Archive of Our Own

It starts small. Just a faint pull in the belly some time after he wolfs down two RXBars dry. It’s been one hell of a day with the water park and ICE mayhem and all the other chaos only the Pitt can offer. It’s a wonder the two bars have survived in his pocket and maintained an edible shape at all.

Robby has dealt with uncooperative digestive systems before so he barely makes a note of it. More water. He tells himself, then promptly forgets about it five minutes later when an MVA rolls in.

The pull becomes a dull ache that settles low and won’t leave, finding him mid-procedure when he watches Whitaker guide the hemostat into the welling wound. A red rivulet streams down and blooms dark through the pad, the coppery taste hitting the back of his throat. Robby turns his head sharply away when nausea surges up out of nowhere and tamps down the bile threatening to enter his mouth.

“Dr. Robby, is something wrong?”

He waves a hand, staring at the white wall and swallowing hard. “…Carry on, you’re doing great.”

He hears a timid “o-okay” and breathes through his nose, fighting not to vomit onto the trauma room floor. Shit, the protein bars must have expired.

By the time they send the patient up to the OR, still alive, the ache has intensified into a persistent clenching pressure that makes him want to curl into himself and die. Robby grips the hub counter white-knuckled, checks his watch, then speeds toward the restroom, nearly clipping a passing nurse in his haste.

He barely has time to lock the door before he folds to his knees and throws up into the toilet, retching himself empty. Bile comes up thin and acidic, burning the way up and making his eyes sting with reflex tears. The nausea and pain hit wave after wave, his abdomen seizing and cramping. It goes on like this for several minutes—can’t be longer than that as no one has banged on the door looking for him yet—Robby heaves one last time and presses his forehead against the cool porcelain, drenched in cold sweat and whimpering, tile digging into his bones.

Not a stomach bug. Fuck me. He thinks miserably as a flush of wet, stifling heat spreads under his skin. Today of all days. Just great.

No slick ruining his pants yet, that’s a good sign. He has a plan, he’s been down this road before: meds, half an hour for them to kick in, good as new. The rest can wait until he’s in the privacy of his home. So it came early, no big deal. He’s not so arrogant as to think he can fight nature, and allows his body controlled releases at least twice a year, one night of fever dreams with strangers he doesn’t need to see again, always good timing and good time. Unexpected ones he rides out alone—alien scents and a delirious head don’t mix.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ It’s fine. This is fine. Robby refuses to think about the circumstances around the last heat that didn’t come on schedule.

When his breathing evens, he shakily drags himself up by the grab bars, flushes the toilet and goes to rinse his mouth. The man looking back in the mirror can pass for a heat stroke patient easily, with face flushed red and eyes hazy. Robby splashes water on his face again, drags a paper towel over it and balls it up, throwing it into the bin. He takes out his pager, tapping his foot.

“It’s Hall.” An unbothered female voice comes through.

Robby lets out a breath with envy—sounds like Reproductive & Dynamic is having another relaxed day.

“I’ve gone into heat. Still early stages but my suppressants aren’t working. I’ll come up with blood test results in an hour.”

“See you in fifteen. Bring the vial.” Dr. Hall says, clipped. “Heard you’ve got a circus down there. Our lab is running slow too but should have your results sooner.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.” Robby rubs his forehead.

“You have blockers? Need me to send some down?”

“No need, I think it’s holding. And it’s hard to smell anything over the ER.”

Robby can hear Hall wrinkling her nose.

“Alright. Get your ass up here on time, Robinavitch.” She ends the call.

Robby sighs then winces when another twinge flares. He inches the restroom door open, glances both ways and slips out, beelining for the locker room. No one there when he arrives. He rummages through his backpack, downs four ibuprofen and slaps on a fresh patch just in case, cursing when it makes contact with his nape—the gland throbs hot, swollen already without needing a mirror to confirm it. His suppressants are in there too, this week’s bubble popped. He tucks the pack away. Won’t do much good now. Robby quietly fumes and zips up his jacket. He needs to find an empty room and a kit.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Dana catches him as he moves for the elevator.

“Upstairs.”  Robby watches the display, rocking slightly on his heels.

Dana narrows her eyes. “You okay, Cap? You look like you’re about to have a heat stroke. We’re running low on ice, just so you know.”

“I’m fine. No fainting, I promise. Just an errand.”

“We have volunteers for that.”

