(AV) FINALLY II

There was a certain kind of relief that lingered after you finally said aloud the thing that had been gnawing at you for weeks. It wasn’t the same as unburdening yourself in a diary, where they lived and died on the page, or whispering thoughts into the darkness of your bedroom where nobody could answer back. This was different, yet undoubtedly more pleasant, especially since Taylor hadn’t expected the response she got. 

She had braced for scorn, for disgust, maybe even for Shielder to call the PRT right then and there, his shield appearing between them. Instead… he had embraced her.

It hadn’t been the tight, grounding hug of family—her dad’s arms, still very awkward but safe—or the memory of her mom’s hands smoothing her hair. It was hesitant, as if he wasn’t sure if she might break apart in his grip, or lash out like the villain he previously thought she was.

Taylor had frozen, body stiff, breath trapped in her throat. She couldn’t remember the last time someone outside of her dad had touched her without malice, without the intent to shove her somewhere foul, to trip her, or to make her smaller than she already felt. Not since her mom’s death, at least. 

So when her muscles finally untensed, the release had almost hurt. Her shoulders sagged, her eyes burned, and she had to bite down on her lip to stop herself from making a sound she knew would humiliate her.

God, she’d needed it.

And even a full day later, she still felt lighter. Like a burden had been lifted, if only slightly.

Maybe she should do it more often, she thought. Let people in, and be honest about who she was and what she wanted, instead of hiding behind paranoia and silence.

Her dad had noticed, too. That morning he’d commented on the spring in her step, half-surprised and half-hopeful. He’d asked if things at school had gotten better—Taylor had dodged that question with the guilty ease of a seasoned pro—but even so, the small moment of connection had been enough to embolden her further.

Why wouldn’t she be happier? Someone finally knew the truth. Not the PRT’s distorted narrative or the public’s biased opinions, but the truth. That she wasn’t a villain scheming for power or respect, but someone who’d been caught in a shitty situation and clawed her way out the only way she could. And instead of turning away from her, or arresting her, Shielder had stayed.

That counted for something, or maybe the beginning of something.

She couldn’t help imagining, admittedly recklessly, what that might look like: the start of one of those hero partnerships she’d watched on TV growing up, or maybe something even more fragile and infinitely more precious, friendship.

But she reined herself in. She had to. Shielder hadn’t said he believed everything she said. He’d only admitted that her actions didn’t perfectly match the PRT’s intel, and that maybe something had been lost or added in translation. That wasn’t the same as trust.

And even if he did trust her… the facts were still the facts. She had killed Lung. Whether it was justified or not, whether it was survival or not, most of Brockton Bay saw her as terrifying and dangerous, a villain in all but name.

Which was why she’d been patrolling in the first place before their encounter: to prove otherwise, and to show through actions, and not words, that she wasn’t some shadow creeping through alleys waiting to drown them in bugs. It was slow going, almost painfully slow.

Hence the rooftop. Hence the second meeting. She wasn’t naive enough to expect trust overnight, but Shielder had agreed to meet again. That alone was an opportunity to build on the shaky truce of last night.

Taylor scanned the streets below, her bugs spreading outward from her vantage point to expand her web of awareness. The city was restless as always tonight, but she hardly paid the people below any mind as something drew her attention. 

Her heart thudded once when she caught the faint glimmer of blue approaching, Shielder flying toward the rooftop.

This could go wrong, spectacularly wrong. He could be testing her, or could be stalling until reinforcements arrived, and yet, she found herself smiling despite it all.

Shielder touched down lightly, boots clicking against the rooftop. He didn’t circle or posture like he had last night, despite fidgeting slightly. Instead, he stood in place, arms crossed loosely, and visor angled toward her. If not for the crack across its surface, she might not have believed yesterday happened at all.

For a second, neither of them spoke. Then, Taylor opened her mouth before she could stop herself. 

“You came.” 

It sounded more relieved than she wanted it to.

“I said I would,” he replied simply. His voice carried none of the bravado of a cape making a promise, just the matter-of-fact certainty of someone who thought keeping his word was reason enough. Then, after a pause, he added, “I’ve been thinking about what you told me.”

Her chest tightened, air catching hard in her lungs. This was it, the moment he’d pull back, say he’d slept on it, reconsidered, and decided she was too dangerous and too untrustworthy. The moment everything would come crashing down, as it always did. 

A sick mix of dread and anticipation welled up inside her. She almost wanted to cut him off before he said it, before his words could break whatever fragile thread of hope she’d dared to hold onto.

But instead, he surprised her.

Shielder’s stance shifted just enough to show that though he wasn’t going to fight, but also wasn’t ready to drop his guard completely.

“I think… you might be telling the truth. Or at least, not lying the way villains usually do.” He lifted a hand before she could speak. “But I’m just one person, and I can’t ignore the fact that the PRT has a whole file on you that says otherwise.”

Taylor’s throat felt dry all over again. “So what are you saying?”

“I’m saying,” he said carefully, “that you should talk to them. Tell your side of the story straight to the people making these calls. If you’re really not a villain, if you want to change how they see you, then that’s the only way.”

Taylor almost laughed in his face. “You think they’ll listen? After everything? The PRT has already decided who I am. I’m the scary bug girl who killed Lung, who might go off the rails any second. They don’t want the truth.”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Maybe you’re right, but maybe you’re not. And if you never try, if you just keep waiting for people to give you the benefit of the doubt… you’ll never get out from under that label.”

His words hit harder than she expected, and only because it was untrue. She had been trying. God, she had been trying for weeks now. Nights spent patrolling alone, cutting into her sleep and her sanity, just to prove that she wasn’t the monster they painted her as. She hadn’t been sitting back, waiting for mercy or kindness to come to her. If anything, it was the opposite. She had made plans for fuck’s sake. 

Her jaw tightened under her mask, and for a moment she wanted to shout at him, to demand he see just how much she’d sacrificed just to stand here. But shouting would make her sound exactly like what everyone already thought she was.

So instead she forced her voice low and as calm as she could make it, though it had the unfortunate side effect of coming out menacing. “I have been trying every day. Just because you haven’t seen it doesn’t mean it’s not happening. I’m not waiting for anyone to save me from this.”

She exhaled, frustration spilling into exhaustion. “The truth is, I don’t know if I’ll ever succeed. What if I just make things worse? What if they decide I’m exactly what they thought, and the next time I see you, it’s in cuffs?”

Shielder shifted his stance, the lines of his shoulders easing slightly. “Then… at least you’ll know you tried. At least you won’t be stuck wondering if you could’ve changed things.”

He visibly hesitated, then added, almost gently, “I can’t promise they’ll listen. I can’t promise they’ll treat you fairly. But I can promise I’ll be there, and that I’ll vouch for what I’ve seen.”

Taylor blinked. She hadn’t realized until that moment how much she’d needed to hear something like that. A promise, small as it was, to stand with her instead of against her. But the idea of facing Armsmaster after running away that night, of walking voluntarily into the PRT’s den—of meeting people with power and authority, people who already thought the worst of her—still terrified her.

Her voice came out quieter than she wanted. “I don’t know if I can.”

“Then don’t decide right now,” Shielder said. “Think about it. But sooner or later… you’ll have to stop running.”

Taylor looked down at the streets, at the tiny figures moving about their lives far below. The thought of talking to the heroes after everything made her stomach twist, but… hadn’t she wanted this? A chance? A chance to prove she was a her?

What better chance was there than this?