Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Henry sat hunched at the table in the dimly lit room and pressed the palms of his aching hands to its cold marble surface. He looked up at the two older men standing across from his seat, watching him with sharp eyes, and he straightened his posture. It felt like an interrogation; it felt like his hands should be chained immobile to the table. Instead he sat freely, well-fed for the first time in too many weeks and dressed in loose, casual clothing without holes. He pulled his hands down into his lap and sucked in a breath as his skin brushed against the fabric of his pants.

“That pain won’t linger long,” Radzig promised, and he sounded truly sympathetic. “You’ll hardly remember it’s been installed once it heals.” 

Henry doubted that. He flipped his hands over again to look at the silver running thin like spiderwebbed ivy from the pad of his thumb down towards his wrist where it branched out around his indistinct wrist scent gland and faded deeper into his skin. They had only done his thumbs, but both Radzig and Hanush bore embedded circuitry across every finger and both palms. It matched their necks, too, expensive technology linking itself to their spinal cords by way of glittering metal patterned across the nape of their necks.

Pair of rich cunts.

And so was Henry now, somewhere past the legalese and limitations they’d bound around his neck. The credits he had access to now were life-changing in a way he had yet to fully accept. He was still working on comprehending the circumstances that had gotten him here. When he thought too hard about it, guilt seeped like bile in the back of his throat. It woke him at night with a pulse like thunder in his chest kept him from falling back asleep.

Guilt and sorrow and below it all, a thick, simmering anger.

Henry knew it would consume him if he let it; had already seen what anger and resentment and rage could do when left unchecked to boil in the hearts of men who had nothing else to lean on. It had changed his scent already; Henry knew it had, even when he had nobody left to confirm it for him. He had survived despite himself and it was changing him.

Nausea twisted his stomach and Henry forced himself back into the present.

Hanush leaned forward and rapped his large hand against the table. “Are you well? Are you paying attention?”

“I am,” Henry lied. He swallowed and pulled his hands from his lap to settle them once more against the table. “I read the briefing on the way here.”

One simple contract that he’d already signed days ago, hands shaking for reasons other than installation pain: housing, safety, payment- ongoing provisions in exchange for his service with no proposed end date.

“Good lad,” Radzig said. He smiled at Henry. “We don’t really expect any trouble for you, right, Hanush?”

Hanush waved him off with a casual laugh that felt only half as warm as Radzig’s genuine smile. “Of course not. It ain’t as if he’s a real target for anybody. He just needs somebody to…” He hummed for a moment, waving a hand as he came up with the correct words. “He might require somebody to prevent him from becoming a target, if you get my meaning.”

The job description was thus: act as full-time personal guard and security liaison for one Hans Capon, legal nephew to the current acting-President of Intent Rattay Industries and future inheritor of a large trust that included the majority of the company’s shares. His father had founded Intent Rattay years ago with the invention of the Intention Technology, the very same hardware that had been wired into Henry’s hands that morning. After a brief series of ethical litigation, the technology had been integrated into nearly every industry possible; communications, gaming, research, transportation and more recently the medical. Shortly before he died, Capon Sr had arranged the partnership with ScentTech and profits had exploded.

There were a lot of complicated technicalities to it all that Henry would never attempt to understand. The important bit was that Hans was on track to be one of the richest men alive and Henry was, for whatever reason, suddenly responsible for him.

It would be fine. Hanush was smiling at him like he knew Henry was exactly the right man for the job, experience be damned. It was somewhat encouraging in a way that also made the hair across the back of Henry’s neck prickle ominously.

Radzig clapped his hands together decidedly and turned to open the office door. “Let’s get you properly equipped- unless you’ve changed your mind about the additional neck implant?” he asked once again.

Henry shook his head and pushed himself to his feet. “No, sir. I think I need to get used to this bit first.” He flexed his fingers and felt the pull of healing skin. It had been mandatory and Henry was loath to give up any more of his own choice yet.

“Are you sure?” Hanush followed him out, shutting off the lights in the office with a careless wave of his hand. “They’ve just released a new wave of Scents; big hit with all the young folk, I hear.”

“Don’t push the lad, Hanush. Some people really enjoy the natural thing,” Radzig said.

“The natural thing doesn’t put money into anybody’s pockets,” Hanush answered with a light-hearted laugh.

“Yours specifically, you mean?”

“Aye, mine exactly!”

Henry only distantly followed their conversation as he trailed them through the building and into an elevator. He watched the numbers on the panel drop swiftly from 94 and felt a visceral lurch of his stomach with the speed of the descent. Never had he been so high up, having only seen these glittering skyscrapers from a low distance. It was a little bit unnerving how easy it was for one to forget they were a thousand meters in the air; there had even been another fifty floors above that office. 

The elevator slowed as it passed the lobby and continued lower before settling with a mechanical noise two levels below ground floor. The door required a passkey here and only slid open once Radzig had pressed his fingers against an inconspicuous panel above the ordinary buttons.

“We will make sure you have everything you need for this job,” Radzig said, ushering him forward as the lights flickered on above them. The room was thin and consisted mostly of rows of small unlabeled lockers. Radzig stopped at one and brushed his hand over it. The lock clicked and popped itself open and he dug though an assortment of items before pulling out a small box.

He reached out for Henry’s hand and gripped his wrist carefully, kindly mindful of the healing skin. This close, as he pulled an item from the box and wrapped it around Henry’s forearm, Henry caught a faint whiff of the older Alpha’s scent; clear and calm and somewhat strangely familiar. He wondered if it was real or a manufactured scent impression.

“Your main tablet,” Radzig said, pulling a zipper tight before turning Henry’s arm and showing him the compact device attached over his forearm. It looked like a simple phone, but Radzig showed him how to flip it open and double the screen size. It lit up as Henry touched it, immediately showing an intricate series of apps. “Phone, web, credit access, security cameras; everything you need and tied only to your Intent.” It would only work for his hands, then.

“Would be even more useful if you would install-”

“On his own time, Hanush,” Radzig cut him off. To Henry, he continued. “You have direct line access to the private security team as well as our contracted medic squad. We’ve also preprogrammed a series of relevant contacts for you.”

“Alright,” Henry said, prodding at various icons and generally a little bit overwhelmed by the new device. He looked up from the screen just in time to watch Radzig pull another heavier case from the locker and his eyes widened.

“Your weapon- what’s that look? Obviously you’ll need to be armed, or whatever would be the point?”

“Right, of course,” Henry managed, schooling his expression and folding the tablet shut. It wasn’t as heavy on his arm as he had expected. Radzig clicked open the case and Henry took the offered weapon; a ballistic handgun, unlabeled and light in his hands. As his fingers squeezed around the grip, a dim light faintly glowed along the safety. 

“Again, keyed just to your Intent. Nobody else will be able to use it and it won’t go off accidentally. Here.”

Henry took the offered item, a thick waist holster that buckled around him tightly, higher up on his stomach than he was used to and designed to make him appear unarmed. He tucked the weapon in and pulled down his shirt, the ice of cold metal against his skin furthering his growing unease.

Hanush leaned into his space. “You do know how to use that, right, boy?” he asked.

“Of course, sir,” Henry answered, sidling away from Hanush’s large presence. 

“I told you he was capable,” Radzig said, voice low with exasperation.

Capable, Henry thought, bending his left arm as he tried to get used to the new weight of the tablet cuff. He could intuit the words Radzig wasn’t saying: capable, possibly, but also expendable, desperate and without any other option. Sometimes Henry caught that look from him out of the corner of his eye, reflected in shining glass windows- a soft look that read like pity, that made Henry flinch as if he’d been physically hit. 