“Yeah, volunteers who should be on crutches or in wheelchairs.”

“Abbot would love to hear you say it.”

Robby hesitates. “Actually—can you let Jack know Dr. Al-Hashimi will do the handoff when he gets in? And let her know I’m stepping out, fifteen minutes tops.”

“Will do.” Dana’s expression shifts. “Are you going upstairs upstairs? Admin giving you shit again?”

“Guess I’ll find out.”

“It’s a breakthrough heat, not that I need to tell you.” Hall frowns at the sheets in her hand. “You will need strong pain meds now, an alpha and three rounds of knotting later at minimum.”

Robby scoffs. Yeah, like that’s gonna happen.

She fixes him with a look. “I’ll prescribe oxycodone. For when you’re home and horizontal. No suppressants, they’ll only worsen the symptoms at this point.”

Robby groans. “Is this what passes for bedside manner in R&D? How are your patient satisfaction scores looking?”

“I have a no-sugarcoating policy with difficult patients. Do you wish to share what caused it?”

This place and myself in general. Or it could be that ICE agent who growled in my face. Animals. The lot of them.

“…So I won’t make my sabbatical on time.”

Hall gives him a dry look.

“I’m guessing not, but I’ll ask for the sake of it—do you have someone at home?”

“Why?” Robby props his chin in his hand and bats his eyelashes. “Planning to join me tonight? I won’t say no.”

Hall makes a disgusted face. “I don’t bat for your team, remember?”

“Right.” Robby blinks, then, curious, “How does it feel with another alpha? Purely in the interest of science.”

“How does it feel with another omega? Since that’s apparently your preference.”

“Oh, very smooth all around. Great time.”

Hall rolls her eyes. “Get your prescription and get off my turf.”

Robby is in a considerably better mood when he heads back down. The ibuprofen has kicked in, the pain dwindling to a five, a low hum behind his navel like a cobblestone sitting in his gut. He can work with that until he gets home on his bike. He checks his watch again and looks around for Al-Hashimi, startling when she materializes at his elbow.

“A final round before you clock out?” She tilts her head.

“Yep. Just the woman I need to see. After you.”

They go room to room. Al-Hashimi’s voice is measured, each word placed with an unhurried certainty of someone who has weathered far worse. Robby is only half listening, mapping out his exit—he already knows what he is leaving behind, and Baran is a competent doctor who doesn’t need his supervision as she has made abundantly clear. Probably a better one than him, not that he’d ever say so out loud. Definitely saner.

Jack likes her, and that’s saying something.

“You okay?”

“Hm?”

A hand on his arm. Robby discreetly pulls back from the touch and crosses his arms. “Peachy. Nothing like knowing you won’t see this place for three months to lift the spirits.”

Al-Hashimi nods. “I’ll make sure the department is in good shape when you get back. Your crew is capable. It won’t take much from me.”

“They’re characters, every one of them. Birds of a feather.”

Al-Hashimi takes in the buzzing bay, a fond smile on her face. “I find I have something in common with them.” She pauses. “And I have a feeling Dr. Abbot and I will work very well together.”

I like her, Jack had said. More than me? he’d shot back, laughing, not meaning it—

Robby freezes. His lips pull back slightly and a sound rises in his throat before he can stop it—low, warning, unmistakable for a snarl.

Al-Hashimi’s head snaps toward him. “Was that—”

Robby steps back immediately, flustered. “—Sorry. I don’t know what came over me.” He presses his hands together in a placating gesture. “I wasn’t…I’m sorry. That was unprofessional.”

“It was.” Al-Hashimi studies him, not angry, piqued, the way a cat observes a bird. “It’s also not something you can control, so nothing to apologize for this time. And for the record, I have no romantic interest in Dr. Abbot.”

Robby stammers, face flushing. “It’s got nothing to do—” He scrubs a hand down his face. “I’m not having this conversation. Enjoy your evening with Abbot.”

“I will.”

He hears her amused huff and resolutely does not look back.

Locker, bike, home. Simple. Robby texts Whitaker that the trip is delayed a few days, he’ll be in touch when he’s ready to leave. Dennis replies with an enthusiastic no problem! before Robby can pocket his phone. If he didn’t know the kid better, he’d say that was relief.

