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The first sign that something was wrong was the silence.
For someone who treated privacy like a personal insult, Columbina had been suspiciously absent all morning. Sandrone noticed it only because several of her things had vanished from her laboratory.
A half-finished blueprint disappeared from her desk. One of her velvet coats vanished from the wardrobe. Then a pillow. Then another pillow. Then, somehow, an entire blanket that Sandrone distinctly remembered locking away after the last incident.
By noon, irritation outweighed curiosity. So, granted, she followed the trail.
Not a literal trail—Columbina was many things, but rarely careless—but after years of acquaintance, Sandrone had developed an unfortunate talent for locating stolen property. All she had to do was close her eyes and concentrate, and a whiff of Columbina's sweet, enticing smell—the cold smell of rain and ink, painted the path to her. The Harbinger's outright, stubborn refusal to wear scent patches indoors was going to cause her some trouble one of these days, for sure.
Sandrone stopped outside Columbina's chambers.
The scent was stronger here, sweet and dizzying, saturated with the unmistakable signs of an omega blasting her smell through the hallways, asking for an absolutely lax, irresponsible deathwish.
She'll have a word with The Tsaritsa about this, and oh, she will. About Her Majesty and her habit of recruiting knuckleheaded fools for her Holy cause. At least, Tartaglia, that young Omega boy—understands the issues that his secondary gender poses, and manages to keep his scent under wraps. In an organisation like the Fatui, there is no telling who could do what. People grasp at any weakness that dares to show face; humans and their biology seem to be the easiest ones to exploit. Pulcinella had raised that boy well, but the same couldn't be said for the other Omega Harbingers in their ranks. Only Archon knows where their esteemed Majesty had plucked that fool from. Letting her scent out for every Fatuu to sniff; had she no shame? Or rather, had she no fear?
A muffled rustling came from behind the door.
Then another. Then what sounded suspiciously like a book being dragged across a carpet.
Sandrone swears to the Archons, one day, Columbina was going to get it.
"Columbina!" She yelled, knocking her knuckles on the door harshly. "Did you go snooping around in my workshop again?"
The shuffling stopped. No response was heard from the other side of the door. Even if Her Majesty herself holds Sandrone back, Columbina was going to have it today.
Sandrone opened the door.
The room had disappeared. Or rather, it had been consumed.
A mountain of blankets, clothing, cushions, stuffed toys, books, curtains, and various stolen belongings occupied nearly every inch of available space. And in the centre of it all, a pristine feathered wing stretched. There she was. Hidden inside the fortress. When she turned, only the top of her head was visible.
Slowly, a pair of pearl-like eyes peeked out from between layers of fabric.
For several seconds, neither spoke. Until Sandrone's eyes latched onto her missing blueprint, folded neatly into the nest. Right beside her missing coat. And one of her favourite pillows.
"Columbina."
The omega blinked.
"Mm?"
"What," Sandrone asked with dangerous calm, "is my entire laboratory doing inside your bedroom?"
Columbina glanced around. She paused and blinked. As if she were genuinely considering the question. As if she had no idea how all of this stuff, most of which Sandrone had been searching for weeks, ended up here in the first place.
"It was lonely." The Damselette replied.
Sandrone stared.
"The blueprint was lonely?"
"It looked lonely." The pillow shifted, prompting a mechanical component to roll out of the nest. Sandrone recognised it immediately as a part she'd spent three weeks designing.
Columbina's gaze followed hers. She swiftly pulled the component back into the pile.
The message? Clear. Mine.
The possessive instinct was obvious enough that Sandrone nearly laughed. Nearly, mind you.
"You stole half my belongings!"
"I borrowed them."
"No, you stole them!"
"They wanted to be here."
"What the fuck does that even mean?!"
The omega sank deeper into the nest until only her eyes remained visible. Suddenly, Sandrone's train of thought rolled to a stop. She rewinded her previous thought.
Columbina sank deeper into her nest. Nest. As in…
"Ah," She said, her shoulders drooping. Sandrone had always considered herself a mechanical genius, so what took her so long to realise this? She glanced around at the half-hapazardly built nest, almost all of them her own, and then at her colleague, who's half -lidded glaze seemed to track her every move.