Violence would have been easier to deal with than the cloying pain of that expression.

“I’ll keep him safe,” Henry said, biting the words on his tongue to make them stick. He didn’t care about any rich playboy, but he yearned for a sense of pride. He would prove Radzig’s trust, earn his honor, show them that he was worthy of their time and money.

He needed desperately to prove to anybody who’d listen that he was worthy of still being alive. To himself most of all.

Maybe Radzig read too much of that in his face, or maybe Henry’s scent was spilling too strongly, because Radzig’s expression grew serious and he set a hand across Henry’s shoulder. It appeared as if he wanted to say something, but he only nodded.

“The car’s waiting,” Hanush said, interrupting them carelessly, and Henry still felt the heat from Radzig’s hand linger as they moved on.

The drive to the high-rise where Capon lived wasn’t long; it would have been a walkable distance from Intent Rattay if the lower roads were safer to traverse. Their car pulled into a garage and parked itself near an elevator entrance and the three of them climbed from the back seat.

“Hans has more vehicles than I care to keep track of,” Hanush said, triggering the call button for them. “But we’ve programmed one you can use yourself if you ever need to go somewhere.”

“You can call up any car with your tablet,” Radzig told him, “and you can also call your bike, which we’ve had repaired for you already.”

“My old bike?” Henry asked, shocked and vaguely disappointed that somebody else’s hands had worked on her. He had thought her completely wrecked though, and overall was immensely relieved to hear they’d thought about even something small like his motorcycle. It couldn’t properly convey enough, but Henry said, “Thank you,” all the same.

“Of course,” Radzig said.

“Now,” Hanush said as the elevator pulled them upwards, “let me do the talking. It’ll go better that way.”

“I’m sure you’ve already told him about this situation,” Radzig said warily.

Hanush held up a hand. “Of course I did! But telling him and telling him are often two different things.”

The lift pulled to a gentle stop and pinged to signal their arrival. Henry followed the two men out into a chrome entrance way walled with thick windows. The city sprawled before them, a geometric maze of metal and glass blocking most of the cloudy sky. Thick orange rays bounced over anti-glare windows as the sun set behind the sea of skyscrapers. Henry looked away before his knees threatened to buckle and caught up to Radzig just as Hanush was pushing the doorbell keys on a set of wide double-doors.

A brief puff of static sounded before a voice rang from invisible speakers. “Deliveries are to be left in the-”

Hanush jammed his fingers over the button again and spoke over the response loudly. “I told you that we’d be here at nine and that you’d better be ready!”

A short silence followed before the speakers answered, “ Ohhhh , Hanush. Was that today? Are you sure? Maybe it should be tomorrow?”

“I’m gonna strangle that fucking -”

“Alright, hold that thought for a moment there,” Radzig said, pushing Hanush’s heavy-handed fist from the buzzer and gently bodying him aside. He pressed the button and said, “Put some pants on and let us in, Hans. We won’t take long and this is, unfortunately for you, inevitable.”

“Fine, fine,” agreed Hans finally. “Just a sec’.”

Radzig turned to smile at them. “Easy as that.”

Right, Henry thought, trying not to let his concerns show across his face. Easy as that. He stepped lightly to the side, one or two feet further from Hanush, who glowered like strangling might still be on the table.

A clunk sound rang from the doors as the lock mechanism disengaged and the doors slid sideways into the wall. Music poured from deeper inside, something fast and heavy and unfamiliar to Henry.  “Finally,” Hanush grumbled, walking through the doorway before it was fully open.

Henry followed dutifully, lingering only for a moment as Radzig paused to trigger the doors to close behind them. The apartment was massive; bigger than any home or garage Henry had ever stayed in. The entranceway opened into a vast double-story room filled with an excess of assorted seating and scattered tables. One large window took up the entirety of the living room’s wall- not just large, Henry thought, tilting his head to take in the view, but absolutely enormous. The view put them above most of the city, perfectly situated to see every shade of red and orange as the sun set slowly over the skyline.

He couldn’t feel the heat of the sun through the window, but with the beat of music loud in his ears and the entire world spread out before him beyond the glass, Henry felt something settle warmly in his chest all the same. This view didn’t inspire fear like the entryway windows; it hit him differently, a memento of everything that lay out there before him, a reminder that the sun would continue to set and to rise no matter what kind of smoke dirtied the air underneath.

The music stopped and Henry blinked, snapping out of his uncharacteristic reverie. He turned, his elbow brushing the weapon still holstered against his side and starkly bringing him back to the immediate present.

Light steps padded the balcony above them and the three men turned to look up as a shirtless blond young man leaned over the railing. “ Dearest Uncle,” he drawled, mouth twisted into a half-cocked smile. “What can I possibly help you with?”

There was little light in the room besides the fading sun, but it was still easy to see the expanse of silver augments that ran over his skin. He had both hands wired to match Hanush and Radzig, and when he tilted his head, cheeks flushed pink from (Henry guessed) plenty of alcohol, Henry caught a glimpse of the circuitry on his neck. It was the typical spinal attachment, but also continued to run halfway down his back as well as twisting like faint decorated filigree around his neck and across the spots his scent glands would be. Henry didn’t even know what the point of so much metal could be and it made his skin itch again where his own little bit had been installed.

“Come down and meet your new bodyguard, Hans,” Hanush insisted, crossing his arms.

Radzig lingered closer to the doorway, leaning against the edge of a round table with a bemused expression. Hans looked at him and smiled wider, and Henry was only a little astonished to see more metal capping the sharper teeth in his mouth. “Hello, second uncle,” Hans said, ignoring Hanush.

“Do you think we could avoid the dog-and-pony show this time, Hans?” Radzig asked lightly. “I’m sure Henry doesn’t care to witness the never-ending Uncle versus Nephew debate.”

Hans sighed dramatically, slouching on his arms over the rail. “Is it so important that your newest show-pony employee has a good experience?”

“HANS,” Hanush rumbled, taking a step towards the stairs.

Hans stepped back and raised his hands. “Okay!” he said, giving in before Hanush actually started to climb. “Okay, I get it.” He moved back to the edge as his Uncle stopped and he leaned forward further to peer down at Henry. “As my new hall monitor, I’m sure you’ll agree I’m much too drunk to risk climbing down the stairs to shake your hand.”

“I could tell,” Henry remarked before he could think better of it.

“ Ooh, could you?” Hans laughed. “Look, Uncle, he’s talented. A perfect fit.” He waved towards a hall near the entrance doors. “Can’t you settle your man for me, Radzig? Show him his new fancy room? It took me hours to convince Augie and Delilah to move out,” he pouted. “Might even be clean in there.”

“Who-”

“Enough, Hanush.” Radzig appeared to be particularly good at dodging arguments before they could start properly. He straightened up from the table and beckoned towards Henry. “It’ll be a big change for you, Henry, I know,” Radzig said more quietly as Henry moved towards him. “I promise he’s not actually so terrible.”

“I’m sure,” Henry agreed, extremely doubtful.

“He and Hanush simply don’t know how to speak to each other yet.” Radzig briefly showed him how to trigger the lock for the door to his personal suite and motioned him in. 

Clearly, Henry didn’t say. Instead, he commented, “It isn’t necessary for us to be friends, anyway. Just to keep track of his security.”

For a moment Radzig frowned, almost a little disappointed, but he shook his head and smiled calmy. “More than true,” he finally agreed.

Once Henry had been shown his new room, Hanush and Radzig bid him goodbye and left him to settle in. Music thudded louder through the walls once they’d left and Henry was happy to ignore the source upstairs for now. He was assigned to a room with a door near the main entrance and a personal bathroom bigger than he was used to. He eyed the shower controls warily before deciding he would figure them out in the morning. They’d filled the closet with an entirely new wardrobe for him and set out fresh toiletries as well, thankfully; Henry had come with nothing and personally owned even less.