Now, to the task at hand—Jack’s jacket. Not stealing, just…borrowing (he’ll return it, one way or another). The storm jacket has been living in that locker unwashed for weeks, shaken off after rain and bundled back in. It would be perfect. Permeated. Robby thinks, given today, he’s earned himself one good thing before he goes.

He glances at his watch and rounds the corner, fingers tapping a light beat against his thigh—and stops dead.

Alpha.

Jack Abbot stands underneath the vent in his black tee, hands in pockets, back against Robby’s locker like he belongs there. He looks like a man ready for battlefield rather than an ED attending with that larger-than-life stillness, if not for the artfully tousled curls and the grin he offers Robby once he sees him. On a good day Robby would take a moment to appreciate the sight. Today is not a good day.

“You’re back early.”

“Wanted to see you before you take off.” Jack says, easy.

“You’re blocking my locker.” Robby keeps walking, foreboding looming with each step.

“Sorry.” Jack drawls, peels off the locker and goes lazily against his own.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Robby’s eyes cut to Jack’s locker door then away. He reaches for his own, opening it with a bracing breath. Above them, a low hum builds into a steady whoosh—

Iron, cold and sharpened to a clean edge, warm underneath with smoke and earth and Jack Alpha mate safe home—

Robby chokes down a whimper and bangs his fist hard against the metal door, pain blooming across his knuckles. With the clang comes a dragging weight low in his pelvis—butter spreading and foaming and melting, a slow warmth beginning to trickle down.

Jack straightens. “Robby, what—”

“…Stay back.” He manages, then practically shouts. “Back up. Now!”

Jack steps back immediately, hands raised. “Hey. What’s wrong? You alright?”

His legs threaten to give. Robby braces against the locker with both palms. “…Your blocker has worn off.”

Jack’s hand shoots to his neck. “Shit—I’m sorry, I changed it before I came and I thought—are you okay?”

Robby shakes out two suppressants with unsteady hands and swallows them dry. Fuckfuckinfuck—

“I will be. Just stay where you are.” He grits out.

Run. Can’t stay. Can’t stay with Alpha—

His heart clenches, a helpless whine escaping.

Jack’s eyes go wide and he retreats further. “You can’t ride like this. Come back inside, we’ll get you some help—”

“—No. The suppressants will do their job. I’m fine, don’t worry about me.”

“…Okay. If you’re sure.” Jack doesn’t sound sure. “I know I’m in no position to ask right now, but—get a night’s rest before you leave? Please?”

“Yeah.” Robby holds his breath and wrestles with the zip of his backpack, eyes anywhere but Jack. “I won’t leave tonight. Tomorrow, promise.”

“This isn’t how I wanted to see you off. I’m so sorry, man.” Jack presses his lips together. “Let me make it up to you when you’re back?”

Robby smiles, tight, gives a few short nods and makes for the exit.

Jack stands there unmoving, then pulls up the app paired with the tracker he tucked into the rear subframe of Robby’s bike minutes ago.​​​​​​​​​​​​ The blinking marker ticks along, headed not-north.

Good. This thing better outlast that death trap of Robby’s and Alberta both. He thinks gloomily. The dot’s probably the only proof of life I’m gonna get.

He pockets the phone, puts on a new blocker and sulks his way back to the floor.

“Jesus.” Lena scowls at him. “Man’s been gone five minutes and you’re already wearing that face. How are you planning to survive three months?”

Tell me when you figure it out. But Jack is wise enough not to say that to the charge nurse who has his balls in her hands.

“What face?” He watches Al-Hashimi approach. “Besides, I’d call it an upgrade.”

“Flatterer.” Baran smiles, leaning against the counter. Jack winks, then turns back to Lena.

“This might be inappropriate—”

“Think very carefully—”

“How do I smell?”

Lena sets down her clipboard. “The answer is still no, Abbot. Also you smell like stale coffee, old regrets and loneliness.”

“Gee, thanks. No seriously, is my scent bothering you?”

She sniffs. “Same as always. Why? You using a new brand?”

“Huh.” Jack frowns. “Must’ve been a bad batch.”

He can’t help but glance at his phone again. The marker stutters at an intersection two blocks away from Robby’s. Jack tsks at whatever speed limit the man just broke. His shoulders sag when the marker starts moving again and finally stops at the house.

“I was going to ask who you’re tracking, but I think I already know.” Al-Hashimi says, head cocked.

“It’s not polite to peek at other people’s screens.” Jack pockets it.

“It’s also illegal to track other people without their consent.”