Heat had softened her usual teasing demeanour into something oddly sincere. Or perhaps delirious.
Likely both.
"You should've…darn it. Lock the door, would you? I could smell, no…I-I mean," Gosh. How does one phrase it in the most polite way? Was there even a way? How does Sandrone tell her that her scent was…
The tips of Sandrone's ears went pink. She couldn't possibly tell an Omega in heat that her scent was so enticing that it was affecting her as well. Lesser Alphas have a hard time controlling their instincts, dangle an Omega in front of them, and they turn into rabid dogs being taunted with a bone. Sandrone was nothing like that. She had grown out of that phase. Omegas no longer had her drooling with her tongue out.
"Do you…" No, scratch that. She won't say it. "Can I…Do you want me to let the Director know? That you'll be missing out on the banquet tonight?"
Columbina, the nerve of her, just rolled and faced her back to her.
"Return the blueprint. We have boxes of nesting material for unmated Omegas just lying about. Childe uses—"
"No." The mountain of objects replied meekingly.
"You are aware," Sandrone said, "that most Omegas do not construct nests out of engineering documents?"
A pause.
"...No." Hah, predictable.
Sandrone stepped closer. Immediately, Columbina straightened. The nest rustled.
Protective instincts flared so strongly across her expression that Sandrone almost felt offended. A large wing stretched above her head, fluttering down to cocoon all of Sandrone's research papers within a small radius around her.
"They're comfortable," Columbina said, nuzzling into the soft expanse of her nest, making the papers crinkle. Another mechanical part came rolling down, followed by a box of bolts and nuts that was placed atop her fortress. Columbina peeks out of her wing cocoon sadly; her nest was deconstructing by itself. No Alpha would want to rest here. Especially not that one.
"They're paper. And cogs. With spiky edges!"
"They smell like you."
The words emerged so casually that Columbina herself seemed surprised by them. Her room was bathed in silence. For the first time, genuine embarrassment flickered across the Omega's face. Her wings twitched, slowly and awkwardly.
Then she buried herself deeper beneath the blankets.
Sandrone stared.
The Damselette, feared Harbinger and perpetual menace, had effectively hidden herself under a pile of stolen laundry. Unprompted, an undignified sound escaped Sandrone's throat.
Surprisingly for Columbina, it was a laugh.
From somewhere inside the nest came an offended squeak.
"Do not laugh at me." The poor, poor Omega whines. Here she was, spending weeks foraging for things to build her nest with, all that hard work that went into placing everything with peak precision, and this is what her Alpha responds with. A laugh. Her Alpha was mocking this joke of a nest. The Omega whines some more, lamentably, utterly heartbroken.
Wiping a tear from the crinkle of her eyes, Sandrone looked over the impossible mound of stolen possessions.
At the books.
The pillows.
The blankets.
The blueprints.
The coat.
The alarming number of things that apparently smelled like an Alpha enough to be considered suitable nesting material. It was clear, there was absolutely no chance she was getting any of it back today.
Columbina sniffles from her nest, hiding her face underneath Sandrone's coat.
"Look at you." She said between laughs, watching the rise and fall of breath in the middle of the dignified mess the Omega had made. A truly pathetic sight, if she had to say so for herself, Sandrone had thought she'd be dead before she ever saw Columbina cry. Omegas cried during their heat if they felt rejected, or so she had heard. "What a mess, huh?"
When Sandrone edged towards the Omega's nest, Columbina stiffened. She seemed to be holding back her sobs, pushing her nose further down Sandrone's blueprint designs.
Between the array of randomly strewn objects put precariously atop each other, Sandrone shuffled into the nest carefully, cautious enough not to topple the whole nest over. Columbina stayed put, almost stubbornly, refusing to meet her gaze or heck, even look at her.
"Hey, Columbina."
"No."
"You are one hell of a brat, you know that?"