Henry pulled off his clothes and found a hamper to throw them into. He pulled on a pair of dark sweats and was glad to see they fit around his waist. The holster was a tricky snap to undo but Henry figured it out and laid it and the gun out on a bedside table. There was a locking case underneath, but he was suddenly too fatigued to worry about figuring that out tonight.

He brushed his teeth slowly, eyeing himself in the mirror. There was stubble on his chin and a burn still healing underneath his ear. He grimaced and spat before finishing in the bathroom and retreating into the giant bed. It was softer than anything he’d had before and he knew he’d have trouble sleeping there for a while, but the loud bass warned him off even trying for now.

Exhaustion lay heavy over his body as he settled into the pillows. He twisted his arm to flip his new phone tablet open, figuring he’d play around with it before bed. It would help to be familiar with the applications. Henry browsed slowly through his contacts, unsurprised by most of them; Hanush, Radzig, emergency services, Hans Capon himself, and- his old contacts were in here too. Matthew, Bianca. His parents. Henry’s fingers hovered over the chat history, apprehension thick on his tongue, before quickly closing the contacts list altogether.

He couldn’t handle that right now. Instead, he pushed the next app in the line: contract.

A detailed profile for Hans filled the screen. Birthday, address, licenses, information about his scholarly achievements. Blood type, sex marker, secondary sex marker: Alpha. Henry scrolled past the description of Hans’ family history to the end of the page and then back up. A bright ID portrait sat at the time of the screen, showing a very slightly younger Hans smiling. He had most of the cyberware still installed and his grin showed more clearly the titanium caps on his set of Alpha fangs.

Henry made a face. He had seen an ad for them once on the side of a skytrain and had convinced himself that it was a service nobody would actually subscribe to. Apparently he was wrong; apparently there was at least one rich boy who felt his natural teeth weren’t sharp enough.

Henry ran his tongue over his own and shook his head, bemused. This contract was going to be more interesting than he had presumed. He’d have taken it anyway- he had no choice anymore.

All he had left was to hope things didn’t turn out too interesting.

Chapter Text

Fire hangs green over the horizon, shining piecemeal through smoke and clouding dust. The metal is hot in his hands, heavy as he pushes, straining. His boots slide through slick oil across the cement floor, and the bike shifts, moves a little bit- but it’s not oil that smears across his arm where Pa grabs, desperate. His ears ring. Somebody is shouting.

“Go,” Pa says and it sounds muffled. “The bunker-”

Another blast lights the night sky and

Henry wakes.

His heart pounded in his chest. It threatened to choke him and he worked to swallow, tongue feeling thick and dry in his mouth. One quick breath, then two, three. He let his hands ball into fists and then worked to slowly stretch his fingers out one at a time, breathing in and out, slow and focused. A dream. Another nightmare, another fragment of mismatched memory that would cling to him like smoke for the rest of the day.

Henry sighed and sat up. He ran one hand through his hair and grimaced as it fell lank through his fingers, damp with sweat. His neck was greasy with oil from his scent glands, real adrenaline reacting to imaginary fear. The smell clouding around him and in his sheets was thick and acrid and wrong . It wasn’t his scent. It was sharper than he was used to, unnaturally sweet and sickly  like a fire lit with kerosene instead of firewood. 

Henry groaned and peeled himself from the expensive sheets to make his way into the bathroom, a little desperate to rid himself of the scent and nightmare both. He had fallen asleep with his phone still attached to his arm and pulled the cuff from his wrist, settling the phone safely on a shelf. The fabric was damp from his wrist gland and he tried his best to clean it with soap under the faucet, rubbing and cursing the oils until he had to admit defeat. Only after he had stripped naked did he notice a dark bottle in the shower labelled specifically for scent removal. Never in his life had he been able to buy soaps meant for different things; they’d been hair, skin, and dishes with the same cheap bottle for years. As silly as it seemed, he found that this soap truly worked to rinse away the scent of fear and he managed to find a moment of peace under the never-ending hot water.

He dressed himself in something dark and casual that he found hung up in the closet, warily rewrapping himself in the gun holster first. Was he required to wear it at all times, even in the penthouse? It felt silly, but it’d feel worse to need it and not have it. The handgun felt heavy at his side; it’d take some getting used to.

His phone showed almost eight in the morning by the time Henry had finished putting himself together. He tapped the screen on for a moment and watched a brief flurry of notifications go by before he pressed the tablet back into the case. First, breakfast. The typical nightmare inspired nausea was fading and he hadn’t eaten since early yesterday afternoon. The apartment was quiet and he felt comfortable that nothing said in a message was so important it couldn’t wait a little while. Clean and dressed, he left his room locked behind him and wandered into the rest of the apartment.

Most of the lights were still off for the night and the room was lit primarily once more by the sun glittering through the two story window. Henry, stomach rumbling faintly, was drawn towards the view. The last colors of sunrise had dissipated not long ago and the sun was starting its repeating climb over the city skyscrapers. Light fog settled low below them and the skytrains zipped back and forth below them, transporting commuters from building to building. There were few roads that climbed high enough to be seen from this height, and-

Henry paused. Last night, he’d watched the sun dip over the horizon from this same window, east to west. It physically could not also be rising from the same angle. Curiously, he walked across the tiled floor and stretched his arm out to touch the window.

It wasn’t a window at all. He pressed his fingers against it and watched as a series of pixels started to strain under the pressure. “A screen,” he muttered, stepping back to take it all in again. “Just one fucking giant screen.”

The room felt smaller after that discovery. Henry shook his head and turned to find the kitchen past the bar.

The kitchen turned out to be just as fake as the window. The island cooktop was pristine, unused. The cupboards were almost entirely bare except for a few scattered dishes and one or two decorative serving plates. Henry opened the fridge and found that it wasn’t a fridge at all, but a wine cooler filled with bottles of chilled wines. Similarly, the attached freezer contained only an elaborate variety of shaped ice cubes and nothing else. Henry closed it with a grumble and spun around, kicking his foot to hook a barstool out so that he could sit at the island. Momentarily defeated, he pulled his phone from its wrist case and flipped it open to go through the morning’s emails and messaged while he waited for the princess upstairs to wake up and tell him what the fuck he does for food.

To: Henry
From: SecTeamBern

Subject: Architectural Blueprints

To: Henry
From: KobylaINC
Subject: delivery of kit

To: Henry
From: PRwithKat

Subject: Daily Subject Updates

He ignored the first two and opened the third.

Hi Henry,

Pleasure to be working with you now. Part of my job is tracking the AI that reads all the daily feeds and news and pulls out the bits that are relevant to us. It’s usually neutral to bad, but not often in the ‘somebody is going to murder Hansie’ category, so that’s good. I’m just going to be sending you a brief little summary in the mornings so you’ll know which clubs might have bouncers waiting at the door to cause a scene. 

Last night our Mr. Capon stayed in, which is great!
He did post an apparently drunken rant about you moving in, which is not great, but our scanner caught and deleted it as well as the subsequent posts about how mad he is that we continue to  censor him.
Your new best friend certainly keeps us in business, so please continue to keep him alive and mostly intact.
Thanks in advance,
Kat

Unsurprising. Henry had never kept up with celebrity gossip, but he did remember one notable article involving an incident between a car and a skytrain that he was pretty sure had Hans Capon’s name attached to it.  