“Just making sure boss doesn’t become roadkill in a ditch somewhere. Have you seen that bike of his?”

“Is there a reason you two aren’t mated?”

Jack marvels at her for a full second then locks it down.

“Nothing particular. We are just two rational adults who mutually agreed to a platonic friendship that works for both of us professionally and personally.”

Al-Hashimi exchanges a look with Lena. “That doesn’t sound sustainable.”

“Well, it has to be.”

“It hurts, please make it stop—” Omega cried and shook in his arms and Jack held him tighter, doing his best to blanket him with his scent. Robby clutched at his sleeve like a lifeline, body burning up, whimpering when another weak spasm wracked through him. His scent was bitter and sharp, all sweetness gone, nothing underneath but agony.

And Jack was paralyzed. His body still reacting of its own accord, screaming Omega hurt comfort protect—but his mind was drowning. It was hell all over again. The last few weeks sitting by his wife’s bedside, every touch causing nothing but pain. This was wrong. It shouldn’t be like this. He shouldn’t be hurting him—

“We’re not compatible.” He finishes flatly. “End of story.”

Al-Hashimi’s voice softens. “You might want to give that another chance. You could be surprised.”

Jack snaps. “You’ve known Robby for like what, twelve hours? And you think you get to decide who he chooses for a mate?”

“Dr. Abbot.” Lena warns.

Fuck. Jack takes a breath. “Sorry.”

Al-Hashimi regards him calmly. He straightens under her gaze like a recruit, chin up and jaw tight.

“Shall we start the handoff?”

She lets him have it with grace. “Actually, I think I’ll assist this first shift. You could use the extra hands if nights here run anything like the days.”

“By all means. Never one to turn down free labor. And unlike some people, I don’t hover.”

Robby lets the bike fall and rushes to the front door, gets the code right on the second try and stumbles inside, catching himself precariously as his legs begin to slide. The door locks behind him with a soft click. The heat has been eating him alive since he fled from Jack and now with no one to perform for it runs loose through him, burning up from the inside out with vicious glee.

Can’t go horizontal yet, Robinavitch. Pills, water, rations, phone, charger—another convulsion cuts through and he nearly doubles over, forces himself upright and to just start moving— …toy.

Oh this one’s bad. I can feel it in my gut. He huffs, unhinged, and moans when another gush of slick pushes past his hole and traces warm down his inner thigh, soaking through the fabric. Guess that pair of pants is done for. Robby thinks dejectedly, pops an oxycodone and begins to drag himself and his supplies to the bedroom, one hand trailing the wall the whole way.

He yanks the wardrobe open and dumps clothes onto the bed in handfuls, swaying as everything around him begins to swirl and blur into a kaleidoscope of colors and lights under the rising heat. He blinks and the room tilts, and he is on all fours, half stripped and tangled in fabric, a pitiful whimper leaking into the empty room that presses in around him.

The air smells wrong, where is Alpha—

The whine that escapes him next is small and wretched and he hates it. Robby fumbles for the dildo, reaches behind and shoves it into the slick-wet hole. The toy goes in with a squelch and he shudders hard at the cold rubber pressed against his walls, stomach almost turning on itself again.

Wrong.

He grits his teeth and shakily turns the thing on.

The vibration hits like a fist, shock waves wracking through his abdomen, indifferent and inexorable. Robby screams then chokes on spit when the base of the toy starts swelling and catching on his rim and his heart beats faster, rabbitlike, throwing itself against his ribs—

painhurttoomuchstopstoppleasestopJACK—

He thrashes uselessly and squeezes the remote until it stops dead inside him then collapses, breath coming in ragged pulls. There is sticky coldness on his stomach and he doesn’t remember coming, doesn’t remember the peak in the throes of mind-numbing pain. All that’s left is a burning ache deep in his channel and an unsatisfying dissonance. And his body doesn’t care, just keeps sending the signals into silence and makes him spasm and clench around a fucking lifeless toy.

He smears a hand under his eye. The fingertips come away wet.

Robby chokes down another sob, drags the toy out with a flinch, downs another pill, and curls into a ball in the sad excuse of a nest he built, praying for darkness to take him.

Jack slings the backpack over his shoulder and strolls out of PTMC. It’s still early but the city is already stirring, the air holding onto the night’s coolness before the heat settles in and makes itself at home.

