Chapter Text
Nate is three when Hodgins vs. Johnstone 446 U.S. 732 (1980) officially allows male omegas to be in combat roles in the military. A decade before, combat roles were officially opened for female alphas, because of the need for troops in Vietnam, while female omegas were allowed to finally serve in the military in support roles. That was the first change since World War II, where female alphas and betas were finally allowed to serve in the first place, though — like male omegas — their roles were limited to support roles. At the time, Nate doesn’t understand the significance. His parents try to explain why this news is a good thing, how it is a step forward in omega rights, but it’s clear that it isn’t personal. Omegas deserve the same rights as any alpha or beta, of course; no sex or gender is inherently better than another. But Nate’s parents and grandparents are betas, as are his (biological) aunts and uncles, with one alpha uncle by marriage, and though he is too young to present, the assumption is that Nate will present as a beta as well.
Thirteen years later Nate wakes up to a bed drenched in something , and his first instinct is to yell at his younger sister because dumping a bucket of water over him would be right up her alley. Unfortunately, he learns once his mother bursts into his room with Joanna at her heels, it’s not water. Joanna also had nothing to do with it.
He’s just presented as an omega.
He helps his mom change his sheets, after Joanna is banished from the room and he has changed into clean and dry sweats. His mom tries to be supportive — is supportive to the best of her ability, but she’s not an omega, especially not a male one. Male omegas have to deal with a certain stigma of being lesser, of not being true men, and his mom’s platitudes are just that: statements that have lost their true meaning because of overuse. Yes, he knows he’s not lesser than an alpha; yes, he knows that sex itself — primary or secondary — doesn’t matter much, or at least shouldn’t; yes, he knows that he can do anything he wants to do if he puts his mind to it. Eventually, he banishes her from his room, climbs back into his newly made bed and pretends, hopes , that it was just a…really explosive wet dream, or even that he wet the bed, as embarrassing as that would be, and not actually a sign of his first heat, of the upcoming changes as his body begins to actively rework itself.
It’s nothing. He can sleep for another hour until his alarm goes off and he has to get up to go to his volunteer work.
Then the cramps start and the whole idea of being an omega becomes real.
The first heat is always the worst, especially in a male omega, and he is no exception. He switches between freezing and boiling, until his body finally decides on just boiling, many exhausting and extremely uncomfortable hours later. He’s in horrible pain but at the same time is hornier than he has ever been. Nothing he does can give him any relief: he just has to wait it out. He tries jerking off, but it’s not enough , and honestly it kind of hurts too: even the first couple of touches on his dick — light, barely there, not even enough normally to wake any kind of interest — quickly become too sensitive for him. He tries turning his attention to other erogenous zones, but anything above the waist does absolutely nothing for him, and his balls are just as sensitive as his dick.
(He refuses to consider anything behind his balls: he has tried to finger himself before and it’s not a bad feeling at all and he thinks with practice it might become even better, at least from what he’s heard whispered in locker rooms, parties, even written on the last bathroom stall in the downstairs men’s room at school, but that area is not one he wants to think about now, not when he’s literally dripping from there.)
He ends up soaking through his clothes and his sheets several times. Asking his mom for more sheets and blankets is embarrassing, and eventually she must notice because finally he hears a knock on his door and, once he cracks it open, he finds the entire contents of the linen closet now in a couple of laundry baskets in front of his door, bearing a note to just fill up the laundry baskets with the dirty ones and leave them outside, so she can wash them.
There’s an alarm clock by his bed, and another clock by his desk, but he loses all sense of time. Eventually, in the afternoon — it feels like both an age has gone by and no time at all, with the way he can’t seem to do anything but shiver, sweat, leak from an orifice he doesn’t want to think about, and toss and turn, trying to get comfortable when sometimes even the touch of his sheets is too much for his increasingly sensitive skin, sending him into spirals of both arousal and pain at the same time — his mom knocks on his door and delivers a heat kit: one specified for male omegas presenting for the first time. It’s embarrassing, even more than the constant delivery of sheets, because his mom essentially just bought and brought him porn and sex toys, but also he has to admit it helps a couple hours later, when his sensitivity to just existing itself has calmed somewhat. He manages to stammer out a “thank you” the next time she knocks on his door to announce a delivery of fruit, granola bars, bottles of water, and ice packs.
The problem with this heat is that he’s not really sure what to expect: sure, sex education is offered in schools, and he’s had “The Talk,” but — he’s not supposed to be an omega, not expected to be an omega, and it’s not like anyone pays attention to those school sponsored presentations. He knows the basics, but they weren’t enough to prepare him for what he is now going through: the constant switch between nothing being enough and everything being too much, the final change to just horrible cramps and aches all over. His metabolism, like all omegas especially in their first heat, is currently too fast for OTC pain killers, and doctors won’t prescribe stronger pain killers for first heats because they can have unexpected effects on the body; that much he knows from those ridiculous and embarrassing school presentations. Suppressants, both scent and heat suppressants, also can’t be started until after his first heat. His insides are literally rearranging themselves, and it hurts, and he’s not sure what to do.