Music started up through the speakers in the kitchen around nine am, startling Henry into dropping his tablet on the counter. He picked it up, glad to see it undamaged, and tucked it into its case just as the door swung open and Hans slouched into the kitchen. 

Hans was still shirtless, wearing loose black joggers, hair flatted messily to one side. He paused, blinking tiredly at Henry with a frown. “The fuck are you doing in here?”

“Hoping for breakfast,” Henry answered. It was a bit surprising to see Hans up so early; the rhythmic bass in the walls last night had gone on so long that Henry had only managed to fall asleep after finding another pillow to throw over his head. He hadn’t expected the master of the house up and about for hours yet.

His stomach, though, was pretty glad to see him now. 

Hans walked around the island towards an unlabeled large panel in the wall and tapped the small blank screen next to it. It lit up brightly in the dim kitchen and he swiped over some icons too small for Henry to see from where he sat. After about 30 seconds, the large panel rolled itself open to reveal a nook in the wall from which Hans grabbed a pre-mixed shaker bottle. He popped the top off, took a very long drink, and then looked at Henry again.

“Did you eat already?” he asked. 

“Eat what?” Henry answered dryly. “This is an empty magazine kitchen.”

Hans rolled his eyes and grabbed a stool for himself, pointedly dragging it around to the opposite side of the island counter before sitting. He waved one hand back at the panel on the wall. “You think I cook? Order something.”

Fair enough. Hans with his sleeves up and covered in flour at the countertop wasn’t a scene that felt possible. Henry warily got up and moved to explore the source of Hans’ drink. He eyed the panel, which had closed itself slowly with a gentle thunk, and then poked at the screen. The menu flashed open and displayed a near unending list of food options from breakfast fruits to dinnertime synthetic meats. He scrolled down a bit and then swiped back up, watching the icons blur themselves back to the start of the list. Breakfast for him was typically nutritionally thickened bread and some kind of meat-flavored gravy. He wasn’t entirely sure where to begin here and wasn’t about to presume what he was allowed to select. “Is there a search option?”

“With Intent, yeah, just use your-” Hans looked hard at him with a focused, furrowed brow. “You don’t have a spinal implant.” He sounded genuinely surprised.

“That’s right,” Henry confirmed, turning his head to show his naturally blank nape.

“Eugh. Really?” Hans set his half-drunk shake down on the counter and walked towards him, eyeing him head to toe. “Why not?”

“Haven’t done it yet,” Henry guessed. He suspected that would be a better answer than ‘I don’t want to’ or even worse, ‘I couldn’t ever afford it’. 

Hans rolled his eyes and waved Henry out of his way. He reached for the panel besides Henry’s shoulder and pressed his fingers against it for only a few moments before suddenly turning to grab at Henry’s wrist instead. Henry instinctively flinched backwards but Hans’ grip tightened, his fingers lightly chilled from his drink. “You barely have anything at all,” Hans said, twisting Henry’s arm to look at his palm. The fragile, spindling line of metal down Henry’s thumb looked like nothing compared to the full-fledged spiderweb that twisted its way down most of Hans’ forearm. “That doesn’t make sense,” Hans added.

Henry finally slipped his hand from Hans’ loosened grip. “What doesn’t make sense?” he asked, casually rubbing the feeling of fingers from his skin. The ache from yesterday’s installation was gone as promised, but the nightmare from his few hours of sleep was still making him uncomfortable. A desperate grip on his wrist- Henry cleared his throat. “Plenty of people don’t have the spinal implant yet. I heard the waitlist was months long anyway.”

Hans rolled his eyes. “Why’d they hire you without one? How are you supposed to manage getting anything done?” Hans crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the wall, nodding towards the panel at his side. “You can’t even order yourself breakfast.”

There was absolutely a part of Henry’s brain that had been asking variations on that same theme for days, but there was something in the way Hans said it that touched a nerve. “I’m more than capable,” he insisted. “I don’t need that tech to bodyguard.”

“What’s your plan, then? Gonna irritate them into leaving me alone?

“I am armed,” Henry told him.

“Are you.”

Henry gently lifted one side of his shirt high enough to show the grip of his weapon and then had to jump back when Hans immediately stood up from the wall and tried to grab it. “Watch it,” Henry warned, knocking his hand away.

“Let me see it,” Hans asked, crowding into Henry’s space until Henry found his shoulders bumping the side of the fridge. “I just wanna see what they gave you. Come on.”

“Alright, alright,” Henry acquiesced, uncomfortable, “back up.” He pushed Hans backwards to give himself space again and ignored Hans’ triumphant grin. Reluctantly, Henry reached under his shirt and pulled the pistol from its holster. The grip lit faintly under his touch to show that it was loaded; a line down the edge broken into ten even parts to signify ten rounds. As soon as he let Hans reach out and take it from him, the light disappeared and the trigger seized. Unusable except by him, Radzig had promised. It made Henry feel a little bit better while Hans flipped it around in his hands.

“This isn’t terrible,” Hans declared “Pretty solid for a concealed weapon.” He held it up as if aiming and laughed when Henry ducked. “Relax. I know what I’m doing. I’m sure I can’t use it anyway-” He aimed across the room and tried to squeeze the trigger. Nothing happened. “Nope. See, my bodyguard roommate, I know how all this works by now.”

Henry took the weapon back and tucked it back against his side. “How many guards have you had so far?”

“Oh, none.”

“None?”

“You’re my very first guard dog, Henry.” Hans told him with a short laugh. He moved back to the island and pulled himself up to sit on the stone countertop, looking down at Henry with one eyebrow raised. drinking his mystery shake while Henry’s stomach threatened to eat itself alive.

Incredibly irksome. Henry saw two futures ahead of him; he could walk out of the room, call Radzig and tell him that this couldn't work, wouldn't possibly work. Something in him was sure Radzig would accept that and pull him out and then- and then what? No, Henry wasn't about to run from an irritating, pompous Alpha. He'd have to figure it out, and in his experience, there was only one way to get through this (and maybe this was his hunger speaking for him, but fuck it).“Listen here,” he said, more than ready to stand up for himself. “I’m fully responsible for your life, and you’re going to treat me with some damn respect. We have to live together now, so-”

“Oh, shut up,” Hans cut in. He slid off of the counter and closed the distance between them. That stupid music was still pouring from the speakers. Hans stepped into his space, kicking one foot with his own, and leaned in to look at him with narrowed blue eyes. He was posturing and Henry’s blood boiled in response, a quiet, primal noise caught in the back of his throat. “You listen, Yard boy- that’s where you’re from, right? Looks like it. Smells like it.” Hans sniffed derisively. His own scent was strong and intentional, challenging , and it made Henry want to desperately react with his own teeth in reply. “We’re not going to be friends,” Hans continued. “I don’t have a choice in whether you trail me around like a puppy, but I do have a choice in that .”

What pissed Henry off the most was that he was sure it wasn’t even Hans’ actual scent, but was instead some fake, mass-produced nonsense sold by the ounce. Hans was waiting for an answer, but Henry knew silence would irritate him the most and kept his mouth shut.

True enough, Hans lasted only a moment before snapping his titanium-tipped teeth shut and turning away. He pushed through the kitchen door and paused just a moment at the threshold to snap over his shoulder, “Food comes up the dumbwaiter from my chef. Open the fucking panel.” The door slammed behind him.