He squints into the low golden light, long shadows stretching across the pavement, and unlocks his phone. Robby would be on his way by now, hard to defeat the body’s clock after all these years. If he could, he’d go see him off properly this time. Even a glimpse would do, just to know the man left well.

…The marker hasn’t moved.

Jack frowns. The screen blinks dark and vibrates. He exhales when he sees the caller ID.

“Thought you’d already left for the open road.” Jack smiles and starts walking in the direction that leads to Robby’s house.

“…Jack…”

He stops cold. “Robby?”

The other end goes quiet, only small, weak sounds of breathing come through.

“You safe? Talk to me, brother—”

The breathing grows into heavy panting in his ear. Then, through the thin current:

“…Alpha—”

High-pitched. Distressed. An omega call.

Jack runs.

“…Michael, stay on the line, stay with me.” He reaches the intersection and walks straight into traffic, flagging down the next cab. The driver winds down the window to shout but Jack is already in, door banging shut. “Emergency.” He gives the address then murmurs into the phone. “Anything, come on, just anything…”

Faint rustling. A whimper. Jack takes a breath and lowers his voice.

“Can you use your words for me, Omega?”

“…Yeah, yes…”

The creature speaking is hardly Robby anymore. Jack’s breath catches, which draws another confused whimper from the other end.

“No, it’s not you. You’re doing great, so good for me.” He coos, and a soft trill answers. Jack shivers, feels his body responding and pinches his thigh hard.

“You have water? Food? You’re safe?”

A hum and a “yes”, and Jack allows himself to breath. “Thank you. Can you hold on just a bit longer? Just ten minutes and then I’ll be with you. Can you do that for me?”

“…Yes, Alpha. I’ll be good.” A shift, then a syrupy moan reaches his ear. “…be quick, please?”

Jack nods, remembers Robby can’t see him and whispers a hoarse “promise” into the speaker, and is rewarded by another sound he really shouldn’t be listening to in a cab.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

He gets to Robby’s house under ten by impersonating an immovable dark cloud in the backseat and tipping generously. Jack barely spares a glance at Robby’s Triumph toppled on the lawn before punching in the code and throwing the front door open.

The scent of omega deep in heat hits him like a wall, the doorframe gives an ominous creak under his grip. Thick sweetness cloys the back of his throat, dense and dark like honey left on heat too long, tipping toward bitter at the edges. Jack greedily drinks it in anyway, saliva gathering in his mouth. He squeezes his eyes shut, centers himself, closes the door. Then forwards—scanning windows and corners as he follows the scent.

Must make sure this is a safe space for mate—no. Not going there.

Satisfied with recon (mate did well finding a befitting nest—for fuck’s sake stop), Jack eases the bedroom door open and rumbles low at the mixed smell of semen, honeyed slick and tears.

“…Michael?”

A tiny mewl greets him from under a lump on the bed. Jack rips off his patch and cautiously approaches. The lump stirs and a head peeks out from under the pile of clothes.

“Alpha—” Omega trills, beaming at the sight of him, a color high in his cheeks, his hair damp and clinging to the forehead. Those sharp expressive eyes Jack loved searching for across the bay are now half-lidded and glassy, amber-brown blown wide and fever-bright, fixated on him.

And the smell, God.

Jack goes very still and swallows hard against the urge to cross the room and press his mouth to every inch of Robby and devour—the honey bitter-sweet and ripe, and Omega would only smell sweeter after, happy and sated and thinking of nothing but Jack—

Arousal hits like a train. His scent floods the room and consumes everything within. Robby shakes, lets out a quiet moan and drops his head—“Alpha, please—”—and the smell of fresh slick and naked want reaches out like vines, coating Jack’s tongue.

He growls and closes in. Robby grabs him, drags him into the nest, yanks Jack’s shirt off and immediately presses his nose into the fabric, mewling. Jack’s eyes flash and he bares his teeth. Robby lets go immediately, eyes going wide, a whimper escaping.

“You don’t need that thing when you have me.” Jack takes the shirt away but leaves it close where Omega can see, and dives down to claim his mouth. Robby opens up eagerly, hot tongue chasing his, small needy sounds breaking against Jack’s ear. Jack trails a hand down the damp neck, over the nipples hardened to pebbles and Robby arches with little ahs, down the soft give of his abdomen and lingers—the flesh tenses briefly under his fingers, then yields—down to the length weeping at the tip and he thumbs along it. Omega cries and bucks up, more clear fluid beading at the crown.

