Chapter Thirty-Two
Hawkeye
While Hawkeye put the Rotti in his crate, filled the food bowl inside, and ensured the bottle of water was full and fresh, Petra was looking at the map Reaper had given him with the assignment.
“When I get back, I’ll make sure someone is coming up to take custody of this guy.”
“Yes,” she said absently.
Next, Hawkeye checked for signs that anyone had been there lately and took a picture of the notes left on the table, which were exactly as expected.
When he was done, Hawkeye checked in. “Okay?”
“This is a path.” She pointed at the map.
“Yes.”
She drew her finger along the path away from their vehicle. “At the bottom of the path, you choose to go to the tidepool, where I was yesterday, or over here to the boats.”
“Your mind is on hypersonic,” Hawkeye teased. “Little curlicues of smoke are coming out of your ears.” But she was sending up vibes that honestly sent a crackle of electricity across his scalp.
“The boats – plural – are here.” She put her finger just to the south of the tidepool.
He stood silently.
“The tidepool to the boats.” She stared at the wall. “Lots of bags. Too many bags for going to a tidal pool. Too many bags. I saw all the bags at the car. But I saw one at the tidepool with sunscreen and towels. And Herb was here on this ridge,” she pointed to the land between the tidepool and the boat wharf, “away from the family. From this ridge, he could see the boats. Signal them with his bright orange hat? Could that…”
She looked at Hawkeye, who had no clue what she was talking about.
Petra focused back on the map. “And then, right there, the boats. Beans and Lucky were with me, helping Terry. They would have assumed the Johnsons got home some other way. This all could make sense.” She turned to find Hawkeye’s curious gaze on her. “Hawkeye, can we take a walk down to the boats, please?”
“Are you going to tell me why?” he asked quietly.
“No.”
“Is this a case?” He kept his voice very soft. He didn’t want to clang around and break her concentration. She was on to some discovery.
“I’m a brain researcher.” But she blushed when she said it.
It was evident that with or without him, she’d be walking down that path.
“I guess we’re walking to the beach,” he said.
Off they went. Single file here where the path was so narrow. Silent.
Petra kept shaking her head. And squinting her eyes. “Colombia?” she murmured.
She reached up to squeeze her temples.
“You doing okay?” he asked.
“Headache.”
“I have some pain meds.” Hawkeye peeled his ruck off his shoulders. “What helps? Do you want to come back and take the path at a later time?”
“No. I think maybe a distraction.” She held out her hand, and he tapped two pain pills onto her palm, still cut and scratched from yesterday. “Thinking other thoughts.”
After sliding the meds back into his pack, Hawkeye pulled out a water bottle and handed it to her. “Okay, do you want to pick the topic, or should I?”
“I will,” she said, handing the bottle back. “If we were lost in this jungle, could you keep us alive, Cooper, me?”
“Depends on your definition—heart beating, air going in and out? Very likely, yes. If we were in this kind of environment, we’d have to get less choosy about our food source. I’d bring in a snake on a good day.”
“And a bad day?” She tried to offer a smile, but it felt weak to him.
“Worms, larvae, some tasty slugs.”
“I can imagine getting to a level of hunger where all that would be gourmet.”
“On the plane, you said that neurodivergence is highly esteemed in primitive hunter-gatherers,” Hawkeye said. “And I’ve been thinking about why that might be the case. Hunting and gathering are different skills. Did the research explain why neurodivergent people excel at both?”
“I have my own untested theories and would be happy to speculate based on brain science and lived experience.”
“I’d be interested.” He pulled the ruck back into place, and they started off again.
“Researchers are only now starting to get the funding they need to better understand what’s been true of our society since the beginning of time—people are wired differently. Now, we say neurotypical people and neurodivergent people. Primitive societies understand that some people are better at hoeing the ground, pounding the corn, tanning the leather, and making spearheads. And there are others whose efforts benefit their clan in a different way. Finding and honoring what your brain is tuned for and having those expectations of yourself are ways that help neurodivergent people and neurotypical people function as a cohesive and beneficial whole.”