Chapter Text

Hans’ preferred car was a sleek black and yellow beast with darkened windows and a moonroof that spanned the entire length of the wide passenger seating area. It was a beautiful auto-driving vehicle manufactured to turn heads and modified for superior comfort. The interior was lit with color-shifting LEDs and the seats were leather; manufactured leather, of course, but smooth enough that Henry thought it might be genetically identical instead of a plastic facsimile. He ran his fingers over the thick stitching and glanced over at Hans, who sat sprawled across the opposite seating while the car drove itself through the bustling city. Hans was freshly shaved and finally wearing a shirt, a simple gray polo-style tee that likely cost more than Henry could even think to guess. Hans had his legs crossed and his phone out loose in his hand, idly tapping with his thumb and not particularly looking anywhere else.

Just before noon, Hans had come back downstairs and informed Henry that he was leaving. Henry was not necessarily directly invited, but presumed to follow anyway, however reluctantly. There had been no conversation since their brief encounter in the kitchen that morning, and Henry continued to fail to come up with anything worth saying. Part of him felt that he should apologize if only just to smooth things over, but when he looked over in the car at Hans blatantly ignoring him and absently tapping his foot to the stereo’s beat, Henry stubbornly snapped his jaw shut. He had nothing worth saying to Hans. They were strangers; two people from opposite walks of life with nothing in common other than their secondary typing, and Hans somehow made even that feel performative.

Henry shifted and leaned back in his seat, head resting back as he watched buildings go by through the glass roof. How strange it was to be suddenly on his own like this. He didn’t feel entirely ready to have this sort of faux authority assigned to him. He was too used to having somebody hovering over his shoulder, somebody there to check his work but also available to ask for help anytime he needed. There was always Radzig, he supposed, but the questions you could comfortably ask your employer were very different from the questions your father was happy to answer for you. No, Henry felt very much alone now.

Even with his generously provided list of familiar contacts… Henry flipped his arm to look at his phone, tentatively considering his options while watching his own shadowed eyes in the black, reflective screen. He hadn’t received a text from anybody yet, but he wasn’t sure anybody he had known before would have his new contact information. In theory, Radzig might have been considerate enough to realize that and could have linked his old phone number to this new one. It’d also be as easy as a few moments to send out messages letting his friends know how to reach him out.

However, the thought of sending a text that went unanswered not because they didn’t know who he was but because there was simply nobody left to answer… 

Henry was simply not prepared to acknowledge that possibility yet. It was easier to pretend that they were alive and well and very, very busy working through the rubble and repairing the grid, too busy to wonder where he’d gotten to. They probably thought him dead as well; perhaps they avoided calling him the same way he couldn’t bear to call them first.

He should text them; he’d thought it before already. Matthew, Matthias, maybe even Fritz.

And that was where he always hesitated, stopped, too afraid of the consequences should his attempts at reaching out fall unanswered. He was too overwhelmed by just the idea of grief- too afraid of what pausing to grieve might feel like, what it might do to him if he stopped moving long enough to remember- 

He wasn’t even ready yet to mourn those whose blood he had felt warm on his hands. Pretending everybody else was somehow alright was a survival tactic he was desperate to cling to.

The bridges and buildings that passed over them grew fewer in number, skytrains less common than personal vehicles. They were heading towards the edges of the city where more specialized buildings flourished on privately owned lands.

Henry sighed softly before he glanced at Hans and found himself also being watched. A look passed between them before they both averted their eyes again. Hans let out a quiet, awkward laugh after a moment. “Are you doing that on purpose?” he asked.

Henry looked back up and blinked at him. “Doing what on purpose?” 

Hans lowered his phone and gestured loosely at the rest of the car. “You’re scenting so hard that the ventilation system is struggling to keep up. Are you doing that on purpose? It’s awful.”

“No,” Henry answered. He reached to brush against his neck, using his wrist to avoid getting scent oil on his fingers, and found it lightly damp. His cheeks flushed lightly, embarrassed. It made him feel rather like a teenager again, like a prepubescent Alpha who needed to carry around a cloth to wipe his random scenting away. “Sorry,” Henry muttered, “I’ll try to stop. It’s not on purpose.”

“You know,” Hans said, “if you installed the implant, I wouldn’t have to sit here getting inadvertently anxious just because of your scenting. You could control it yourself, easy.”

“I already apologized.” Henry frowned. “I don’t need more implants. I’m just-” going through something I am not going to talk about . “It’s been a long week.”

“If you say so.” Hans looked at him for a moment before idly gazing at his phone again, clearly unconvinced. 

Henry folded his hands together between his knees and focused on breathing for a minute, counting the seconds. He needed to pull it together, for his sake and for Hans. He turned to look out the window and watch the other vehicles around them in traffic. This car was fast yet quiet, hardly rumbling underneath his thighs. He had never had the chance to look inside the heart of a machine like this. It was mostly industrial engines that he and Pa had been assigned, machines older than the two of them combined and so heavy that they’d have to travel to it themselves.

The Yards depended on their machinery, their inevitably slowing engines with circuitry so dated that Henry’s Pa was one of few men alive who could remember how it worked anymore. Henry had been learning the same, had put together his own motorcycle out of pre-recycled scraps under Pa’s exhausted tutelage. He would have continued on in the same vein, working on the same generations-old atomic batteries for the rest of his life. A new battery was a generational miracle, often costing more than a block’s worth of homes; there were only a few and they would be swapped between machinery depending on precisely managed industrial scheduling. It wore them down to be used like that, but there wasn’t much choice.

Henry leaned back again to watch the sky, determined to focus on thoughts that might ease the scenting. He wondered vaguely what ran Hans’ car- probably solid-state electric. His own bike, he remembered, was also in that garage. They’d ‘fixed it’, Radzig had said. Henry wasn’t sure he liked the sound of that; it probably meant they’d made it auto-driving and street legal. Still, it’d be nice to have her back again.

He risked another glance at Hans and found him leaning against the window, eyes half-shut, still boredly scrolling on his phone. Henry opened his mouth for a second, questions on the tip of his tongue, positive that Hans would be eager to talk about his car, but reluctantly convinced himself to stay quiet. They’d arrive there soon anyway, he decided, wherever it was they were going.

--

The building was nondescript and squat, wider than it was tall- that meant more land and more money. Henry quickened his steps to reach the door first, ready to open it for Hans, and was caught feeling silly when the doors slid open on their own before him. He went in first anyway to scope it out (it felt like the thing to do?) and found himself in a small lobby with a check-in desk decorated with silver filigree. A young lady stood at the desk behind a layer of thick glass and smiled at him. She wore a simple uniform of black and silver with streaks of blue paint under her eyes, and Henry found it easy to smile back. Implant metal ran down her hands but he couldn’t see it on her skin otherwise; it made him feel a little more normal for barely having any of his own.

Hans was on his heels and stopped directly in front of the desk, waving Henry aside. “Hello Klara,” he said cheerfully, leaning towards the window. “I’m not on the schedule this week, but surely you have some room for me?”

He might be irritating as fuck, but Henry could still understand why that crooked smile of his received so much focus on the net feeds.

Klara’s smile predictably brightened. “Of course we do,” she agreed. “Scan in please, Mr. Capon.”  He placed his palm on a small screen resting on their side of the window and held it there while she waited for it to blink green in approval before lifting it up. “And for your friend, too?” Klara asked, turning a more polite smile on Henry.

“Him, too,” Hans agreed. He moved to the side and motioned for Henry to approach to scan in.

Henry stepped up to the desk and pressed his hand to the pad. He always expected to feel some kind of shock or current when machines read his implant identification, but it never felt like anything at all, not even a hint of warmth. Green light flashed under his palm and he pulled it back, wiping it gently against his shirt.

 “Everything looks good,” Klara told them. She waved a hand towards Henry’s waist.  “Please be aware that we don’t allow the use of your own weapons.”

“My- how did you know?” Henry asked, his hand hovering over his shirt above his pistol.