“Please, Alpha, I’m—I need—”

“I got you, sweetheart, I got you…” Jack shushes, finger dipping lower, finding the hot, twitching ring and pushing two in deep.

A warm gush of slick extrudes and drapes over his digits. Robby moans, trembling, arms hooking around Jack’s neck and pulls.

“So wet, Omega. So perfect for me…” Alpha purrs, lush velvet, and Robby spills more soundless cries as his insides twist and desperately try to suck the fingers deeper.

“Not enough, not..nnh…Alpha…Jack—”

“Fuck. Michael—” The words catch and Jack kicks off his pants—the prosthetic can fucking wait—lines their bodies together and sinks in.

They both groan and shudder, Jack brackets Robby in, panting heavily. The wet heat of his body engulfs Jack and draws him impossibly deeper—Omega cries an elated sound when the length finally sheathes all the way in. Jack nuzzles the side of his neck, licks the scent gland, and starts rocking.

“Yes, yes…haah…Alpha….” Robby babbles, ankles crossed at the small of Jack’s back and pressing down, voice climbing nearly an octave higher than his usual baritone when Jack grinds down on his sweet spot. “I—just take me, aah—” He tilts his head to the side and bares his neck, arching off the bed. Inviting. Jack feels the second canal opening up to him inside Robby, warm and yielding, clinging to the crown of his cock pulsing lazily and reluctant to let go.

“Please…claim me, Alpha…” Robby slurs, the plea half-formed and dissolving into a whine when Jack grunts and withdraws.

“I’m sorry, love.” Sweat tracing down his jaw, Jack presses a kiss to Robby’s cheek. “We can’t yet. But later—if you still want it after we talk, I promise I’ll give it to you—”

“Liar—you, you left—” Robby whines, a sheen of tears gathering at the corner of his eyes, “You would leave me—”

Jack looks down at him, open surprise flitting across. Robby whines louder, shaking his head in desperation, tears sliding sideways and dropping. Jack coos apologetically and gives a few perfect hard thrusts, and Robby keens, ecstatic, the knot swelling and pressing down on his prostate through the thin walls. He curls and trembles, too exhausted for anything else, mewling as Jack finishes inside, biting gently down on his nape—not enough to break skin, just enough for iron and honey to tangle together in the air.

“Come back to me, Michael.” His Alpha murmurs.

And the shaking settles, each tremor smaller than the last.

Robby blinks, draws in a breath and stares at a flushed, intense-looking Jack Abbot above him.

“Oh my god.” He muffles an embarrassing sound into his palm.

“Hello to you too, gorgeous.” Jack pulls out carefully, Robby shudders, body almost squeezing down.

Forget Alberta, just kill me now—

“How do you feel? Feeling like jumping me again?”

Robby refuses to look at him and wets his lips. “Like a fish out of water with scales peeling.”

Jack chuffs, grabs a BodyArmor and twists the cap loose before handing it over. Robby glares. Jack goes sheepish. He takes a couple gulps and passes it back, watches Jack drink, shakes his head when Jack offers protein bars. Jack shrugs and takes a bite, munching.

“I won’t leave you, you know. And I don’t remember leaving—you wanna tell me what that was about?”

“No.”

“Suit yourself.” Jack leans back. “I got time. I’ll just wait for my sweet omega then. He’s far better at telling me what he actually wants than you.”

Robby sneers. “He’s also a slut and can’t be trusted.”

“Hey! Show some respect to my mate wouldya?”

They both freeze. Jack scrubs a hand down his face. “See what I mean? I can’t leave, not after this, I—”

“You can.” Robby stares at the black shirt tucked under his clothes. “We’re not mated. And I’m grateful that you…didn’t.” His throat moves. “The worst is over. The rest I can handle on my own. I may still need your shirt, but there should be clean ones in the closet. Take one and you’re free to go.”

He feels Jack’s fury in his scent before he hears it, and he fights not to shrink into himself under Jack’s disbelieving look.

“I’m not a fucking toy, Robinavitch.” He seethes. Robby flinches. “You called me. You know you called me. Why are you denying it—”

“—Oh yeah? That explains a lot, doesn’t it? Why you avoided me like the plague after last time for weeks? And you wouldn’t even—” He stumbles over the words, tasting salt. Fucking hormones. “You didn’t even touch me at the end. So go. You’ll thank me when you’re thinking straight again. And I’m sorry that you had to do…this. It won’t happen again.” He waves at the mess, exhausted.