As the path opened up, Petra waited for Hawkeye and Cooper to take a step, so they were side by side and she was back holding Hawkeye’s hand.
Hawkeye popped his brows and sent her a grin. “Those with micro-amygdala shouldn’t look down on people who experience a healthy amount of fear.”
“That goes without saying.” Her eyes were a funny combination of laughter and pain.
They walked a while in silence, and then Hawkeye redirected her thoughts. “Hunter-gatherers?”
“People who are comfortable don’t explore. Those who need a dopamine hit have a chemical push to get them up and searching for something new. That works for both hunters and gatherers—the chemical prod.” Petra squeezed her hand around a leaf she was passing, then brought her palm up to her nose to sniff. “It would also be true for the healers who created cures—herbal or otherwise—observation, curiosity, drive to know and understand, test and assess, laser-focused on a specific niche expertise like energy meridians.”
“What would happen if I stuck a needle in this guy's foot?”
Cooper stilled, ears on a swivel.
“I wonder how to use this root. I wonder if I can eat that berry. What happens when I prepare it like this and mix these things together?” Petra added.
“I mean, whoever figured out chocolate was a mad genius.” Hawkeye pulled a bar from his side pocket and offered it to Petra. Cora had told him chocolate was a dopamine hit that helped her regulate her system like coffee was. That might be true of chocolate for Petra, too.
Petra smiled as she pulled back the wrapper and broke off a couple of squares before handing the rest of the bar back. “Thank you.” She took a bite and pointed toward her mouth. “People with neurodivergence often have heightened taste perceptions, which has its good sides and its bad. That tasted so good, thank you.”
“If that’s true,” Hawkeye said, “then exploration isn’t just ‘what’s on the other side of this hill.’ It could be ‘I’ll try that plant, but it subtly tastes of a chemical that made me sick before, better to spit it back out.’”
Petra said, “Which leads me to another unusual trait. Neurodivergent people typically forget to eat or drink throughout the day.”
Hawkeye chuckled, “Cora says she isn’t hungry until we put food in front of her. Then she’s inhaling it like she’s been starved for days.”
“You ordered pizza that first day after I said I hadn’t eaten. Once it arrived in front of me, I realized I was famished.”
“Fascinating when you think about all of this big picture.” He lifted his free hand in a sweeping gesture. “We were talking Darwin yesterday. When you think about it, yes, not having an appetite until the right time is game-changing. I’m thinking about being on missions where my stomach became a distraction during the boring points, on most long walks, for example. If you can forget about your stomach, life is that much easier, right? And hunting, how does that play here?”
“A heightened awareness of how systems work, which helps the hunter capture their prey; and heightened attention to details, which helps them—”
“Stay alive while hunting prey,” Hawkeye said. “I’m scanning through my brothers and on that piece alone, I’m starting to see patterns of who we relied on—and not to diagnose—but let’s just say I have a bit more clarity on who rose in leadership because of elbow rubbing and who rose because their skills kept us safe.”
“Right and thinking of the military, there are those who were at the base and those who sought out roles where they’d be far afield. Those who don’t mind being away from society to accomplish their tasks. They probably prefer it to some extent.”
Hawkeye thought back to all the books he’d read about anthropology, and he wanted to read them again through these new lenses. Petra was right; it took a village. Those who stayed, those who wandered; they had a variety of interests and talents, each doing what they could to keep their community safe—just like in the outposts when he deployed.
Survival of the fittest could very well have meant survival by doing the thing you were fittest to do in a community.
And now he had a good reason to answer that ice-breaker conversation, “Living or dead, if you could have a conversation with anyone, who would it be?” Hawkeye didn’t have a go-to answer for that. His answer was usually tied to whatever caught his interest at that moment. Right now, Darwin would be top of the list.
“I’m still thinking about soldiers. Here’s another trait,” Petra said. “Neurodivergent people often have very high pain tolerance, and when called on in an emergency, they become laser-focused on resolving the crisis. Seemingly pre-trained strategic moves come fully formed into our heads, and sudden super strength.”