Even a doctor is a risk — any unknown people coming in, especially anyone who has been in contact with an alpha, could have a negative effect on his first heat, when his hormones and pheromones are all over the place. His family has also largely been banished: while his sisters are too young to have any influence on him, any possible contact they’ve had with mature alphas — or anyone with an established, strong scent — could affect him, and his father is staying away for the same reason. As a beta and Nate’s own parent, scenting him since birth, his father would probably be okay, but it’s still not worth the risk. His mom even had to shower thoroughly and put on freshly laundered clothing once his heat began in earnest, and as a beta woman and his mother, he’s always going to instinctively be drawn to her, to trust her. The only way to bring in someone outside the immediate family would be in a case of life or death, and he’s not dying (as much as he may want to) of pain or shame.
At least first heats are quick, less focused on mating and more on preparing a body to mate. It’s over by Monday morning, two days later, leaving him achy and exhausted but no longer stuck in that limbo of too much and too little all at once. He’s finally able to feel hunger and actually sleep instead of tossing and turning, only napping when his exhaustion is so overwhelming that it can force his mind (and pain and arousal) to quiet for even a few minutes. His mom writes him a general sick note to excuse the absence instead of explaining about his heat, and by Tuesday morning when he gets up for school, he feels just the same as he did the previous Friday, before the heat. .
He does get used to being an omega: the changes in his biology, the scent suppressors he now relies on, even the resignation of being underestimated and discriminated against. While centuries, millennia even, of alphas and omegas mixing in with betas and forming human civilization have passed, things still aren’t perfect. There is no “average omega,” just like there isn’t an average beta or average alpha, but stereotypes still exist: omegas are to be protected, which means they must be weaker, they aren’t overly physical, their main purpose is to bear children, and other nonsense that persists despite decades of research showing how wrong it is. He’s lucky he was born when he was, that he comes from an upper middle class family who supports people of all genders, abilities, races, romantic and sexual orientations, and so on. He’s also lucky that he’s shaping up to be tall, already reaching six feet at sixteen and putting on a couple more inches in the next few years. He plays sports: football and lacrosse, and he runs and swims, though neither competitively. He has a lean form, though muscular under clothing, and while he keeps the baby face, unfortunately, his general countenance is not something that people look at and immediately go “omega.”
In college he dates betas and other omegas but has friends of all sexes. He doesn’t exactly hide his secondary sex presentation, but he also doesn’t really advertise it or make it part of his identity, like some people do. He’s just…who he is, and that he’s cross-sexed has the same importance as the fact he has blond hair or green eyes. He studies, parties a bit, and switches majors. The only time being an omega is ever relevant (outside of necessary heat absences) is during a lab class when he and everyone else who can get pregnant need to sign a form that they are, to the best of their knowledge, neither pregnant nor planning on becoming pregnant during the length of the course, thus freeing the university from any potential liability when they may be exposed to potentially harmful chemicals or radiation.
When he joins the Marines, he discloses his secondary sex on the application like any other biographical information asked for, but he doesn’t mention it otherwise, and no one else mentions it except in medical exams and during heats: by then, his heats have evened out to appear every six months like clockwork, and it’s easy to get the days signed off on by medical or receive heat suppressors if there’s a chance he’ll be in the field.
Heat rooms in the Marines are basic, no-frills rooms that cater to both primary male and female omegas. He can sign in with a partner, ask for a volunteer, or do his heat solo. They’re discreet and professional. He has two heats while at Quantico, one in TBS and one just before IOC started, and even spends his heats once finished and assigned to Pendleton in Marine heat rooms. VJ is an alpha and has made a standing offer to go stay somewhere else for the duration of Nate’s heats, so that Nate can stay in his familiar environment, but just being in a place shared with an alpha — and thus saturated with alpha scent — is going to bother Nate.
Or entice him.
In any case, it won’t be comfortable, and he always demurs, going on base instead.
In Afghanistan, he ends up receiving heat suppressants starting two weeks before his heat is due — not his first time, for that was at OCS, where he just could not take the time for a heat and finish in time for the start of his next and final year of undergrad — with a strict warning to be careful and observant in case something should go wrong and he needs to be moved back to the Duquesne, and December passes without a heat. He continues to take them until he’s back onboard the ship, where he can take the time for a heat if he has to, just in case the suppressants have changed the timing of his cycle.
They have not, and he gets his heat as usual in June right after finishing BRC. His next heat comes in mid December like expected, just before he leaves to visit his family in Maryland for Christmas. He doesn’t bother worrying about any heats during this deployment, at least not yet. Should the deployment still be on in June, he’ll start suppressants closer to then, in late May perhaps, but it’s the beginning of April. There’s no reason to spend his time and brain power on an issue that isn’t one yet.
There are other omegas in First Recon, of course, but there’s only one other in Bravo-Two (Stinetorf) and a couple others in the company, with a few more scattered about other companies. Heat suppressors (and emergency heat kits) are only carried in small amounts by the battalion surgeon, but that’s fine. He continues to take his scent suppressants, of course, but all Marines take those, especially while deployed. He’s not worried; there’s no reason to be. scent suppressants are abundant enough to not have to worry about running out.
Unless, of course, a supply truck gets a flat tire and is burned by Iraqis, and the remaining supply — while proven to be enough to cover the battalion — is apparently a brand that messes with Nate’s biology.
This, of course, isn’t apparent until much later, when it’s far too late to do anything about it.