He can feel Jack processing and closes his eyes.

“It’s not that I didn’t want you.” Jack says after a moment, voice steady, but only just. “There was nothing I wanted more. But you were hurting. You responded to me today—last time I caused you pain. I don’t know why but I know it was wrong and I shouldn’t have stayed near—”

“You didn't hurt me.” Robby doesn’t look up, but the ghost of a smile curves his lips. “You couldn’t if you tried. I was mourning. I…shut down. It wasn’t usually like that. There was nothing you could do…and you did it anyway. Grounded me. I wish…” His smile grows wider but it’s resigned, and Jack’s heart clenches tight. Something is wrong.

“I wish we have more time.”

“What do you mean? We have all the time in the world, we can bond, have pups if you want—” Robby chokes on a watery laugh and Jack is desperate, watching it slip through his fingers like quicksand—“I want this, and I know you want this, we missed out last time but we still have a chance, and if you’re not ready now I’ll help you through the heat and wait—for you to come back from Alberta—and I’ll wait for as long as it takes—”

Robby snorts, bites his lip, turning his head away.

Just like that, Jack is plunged into cold water.

“You aren’t planning on coming back.”

Robby’s jaw ticks.

Why isn’t he denying it—just fucking deny it—

“I can’t do this to you.” Robby nods toward the black band still sitting on Jack’s ring finger like that explains everything. “Can’t take you down with me. Statistically speaking, alphas have a worse survival rate after a broken bond than omegas. And the chances of surviving a second break—well, you don’t need me to tell you the numbers—”

“Enough.” Jack snarls.

He seizes Robby by the nape and shoves him face first into the nest. Robby yelps and struggles, bucking up—one rough hand snaps around his wrists and pins them above his head, a knee forces between his legs exposing the slightly swollen, dripping hole and Jack is bearing down with full body weight, the blunt head of his cock splitting him open—

Robby gasps and cries out as the hard length stretches him wide and merciless, finds his second entrance with fresh slick smoothing the way and drives the tip in without hesitation. And his body and primal mind sing in unison—yes yes please thank you Alpha—but he holds out, because he’s broken and drowning and Jack will follow and he can’t lose Jack too—

He knows it’s a losing battle when he hears himself moaning, unabashed and wanton, treacly honey seeping from every pore, sliding over cold iron and shrouding it like heavy curtain, his insides quivering and clenching, pulling Jack closer and swallowing him deeper and refusing to let him go. Robby sobs and buries his face into the nest and rasps out a broken “no”.

“No?” Jack stops, voice scraped raw. “You don’t want your mate, Michael? You don’t want me?”

He whimpers, shaking, biting his lip hard enough to taste blood.

“Then I’ll never touch you again. Hell, you won’t even have to see me, I’ll just put in a transfer to Wyoming—I’m sure they’ll welcome me with open arms, problem solved. Sound good?”

A pathetic keen escapes and Robby writhes feebly.

Nononodon’tleavenotagainpleasei’msorry—

“And if you decide to check out someday, I won’t be at the funeral.” Jack carries on, toneless. “I’ll probably follow you eventually—or not. You’ll never know, will you? Since you’d already be gone.”

Tears blur his vision. Robby shatters.

“No—please, Jack, please don’t leave—I can’t, I can’t do this, I—nngh—don’t leave me, make me yours, claim me—” He cries, hips pushing back, pleading with his body.

Jack purrs, releases his wrists, canines sinking into his neck as the knot wedges fully into the canal, filling him with his seed. Robby screams and spasms, ruining the nest when his body gives everything at once—spilling and spurting and gushing, drenching all of it—and would have collapsed into the mess if a hand hadn’t caught him and moved him to a cleaner patch. Dazed and losing time, he makes a nervous clicking sound and wraps his limbs around Alpha as best as he could—can’t let him leave—

“Not leaving you, Omega. Rest.”

He hears a reassuring coo, chirps softly in return, and blacks out.

“Michael…love…”

Robby swats at the hand touching his cheek and grumbles five more minutes and gets an amused chuff. He squints one eye open and groans at the sunlight and solid warmth pressed against him.

“Why are you,” he has to clear his throat to make the words marginally intelligible, “why are you still functioning?”

