Page 80 of Shielding Instinct

“Well, okay then.” She blinked at the wall. What the hell? “Cheers to a sleepless night for both of us.”

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 peoplefound 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.

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