(AV) FINALLY

Taylor’s throat was dry, as if every word she wanted to say had been locked behind iron bars for weeks now. She couldn’t even tell if her voice shook because she was terrified of what would happen once she opened her mouth, or because she wanted—needed—someone to finally understand.

Shielder didn’t move from where he crouched in front of her, wariness lingering in the lines of his shoulders. One hand was braced on his knee, the other close enough to his side that he could strike if she made the wrong move—her stance screaming caution—but he hadn’t stepped back or turned away.

That, small as it was, was enough.

She drew in a shuddering breath. “I’m not a villain,” Taylor said again, firmer this time, pushing past the lump in her throat. “I never wanted to be one.”

Once the first words slipped free, the rest came spilling out faster and faster. “I didn’t mean to kill Lung. I didn’t even think I could. He just… he wouldn’t stop. He would have burned me alive. He would have killed me. I told him to stop, I begged him, and when he didn’t…” She broke off, clenching her hands against her knees so hard they trembled, but she didn’t loosen them. “It wasn’t my plan or some kind of power play. It was just survival.”

Shielder’s stance shifted slightly, the faintest flicker of doubt crossing his face, but he still didn’t interrupt.

Taylor forced herself to continue, even as her chest tightened further. “The PRT thinks I’m dangerous, that I’m unstable, or ruthless, or both. They see a villain, and maybe they’re not wrong, but I never asked for this.” Her breath caught, shaky. “I wanted to be a hero. I still do. That’s why I stopped the Undersiders tonight, and why I stood between you and them. Because if I can’t prove it with words, then I’ll prove it with actions.”

Her voice finally cracked. She hated how raw it sounded, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t stop now. “I’m so tired of everyone assuming the worst of me. Tired of trying, and failing, to prove otherwise. You asked me if I’m alright, and the truth is… no. I’m not. I'm drowning in paranoia and fear, and I keep second-guessing myself every time I use my power. But I want to be alright. I want to try. I just… I don’t know how much longer I can keep doing it, how much longer I can keep fighting, if the only result is more misunderstandings.”

The city’s constant noise pressed in around them in the ensuing silence: the distant honk of a car horn, laughter drifting off from some far-off street, and a dog barking far below. Ordinary sounds of ordinary lives, so close and yet so far from the ache in her chest.

And for once, Taylor didn’t retreat into herself, shrinking or hiding or burying her words where no one could twist them. She sat there, forcing herself not to look away from Shielder, not to crumble under the strain of how vulnerable she’d made herself.

Shielder finally lowered his fists, the boxer’s stance melting away into something less guarded. His visor caught a glint of light from a distant streetlamp, the crack down its length casting a jagged shadow across his face.

“I don’t know if I can believe all of that,” he admitted. His tone was careful, but not necessarily cruel. “You did kill Lung, so people are scared of you for a reason. And I can’t just… ignore what the PRT’s saying.”

Taylor clamped down on the instinctive flinch, her stomach twisting. Had she made a mistake by opening up? Was this going to be just another misunderstanding she had to deal with?

Then he added, softer: “But I can believe that you don’t want to be the person they think you are. And I can believe that you meant it when you stood up for me. That has to count for something.”

Relief hit her so hard her vision blurred. She bit her lip until it hurt, trying to hold herself together, trying not to break apart right here in front of him.

“You don’t have to trust me,” she whispered, voice barely audible. “Just… don’t write me off yet. Please.”

Shielder studied her for a long, quiet moment. Then, carefully, he extended a hand. It wasn't the rigid gesture of an arrest, nor was it quite a handshake either. It was more of the uncertain offering of someone who wasn’t sure a lifeline should exist, but who offered it anyway.

Taylor stared at it, heart hammering. She didn’t really know what this meant, but she knew it was more than she’d dared hope for. More than she’d thought she’d ever get.

Her fingers closed around his, and instead of pulling her in to cuff her wrists or push her away, he pulled her into—an admittedly—tentative but much-needed hug. It was warm. 

Taylor froze, breath catching against his shoulder. Then, slowly, almost reluctantly, she let herself lean into it. For the first time since Lung, since the PRT’s accusations, since her whole world had changed overnight, the label of villain didn’t feel like an inevitable brand burning into her skin.