“Surprised myself.” Jack says, smug. “Who knows a man can keep going that many rounds at my age. Turns out you just need the right partner. You could probably manage it too, you know—if you’d called me sooner rather than working yourself to dehydration the night before.”

“Shut up.”

“How much do you remember?” Jack swipes his tongue over the half-healed mating gland and nips, and Robby shudders. “You seemed pretty out of it toward the end. Just kept calling my name and begging for my knot so prettily—”

“Lucky for you they have no good hospitals in Wyoming.” Robby sasses, face burning. “If you’d said Maryland I’m gonna fucking reconsider.”

“Good thing I did my research then. And I’m lucky, very lucky.” Jack nuzzles at him. “You still thinking of the scenery and cliffs of Alberta?”

Robby pauses, then takes pity when Jack begins to tense. “Just the scenery.”

“Good. Because if you jump—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence—”

“—I jump.”

“Jesus.” He grouses. “Is this what I have to tolerate every day now?” He fumbles toward the nightstand for his phone and stops when his fingers find a pack of white pills.

Robby hesitates. Then he tips them into the drawer, dodging Jack’s heated gaze. “You need to get ready for your shift.”

“I can stay for a few more hours to make dinner.” Jack says. “I’ll bring clothes to change. That okay with you?”

“Yeah. I’ll clear out a drawer.”

“Then it’s settled.” Jack kisses him and gets up. Robby watches him go, catches sight of the black band dangling on its chain in front of Jack’s chest and exhales.

It’s settled.

Coming into the ED when the blockers still can’t quite hide the entwined scents of a newly mated pair is—not mortifying exactly. Exposing. Most of his staff tease him relentlessly and he takes it with only a small amount of annoyance and a very flushed face—it would take a lot more than a few pointed innuendos to disrupt the good mood of a man still technically on sabbatical—but Al-Hashimi’s quiet, vindicated smirk does make his hair stand on end.

“I’d like to thank you,” she says, ambling closer, “for making my first week considerably more profitable.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Of course not.” She smiles. “Congratulations, by the way.”

Robby walks away with full dignity intact, then immediately finds Jack.

“Can we go home now?”

“Someone better be marking this down.” Jack eyes him. “Not so fast. I have a date with Gloria—need to hand these in.” He waves a folder and tilts his head. “Accompany me? I could use the backup.”

“Gloria in the morning, nothing good.” Robby narrows his eyes. “This got nothing to do with my sabbatical, right? Because I’m still going once I can get on the bike.”

“Nope, no, nothing like that.”

Jack pats his back with the folder and steers Robby toward the elevator. “You’ll see.”

It has everything to do with his sabbatical.

Robby gapes, speechless, as Jack goes down on his right knee in the corridor outside Gloria’s office—produces a velvet box, opens it, and asks with complete solemnity:

“Michael Robinavitch, will you do me the honor of marrying me?”

Robby is fairly certain he, Gloria, and every nosy passerby are all wearing the same stunned face.

“Wh—what’s that for?”

“My PTO and personal leave. Our honeymoon, love, remember?” Jack says sweetly, straight-faced, then grimaces. “Just say yes, Robby. My leg’s killing me here.”

“Fine—yes, yes!” Robby throws his hands up. “Unfuckingbelievable.”

“Language, Robinavitch!” Gloria reprimands. “And consider your leave approved, Dr. Abbot. But don’t you dare pull this—” her face contorts, “—in front of me again. This is a hospital, not a circus.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Jack salutes and drags a fuming Robby away, feeling Gloria’s stare boring a hole through his back the entire length of the corridor.

“Do I get a say in our honeymoon destination? I hate the cold.”

“You need a bike first.” Robby grumbles, still scowling at the stunt but doesn’t shake off Jack’s hand.

“I have one. A Triumph Tiger.”

“All terrain, good for long haul. Fitting for an adventurer.” Robby nods, secretly pleased despite himself, then looks at him, suspicious. “I didn’t know you had one.”

“Got it yesterday.” Jack says, innocent. “Your buddy Duke kindly pointed me the way.”

“And exactly how long have you and Duke been in cahoots?”

Jack doesn’t take the bait. “So I’m thinking—the Parkway.” He walks backwards, catching Robby’s eye. “You know, warm days, cool evenings this time of the year, and considerably fewer cliffs—”

Robby hides a smile. “Okay, I can do the Parkway.”