Page 10 of Shielding Instinct

“I prefer this if it’s okay. He has a calming effect, sort of like the eye of a storm.” She sent him a flat-lipped smile. “I’m not a fan of mayhem. Quite the start to this flight. Hopefully, that’s all out of the way.”

Interesting. So it wasn’t that she was impervious to pandemonium like some Zen siren. It was more that she was applying coping strategies. “Glad he could help. I’m Hawkeye, by the way.”

She stopped petting Cooper long enough to hold out a hand for an introductory shake. “Yes,” she said as if he were repeating something she already knew.

Did they know each other?

Surely, had they met, he’d remember her.

“Petra,” she offered. Her hand was small and warm as she shook his hand with confidence.

Hawkeye noticed that there were paint or ink stains on her cuticles and that she kept her nails trimmed short. She wore no rings on either hand.

He probably held her hand a little longer than he should have, but it felt so natural. He liked the sensation. When they released the shake, Hawkeye experienced an odd emptiness, an unsatisfied appetite.

Petra stretched her smile wider and lifted her earbud and journal, signaling she was going back into her cocoon.

“Medical journal?” he asked to keep the bud from going in her ear. He felt a strong need to know something about her other than Cooper treating her like family. “What’s the article about?” His attention turned as the attendant stood beside him to start her safety spiel.

The attendant emphasized the rules about animals on the plane.

The Cerberus K9s were curled into tranquil balls, and the attendant carefully differentiated between the animals who belonged in carriers and those who had plane tickets.

By the time the attendant finished speaking, the wheels had lifted from the ground and retracted into the body of the plane.

Now, Hawkeye turned back to Petra with a look of encouragement. “I was curious about the article you were reading.”

“Really?” Her brows lifted and pulled together.

“Please.”

She slicked her tongue over her lips, and Hawkeye had to work hard at not staring at this stranger’s mouth.

“Okay, well, a research team wanted to understand who comprised the unhoused population and why there were so many veterans, especially combat veterans.”

“Yeah?” He twisted in his seat and leaned forward. “I’d like to know that myself.”

“The researchers found there was a significant number of unhoused people who had experienced traumatic brain injuries before they ended up on the streets.” She waggled the journal. “This data helps to account for a large subset of veterans and why they’re challenged to find and keep employment.”

“That’s not how it’s portrayed in the news.”

“You’re thinking of substance abuse?” She waited for his nod before continuing. “There was no data before. A lot of people with brain injuries self-medicate with booze or street drugs when they can’t access health care. And we know access to help is a problem for vets.”

“TBIs.” Hawkeye let that have a minute to settle. As a former Green Beret with time on the battlefield, was there anyone he knew who didn’t have a brain injury? Granted, ninety percent of the US military forces served in supportroles, but with ten percent seeing combat, the implications were overwhelming.

“Another significant group of people living on the streets are neurodivergent individuals,” Petra said. “Testing shows them to typically be highly intelligent, often subject matter experts. But, since they often struggle to fit into traditional workplaces, keeping a job is difficult. And if they can keep their job, they have trouble doing things that require more support like paying their bills on time. Neurodivergent folks, especially undiagnosed neurodivergent folks, also turn to self-medication with alcohol and street drugs.”

“I’m thinking of the viral meme that shows a fish in the tree. Of course, a fish couldn’t thrive out of their natural environment.”

“Or even survive. Exactly.” She looked down at the journal. “The article goes on to show how many of the unhoused population tick both categories.” She pushed the journal between her thigh and the wall.

“I’d be interested in knowing what changes they’re going to suggest to support these groups. Obviously, the idea of someone pulling themselves up by the bootstraps under either of those conditions is impossible.”

“Much more difficult, at least.” Petra nodded.

“Are you a veteran?” he asked.

She canted her head. “I’ve never had a man ask me that before. I served in Afghanistan, providing mental health support. While there, I experienced a TBI, among other things. I’m also neurodivergent.” She looked down and talked to Cooper. “I wonder if I should be concerned about ending up in the streets.”

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