She tapped the top edge of one of her multiple screens with nails tipped and painted silver like the desk itself. “It’s my job to know where all guests and all weapons in the building are at all times,” she explained as if by rote. “Please enter through that door when ready.”

Hans thanked her and headed towards the other side of the lobby where a door had slid open. He gave Henry a look as he passed and muttered, “You brought that here ?”

“You didn’t tell me where we were going,” Henry answered in a low grumble. “I’m supposed to carry it with me.”

Hans shook his head. “You shouldn’t take all that so seriously,” he said. “Nothing is going to happen; here especially.”

Henry hummed. It was clear almost immediately what here was exactly. The sound of a bullet firing startled him into reaching for his own weapon, but he relaxed upon taking in the deep room. It was an indoor firing range, mostly empty but not entirely, and he was sure he caught Hans laughing privately at his reaction to the first shot. Henry rolled his eyes.

He was assigned a private range next to Hans; the two of them were split by a high half-wall for safety but could still see and talk to each other. Hans slid a pair of sleek black glasses on and proceeded to pointedly ignore Henry.

That was fine with him. Henry stepped into the stall and focused on his own space. A low counter sat in front of him and then a long alley that stretched down towards a person-shaped target, labelled with scored circles to aim at labelled with different points. Red-lit words were projected across the wall at the end of the alley; ARM YOURSELF WHEN READY .

A pair of weapons were laid out on the counter for him, one long rifle and a handgun. Henry glanced at Hans and saw he already had the pistol in hand and so picked up the same. It was larger than his personal weapon, heavier and with a grip made of thick plastic instead of metal. He adjusted the gun in his hands, getting used to the weight. The words over the target changed, AIM WELL and then after a few moments, HAVE FUN .

A noise sounded next to him as Hans pulled the trigger. It wasn’t half as loud as Henry expected, but was a mechanical, shuttered sound instead. A laser weapon, powered by electricity instead of explosive gunpowder and thusly much quiety- a circle of heat burned itself perfectly in the center of Hans’ target’s human chest. Hans’ lips tightened in a brief, self-satisfied smile before he aimed and shot again. This one hit the target directly in the forehead.

Aim well and have fun. Henry lifted the gun and looked down the sight. He had told Hans that he could shoot; it felt that this had to be some kind of test set up for him. If he performed poorly, he could picture Hans on the phone in an hour with his uncle demanding a new, less irritating and more skilled bodyguard. Henry had never used a laser weapon, but watching Hans made it clear that the use of it wasn’t much different than a ballistic handgun. He took a deep breath and studied the target focusing. He aimed for the heart, the center of the chest with less room to miss.

Inhale, exhale, squeeze the trigger.

His shot went wide, laser light burning a hole into the target’s right shoulder. Henry swore silently under his breath and adjusted his stance. He was no expert and he would never claim to be, but he knew that he could do better than this. He had learned how to shoot with Matthew and Fritz at the edge of the Yards, timing their shots as the trains moved by so that nobody would hear them. They shot down glass bottles they’d stolen from the recycling bins over the course of the month, knowing they’d get in more trouble for wasting them than for ‘borrowing’ the weapons from their parents. 

Inhale, exhale-

Henry could visibly see the way his hands started to shake. He shifted off the trigger and lowered the gun for a moment. If he closed his eyes, he could pretend it was Matthew on his right taking potshots instead of an irritating spoiled boy. He could imagine Fritz daring them to drink the liquid lingering in one of the stolen bottles. He could hear Bianca chucking rocks at them from her spot acting as lookout-

And when he opened his eyes he’d still be alone in a rich man’s gun range making up ghosts to torture himself.

He took a breath and tried to refocus. It felt important to do well. The target down the range seemed to taunt him. ARM YOURSELF WHEN READY . Henry lifted the gun and watched the words shift again.

“You don’t have to manually reload, you know,” Hans interrupted.

Henry dropped his gun again to look over at Hans and found himself reflected perfectly in the black sunglasses. Han’s target was a neat mess of accurately aimed holes and a congratulatory high score lit the range- Henry easily made the connection between his perfect aim and the faint blue light edging Han’s glasses. “At least I’m not using artificial aiming,” he accused, annoyed.

Hans plucked the glasses from his face and raised an eyebrow at him. “You’re not aiming at all.” He folded the glasses and tossed them gently on the counter. “I don’t need these,” he said, “it’s just new Intent tech I wanted to try. Spinal implant required, so you’re out of luck. Can you shoot? I’m waiting with baited breath to find out.”

“Just-” Henry bit his tongue and turned away from him, facing towards his own range. “More used to ballistic weapons,” he said, somewhat truthfully. “I’m sure I can still score higher than you without the tech doing it all.”

“Ha!” Hans laughed and hit a button on the counter to have his target reset. “I don’t think you have anything worth betting with, garage boy, but I’ll be more than happy just watching you eat your words. Let’s see it.”

Henry lifted his weapon and avoided looking next to him. The hole in the target’s shoulder taunted him and he shifted his aim to compensate.

Inhale, exhale, shoot.

He hit just barely off-center and loosened his shoulders, relieved by the improvement. Hans’ gun went off and Henry peeked over at Hans’ new target: one hole just above the stomach. He smiled thinly to himself and aimed again.

Inhale, exhale, the memory of glass shattering-

Henry paused to shake out his hands once more, a light shiver tickling the hair across the back of his neck. Some part of him distantly wondered if he was well enough to be here in a shooting range; a smaller part of him knew he wasn’t alright to be carrying a deadly weapon at all. He raised the gun anyway.

He could shoot decently enough. He needed to be able to shoot better . Henry closed his eyes again and pictured a different memory, one that smelled like kerosene and bitter smoke; the shadowy image of a dark hooded man slinking around the worn-down fence that pretended to protect the Yards’ main access to the power grid. When he opened his eyes, he set that memory against his shapeless white target. 

Inhale, exhale, BANG. One hole sizzling hot in the target’s face.

Inhale, BANG. Blood from the center of his chest. Henry could taste flesh burning if he focused. He swallowed, remembering the silent pause after bright light lit the evening sky before the first shout that heralded the alarms.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

 His hands grew hot as the fire-resistant plastic on the weapon started to fail without a chance to cool between firings. Henry held it tighter. The gun in his hands wasn’t for fun or protection. His hands against a weapon meant to kill.

BANG. BANG. BANG . BANG . 

“Henry? Henry .”

A hand grabbed Henry’s left shoulder tight. As Henry spun to face him, Hans’ other hand slid down Henry’s right arm to snap around his wrist, pushing the gun away from himself. Henry stared at him with wide, frantic eyes, nearly panting through his teeth.

“What the fuck?” Hans asked, still gripping him warily and keeping the weapon turned towards the range. “Take a damn breath.”

Henry sucked in air. He turned his gaze from Hans’ to the hand squeezing his arm and then to the gun clutched almost desperately in his hold. He rushed to put it on the counter and only then did Hans release him and take two steps back. Henry’s palms were red from the temperature of the laser gun and he shook them out; sore, but thankfully not truly burnt. 

His target looked like mincemeat and the words above put a guilty lump in his throat- SLOW DOWN . The range was so brightly lit and it felt almost impossible to finally turn around and face Hans.

“I was…” Henry couldn’t help but let his words trail off. What could he even say to appease the discomposed expression across Hans’ face?

“Something is wrong with you,” Hans accused. Hans shook his head and frowned.

He wasn’t wrong, but how could Henry begin to explain that? His mouth was dry and his lips stuck together as he forced his mouth open, words struggling trapped in his chest. “I’ve…” he tried, failing to compose any more than that. “I’m alright,” he lied, and that came a little bit easier. “Was just excited to get a chance to go all out in a safe place.”

