fighting hard not to make the mistake she always did—to mask, to shapeshift, to try to interpret what the other person was looking for and transform into that thing. It was a typical means of survival—since they were talking about survival—for people who were differently wired.
“We can debate how people perceive you,” Hawkeye said, and his voice sounded like he was smiling. “My team thinks you’re amazing. And if I saw any red flags waving, I wouldn’t be naked with you right now. But let’s focus on the word ‘friendly.’ Take Cooper. He’s laid-back and accepting, but I wouldn’t call him friendly. He likes who he likes and tolerates others. He does a good job. He’s highly esteemed. He gets a lot of joy from his work, which helps people. But his behavior with you on the plane was atypical. He likes people at a distance. He’s also my best friend.”
“I think Cooper and I have a lot in common. I tend to keep my social circles small.”
“And trustworthy?” Hawkeye asked.
“Yes, I’d say that’s true.”
“Always or as an adult?”
Petra was having trouble considering that question as Hawkeye knelt behind her, massaging his hands over her thighs, the bite of soap in her cuts, the gentleness of his hands. “It’s more pronounced the older I get. I plan on being quite the curmudgeon in my old age.”
“Thanks for the warning.” He leaned forward and kissed her hip, then stood. He pulled Petra back into his arms, holding her against him, and she could feel his dick hard at her back.
“I’m going to say something, and I hope this isn’t offensive in any way.”
Petra braced for it. Nothing good could come next.
“We’re both exhausted. Physically and emotionally drained from today.”
This is the write-off.
“You’re covered in bruises and abrasions. It looks like every part of you is in pain.”
He doesn’t want me despite my being naked and his dick standing ready.
“I want our first time together to be more than what I can give you tonight. I want it to be special and memorable. There’s no need to rush us. We already have plans for a date at home.” He paused and she held her breath.
This must be the string it along kind of brush off.
“You’ve told me how you ruminate for years and decades about events, and I wonder if it would be a bad thing to connect this particular day with a relationship milestone. I want to make love to you, obviously. But perhaps, this isn’t the right time for significant firsts.”
Significant firsts , she let that phrase somersault through her brain.
Significant firsts wasn’t a phrase used for a stress-relieving roll. Or a “nice to know yah, that was fun.”
It was something someone said when they believed there was a future.
His hands slicked down her sides, coming to rest on her hips, holding her tightly against him. “And I’m hoping it would be all right to wait.”
Petra blinked at the wall in front of her.
She ran that conversation through her mind again without applying her “I’m not good enough” filter. Special and memorable, she cycled the phrase again and again.
That was so damned sexy.
Petra turned around, lifting to her toes to wrap her arms around his neck. She kissed him long and hard.
This experience with Hawkeye was absolutely a significant first.