Columbina grumbled something incoherent, the pristine fold of wings amongst her dark hair flattened against her head. Sandrone struggled to say something; it wasn't every day that the Marionette found herself lost for words around the Omega, simply because wherever Columbina was present, Sandrone always found a litany of curses slipping off her tongue like butter on a knife's edge.
Still, she had to say something at least. She couldn't just plop down on an Omega's nest and stay absolutely mum, now could she?
Sandrone opened her mouth, then closed it, only to clear her throat and try again.
"Columbina, do you remember the last time I went into a rut, and you lent me your room to rest in because it smelled like you?"
Under the canopy of blankets, Columbina's wings twitched in curiosity.
"I am very grateful you did that. And I hate being in debt, so…" She could feel the tips of her ears warming, teeth grinding in an effort to stop Sandrone from saying her next words, because she would very much embarrass herself if the other were to reject her now. "I-I was thinking that I'd like to pay back the favour, so instead of swiping away my project designs for your nest, you could—you know…"
The sheets rustled, and Sandrone was met with her colleague's wide-eyed stare.
If any power on Teyvat could grant her an excuse to take those words back, Sandrone would seize that opportunity in seconds. Why did she say that?
Columbina had no mate as far as she knew, but that doesn't mean the Omega would be ready to spend her heat with just any Alpha. What made her think this was a good idea? And it's not like Sandrone could just say, 'Oh, I did this completely out of the goodness of my heart,', Sandrone wasn't at all, and yes, Service Alphas did exist, but Sandrone was nothing of that sort, and if Columbina wanted a Service Alpha during her heat, she would've just hired one, or the Tsaritsa would've just provided her with one since Her Benevolence is kind to all Omegas under her wing—
Columbina sat up; the blankets that she donned pooled around her slouched form. "You want to…spend my heat with me?" The question was posed with evident surprise; even Columbina couldn't have ever imagined Sandrone doing this.
The Marionette's hands fisted the sheets below her before she mumbled, "Yes. But t-this doesn't mean anything! I'm just saying, instead of having my things in your nest and disrupting my research, it would be easier if you just had me—"
If Sandrone had more time to think about what she said, she'd have concluded that that definitely sounded like flirting, the bad kind of flirting, that is. But she had no time to process before Columbina flung herself on her, making them both crash down in the heart of the nest.
Sandrone felt something that resembled a screw bite into the side of her arm, now that she was on her back and the Omega above her was all but smoothering her face on the other's chest.
"Thank you," she said, albeit it sounded muffled. Columbina nuzzled her face against her, squishing her cheek on her collarbone. "My nest will smell a lot better now that you're here, Sandrone."
"What the hell do you mean? Who said anything about your nest—?"
Columbina closed her eyes and sighed deeply into her neck, her warm breath flowing over her scent glands. "My nest was nothing like home. As you said, it was such a mess." Well, she wasn't wrong, but was it such a big deal, really? "Now that you're here, it'll look much better. And I can finally go to sleep."
Oh.
Oh. Oh, Archons, if a lightning blade were to strike down and kill Sandrone right now, she wouldn't complain at all. Here she was, thinking about something entirely different in opposed to Columbina, who just wanted to go to sleep. And was rightfully offended at her nest being insulted, she'll give her that.
"Wait, so, are you using me as some kind of prop for your nesting place?"
"Yes," The Damselette replies, as if there was nothing wrong with that. "You can sit over there, Sandrone. This way, you can be right next to that big metal thingy I took from your room a month back. And I can sleep right here."
"No, you're not sleeping on me, do you take me as an idiot?"
Columbina hums into her chest one last time before she raises her head. "Maybe I should sleep on your lap, then. So I can still smell you properly."
Well, whatever Columbina wants, she gets. There was no way Sandrone could stop the Omega from plopping down her head on her lap. She fists her hands into the sheets once again before she resigns to her fate and finally relents. "Fine. But only for this evening. Don't make this a habit. And it's wrong to let Alphas into your room when you're in heat, you understand me?"
"Hmm. I didn't know Sandrone was an Alpha."
"What do you mean by that?!"
"Sandrone doesn't act like an Alpha at all, so I didn't know. But that's okay, you're still Sandrone at the end of the day. I trust you."