“Okay, sure ,” Hans said slowly. He gestured at the space around them. “But you’re doing that miserable scent again, and I’m starting to think that-.”

“I don’t have any control over my scent,” Henry snapped, cutting him off. “I told you that already.”

“If you went and got the-”

“I’m not getting any more implants right now, for fuck’s sake.”

There was a quiet moment and then Hans actually snorted, a tiny laugh that helped to fill the wide chasm of unspoken awkwardness that stood blatantly between them. “You’re quite terrifying, actually,” Hans admitted lightly, leaning in a bit as if this was somehow a secret they were going to share from now on. “I feel like I’m going to have to lock my bedroom doors at night.”

Henry let a slow breath of relief loosen the tightness in his chest. “You should anyway,” he said, because despite everything else, he was still technically his guard. “It’s safer.”

Hans rolled his eyes. “I’m done here,” he decided, “and you are extra done here.”

Henry couldn’t do anything else but nod. He ran his warm, sweaty palms over his shirt and tugged at the edges before following as Hans turned to leave the private range. The gun in its holster at his side felt unpleasantly more heavy than it had yesterday. Henry let out a slow breath. Whatever had just come over him (and he knew what it was) could not be brought back home with him.

“Well,” Hans muttered, vaguely amused despite the way he still glanced behind him at Henry with a look of concern, “at least I’m convinced you can use a gun.”

Chapter Text

They arrived back to the penthouse in stifled silence, a vaguely comfortable quiet. With a sharp wave of his hand, Hans filled the cavernous entry room with light. The speakers started playing increasingly familiar music at the same time and Hans headed upstairs without a word to Henry, who finally allowed himself a breath in the empty room. The sun in the window was picture-book perfect behind a faint dusting of fabricated clouds, and it looked beautiful- but continued to make him feel a little uneasy. It was like he stood in a dreamscape, a perverse unreality in which everything surrounding him was manufactured. It would take a long time for this to feel like home- possibly longer than he and Capon could survive living with each other if day one was any example.

Fuck, Henry was tired. It began as a growing ache behind his temple and melted downward to spread heavy across his shoulders, an all-over exhaustion. It was long past lunch and he knew that he should pause to eat, but the idea of doing anything except spending time horizontal in bed was nauseating. He turned down the short hallway that led to his room.

He unlocked his room with a satisfying click and then felt his heart stop momentarily when a humanoid shape appeared within the shadows. He held his breath and reached slowly to turn the light on, feeling a little embarrassed but mostly relieved to find nothing but a half-mannequin set up on his side table. It was displaying body armor, black and thick under his touch. There was a note typed onto recycled paper; Henry picked it up to read.

Henry,
The printer took a bit longer than we expected. Do let us know if the fit needs adjustment. Will stand up to most ballistics and will stall piercing- you are strongly advised to resist testing this.

Cordially,

R Kobyla, Esq.

Henry found himself smiling faintly. He set the note down and reassessed the armor. It’d be tight, worn unseen under his regular clothing. There was a sheathed blade as well, settled on top of a neatly folded piece of flexible legwear. A whole outfit, then. A concealed handgun had seemed just a little bit like playing pretend; Henry felt like he might truly settle into his role with real gear like this.

He should try it on, but he needed to sit down for just a moment. He needed just a minute of rest; clear his mind, settle his nerves. Henry tucked Radzig’s folded note into the nightstand drawer and sat down. The bed was soft and he allowed himself to lay back in the crumpled sheets. They still smelled of him, like kerosene nightmares, and he wondered briefly how Hans’ laundry got done, because Hans himself surely wasn’t doing it. There’d be a service, probably some automated chute just like his magic food window.

Henry’s eyes fluttered shut and his breathing evened out, asleep despite the ugliness of his own bitter scent on the sheets.

He woke sometime later to a nonstop series of noisy beeps from his phone, one after another, pingpingpingpingping. Groggy, Henry shifted until he could see his phone and flicked the screen on with a swipe of his thumb. It was, of course, Hans. Henry blinked at the row of increasingly frequent texts. 

-lets go out
-im going out and i dont care what you do actually
-wya
-if i go out and you dont go out then youre going to probably be in trouble
-are you ignoring me
-wya
-henry
-henry
-are you jerkin it or something
-henry

Henry pushed himself up to a sitting position and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He had slept like the dead, the kind of dreamless, unconscious sleep only possible to achieve in the middle of the day with the lights still on. His phone ping ed yet again and he rubbed his face before beginning to type an answer to his impatient charge. ‘ I was just asle- ’

Banging started on his door before he could finish his message. He got up from bed and patted smooth his crumpled clothes, reaching the door just as Hans started rattling and yanking the locked handle. Henry pulled it open and announced, “I’m awake.”

“Awake?” Hans scoffed, stepping back. “I thought you were-” His eyes narrowed and he placed a hand on his hip in a bitter, nonchalant act. “Nevermind.”

“Jerking it?” Henry echoed the texts.

“Ugh.” Hans rolled his eyes. “No.”

Henry let go of the doorknob and crossed his arms over his chest. He felt better now, separated from the emotions of the morning by a solid block of sleep. “Where are we going?”

“Out. A club. Or two, if the first one doesn’t have the right vibes.”

Henry pictured a night of club-hopping with the business elite and sighed. “Alright. When?”

“An hour or two,” Hans told him, waving one hand vaguely. “I need to dress and you need to… fix yourself. Shower at the very least.” He eyed Henry up and down, frowning. “The very least. And leave your door unlocked from now on.”

Henry snorted in disbelief, too surprised by the request to have room for offense at the other implications. “Why shouldn’t I keep it locked?”

“So that I can get in,” Hans answered. “Obviously.”

“ You don’t need to get in.”

“I might.” 

Henry closed his eyes for a moment and took a breath. It’d be too blatant to rub his face, but that was the kind of exasperation he felt. “Don’t you already have a key? It’s a room in your own penthouse.”

Hans looked away, his nose wrinkled with distaste. “I did ,” he said, aggravated. “Uncle must have had the locks changed before you moved in.”

Oh, so even they thought Henry deserved some privacy. There was absolutely no reason Hans would need to barge into his room, but Henry didn’t imagine he’d have anything to hide- and he wasn’t entirely sure he could stomach yet another argument with Hans today. “I’ll leave it unlocked if I’m in here,” he finally allowed. “Locked when it’s empty.” Or when Henry was sleeping, but he wasn’t about to push the point.

Hans smiled brightly. “Was that so difficult? Now go figure yourself out or I’ll leave without you.”

“Alright, Hans,” Henry said dryly. He slowly closed the door on the man. (The temptation to lock it was strong, but he resisted).

Once freshly showered, Henry felt almost normal again. He fluffed his hair as dry as possible with a towel and then set to getting dressed, obligated to try out his personalized body armor. It fit tight over his chest, a layer of black so snug against him that he was sure he must have looked ridiculous trying to squeeze it over his shoulders before realizing there was a zipper along the side. Like a second skin, printed specifically for him according to the note, it would be mostly hidden under anything he might wear atop it.

It had its own gun holster, again hidden at his side, as well as a spot to attach the sheathe for his knife. Dagger? Henry didn’t have enough experience with blades to know the difference and, frankly, he kind of hoped to keep it that way. Either way, the fresh blade was tucked snugly against his body. He skipped the legwear; it simply felt like too much. Maybe someday they’d end up at a more public event, or maybe they’d find out Hans actually had reason to have somebody watch his back- one concern at a time.