“I really want you to meet Cora,” Hawkeye said, his gaze casting out over the vista, where he could see a flash of blue ocean amongst the leaves as they approached the ridgeline. “I think she needs to hear your perspective on all this. I think my parents would benefit from hearing it, too. My parents did everything possible to ease Cora’s life and help her fit in. But they were always told that she had to fight against her disability, which is—from what you’re saying—an ability that isn’t understood or properly utilized. We’re back to the fish climbing a tree meme.”
“Teaching someone to mask who they are to make others feel more comfortable and ‘fit in’?” Petra used finger quotes. “That’s exhausting and leads to burnout—like going to bed for five or six months, barely being able to crawl to the bathroom, being too tired to chew, kind of burn out.”
He stopped and turned to her. “That happened to Cora. They said it was chronic fatigue, and they thought it was some virus that did it to her. She was fine. Highly successful at her work, a brilliant surgeon. And then she wasn’t. And isn’t. She’s still brilliant. She’s just not able to handle the surgeries anymore.”
“Yeah. That’s how it happens.” Her voice sounded beaten down.
Hawkeye stopped to make sure Petra heard him say this and took it in. If Petra was anything like Cora, she’d be second-guessing every second of the day and finding all the ways that she didn’t live up to the moment. “Petra, this whole weekend has been nuts, and you’ve been amazing.”
She blinked at him.
“Not sarcasm—Cora always thinks my compliments are sarcasm. I say this with sincerity. You were remarkable in every way possible.”
And instead of saying thank you and accepting his praise, Petra deflected by telling a story.
“Ever since I was a kid, it’s like a switch goes off in me. I remember a friend was getting bullied out in the middle of the lake on the diving platform. I remember diving into the water, and the next thing I knew, I had this teenage boy in a hold with his arm locked up behind his back. I knew what word he was saying as I dove in. He hadn’t finished the sentence when I had him constrained. Of course, I was in the middle of the lake with this guy’s arm behind his back. I didn’t have a next action in mind because I never knew I was going to do that first one. And the crisis was over, so the good idea fairy had flown away.” She shrugged. “I don’t remember how that resolved.”
“One of my Cerberus brothers, Ridge, is married to an artist named Harper. She does that. She’s moving along, and then her body is in motion, doing heroic things. She’s put herself in peril to save lives that way. Often to her great detriment. Her actions have led to complications that have had dire ramifications for her.”
Petra let her hand rest on Cooper’s head and looked up at Hawkeye.
There it was, that sensation of—the words “hitch” and “coupling” were coming to mind. And Hawkeye could see it in his mind’s eye how two pieces were brought together and connected. He’d never considered those words and how the physical, tactile meaning was a good representation of their emotional meaning. Like the word “click,” he’d thought before.
But the intensity he felt toward Petra wasn’t the same energy he was getting back from her. He knew what he wanted—time to get to know her, a relationship that grew warmer and deeper. But he wasn’t convinced that Petra was interested in him beyond this weekend and the calming of the hoopla.
Change the energy, change the outcome , a personal truism. Hawkeye would have a direct conversation with her. Tell her his thoughts, ask her about hers. Maybe they could do that over dinner.
Standing very still, Petra’s gaze focused on the ground.
Petra mentioned that she didn’t like surprises, so Hawkeye decided to ask her now if they might talk that through. He wanted her to have time to think, or maybe she didn’t need to think. Maybe she’d quickly shut him down. He had to be prepared for that. “I—” he started.
“Shh,” Petra yanked his arm. Her eyes flashed up. “Do you hear that?” she whispered.
Before he could answer, her eyes were on the ground again. She was holding her breath.
He didn’t hear a damned thing. But after all the doors he’d breached in his career, his hearing was in pretty bad shape.
“There, that.” She looked up at him, and seeing his blank expression, turned to Cooper.
Cooper stood rigidly, posture thrust forward, ears rotating then stilling. He obviously heard something, too.
“Could Cooper find it for me?” she whispered.
Turning to look over his shoulder at Hawkeye, Cooper waited for a command.
“Cooper, find it,” Hawkeye said, wondering just what they were going to be chasing after.
When Cooper took off through the woods, Hawkeye and Petra raced to keep up.