Henry had gone out to bars before, but he’d never had real options for clothing and he also suspected his idea of a bar (dark, maybe a little bit rusty, kept in business by factory men at the end of long days more than teenagers looking for fun) was quite a bit different than the reality of the kind of city clubs Mr. Hans Capon would frequent. There were actual choices in his closet, but thankfully they had been picked by grown, mature adults and not the previously mentioned party-boy. Henry ended up sticking with more black, loose on top, tighter on the bottom. He thought he looked alright.

An hour or so later, after he’d figured out the food ordering elevator and had nearly gotten tired of waiting around, Hans came down the stairs and declared himself ready to go.

He looked…

Well, honestly, he looked just about like Henry and his friends had always assumed city folk dressed. That’s to say- non-functional and a little bit batshit. His slender pants were holographic silver and he wasn’t even wearing a real shirt, just something fishnet sheer with a golden, strappy harness contraption over it. One million comments floated around Henry’s brain, but he wisely decided the best course of action was to simply make no comment at all. 

(It looked kind of good. Somehow.)
(Like the kind of magazine model style Bianca would have sneered at before tearing it from the page and stuffing it under her pillow.)
(But also it looked like something Fritz could have pulled from the recycling bins.)

(It really made the implants over his skin glitter in the bright room lights.)

Yeah, wisely, Henry said nothing. Hans frowned to see his simple outfit but, surprisingly, didn’t argue with his choice. They headed down to the garage, where Hans already had a car waiting. It was a different one than this morning- no more graphic yellow, but still eye-catching in white. The two of them got in and it slowly left the garage and hit the scripted roads.

Henry leaned back in the comfortable seats. Hans was eyeing him and it felt like he very much wanted to say something. Henry wasn’t sure if he wanted to hear it. He closed his eyes for a minute and heard Hans sigh before turning the music up. 

The car slowly cruised by a line of people waiting, arranged somewhat orderly by bright yellow stanchions strung down the block. They didn’t stop; instead, the car drove past them all and down a side street.

“I enter through the back entrance,” Hans said, clearly watching Henry turn around to see the crowd waiting in line through the rear window. “There will still be people, just fewer.” They were driven around the block and the vehicle slowly came to a stop at the edge of the sidewalk. “Well?” said Hans after a moment during which neither of them moved. “Go open the door for me.”

“That-” Henry bit his response short. “Alright.” The car had doors that would open on their own, but it wasn’t worth arguing this early in the night. He pushed his own door open and unfolded himself from the car, turning to look around. They were parked directly outside of a door labeled “Bar Mongrel - VIP”. It was physically unmanned but he could see two visible cameras and suspected at least two more hidden more carefully. They weren’t alone in the backstreet. A few scattered people watched him from spots lounging against neighboring buildings or stations for skytrain elevators. One man started to get up, but paused as Henry stared at him and then slowly settled himself back down.

Vaguely satisfied, Henry tapped the latch for Hans’ door and stepped out of the way to let him out. “Took you long enough,” Hans complained. “Come on.” 

The VIP elevator led to a balcony filled with casual lounge chairs and tables and its own elaborate bar. It was still early in the evening and only a few people took up the upper seating, but the public floor below them was steadily crowding with people surrounding the stage. Music filled the building, bass thick in the center of his chest; the dj was a figure knelt unmoving center stage connected to the sound system by a frame attached to their spine.

“Ugh,” Hans said. He grabbed Henry’s elbow to pull him closer so that he could speak over the rhythmic music. “I can’t stand that bartender. Go get us drinks.” 

Henry was spun around by the elbow and pushed in the direction of the bar. He briefly considered arguing (he wasn’t here as a servant- and were there not wait staff here?) but it honestly felt like it might be easier to get the job finished. 

The VIP bar was set into a corner away from the balcony. Henry sidled up against the counter; it was cold, some kind of dark metal iced over, and it felt good to rest his nervous palms against it. Shelves of alcohol ran high up to the ceiling, for the most part unreachable by anybody except for the variety of machine arms operating the bar. They twisted in the air to grab bottles and mix drinks, pouring them into chilled glasses before gently passing them to the bartender who handed them to the waiting clientele with a calm smile.

He turned that smile on Henry in short order, eyebrows raised. “Capon doesn’t usually come in with his little pets.” He pointedly looked Henry up and down. “Then again, you don’t quite look like the usual.”

Henry found himself unexpectedly bemused by the jab. “I’m playing guard dog,” he answered, “a different kind of pet.”

“That looks more accurate. You’re overdressed for him,” the bartender laughed. He turned for a moment to take the order of an insistent woman. Henry leaned heavier on the iced bar and watched him type the order into a pad for the machines to sort out. He himself was also barely dressed in a tight half-shirt, his brown hair styled in a simple way meant to scream unintentional. He wore a simple black collar cut high on his neck and there was part of a tattoo revealed by his low-cut black pants, something with points and vaguely familiar, like a symbol Henry had learned once and promptly forgotten. He had an odd feeling it might be religious, but that would be more than shocking; after the first Extinction War in the 28th century, the concept of religion had been completely abandoned and was often little more than an optional subject in schools.

“You ordering for him then?” the bartender asked, and Henry yanked his stare up from the man’s crotch.

“Yeah,” he answered. “No idea what he drinks, though.”

“Unfortunately, it’s in the system record. You want anything for yourself?”

Henry shook his head no. It seemed like a bad idea to drink on his first true night on the job. “Just his.”

“Are you sure? I’ll put it on his tab. I can even charge him extra.” His eyes were sharp, but the smirk on his face warmed Henry like they were sharing a joke, like a dislike of Hans might not be the only thing they had in common. “Could do something virgin?”

“Sure.” Henry shrugged. People were starting to fill in around him and he shifted to make room for a woman in impossible heels wearing a collar so tall that it made it physically difficult for her to look down her nose at him.

“Here,” the bartender said, placing down two machine-created drinks down in front of Henry. “Green one is for him. And my name is Sam.”

“Henry,” Henry replied. He grabbed a glass in each hand and sidled from the bar while being careful not to touch the Omega woman who now eagerly took up his empty space. “I’m sure I’ll see you again in a bit,” he told Sam, who spared him a wave as he twisted to reluctantly serve the new arrivals.

Hans was easy to find. He was lounging on a couch with a woman on one side and a man on the other, her legs thrown over his lap. Henry slowed his walk, less than eager to figure out where he fit here, hopeful that it’d just be standing off in the distance doing his actual job.

“Don’t frown so much,” Hans was saying as Henry stopped to stand behind the couch. Hans reached up to take his drink without even looking at him. “Flirting with your girl? Don’t make it sound so crass! See, you, me, her- Alpha, Omega, Beta- it’s the trinity, right? How it was meant to be.”

Henry stepped back and took a deep swallow of his drink, deciding that he might like to be drunk, actually. He took a breath and took another step back, trying to gently move himself out of range of their blatant scenting. It was no effort to avoid looking at Hans; he watched the rest of the crowd instead, counting time. 

Chapter Text

Henry lasted another five minutes in the club before he had to move. Standing still underneath the dim and flickering lights for too long became quickly unbearable and made his skin itch. He convinced himself that it was proper to patrol anyway, to set-up some kind of half-assed perimeter- whatever, he couldn’t keep standing there listening to Hans and his two new little…. pets, Sam had joked. Henry walked past the bar, watching said bartender casually appease his expensive customers, before he moved along the edge of the balcony, peering down at everybody. The crowd had thickened and shifted together like one cohesive vibrating mass around the still-kneeling DJ on stage. It was incredible, truly, and Henry was struck by the urge to tell his parents about this city-scene- and then struck by the sledgehammer reminder that he could never tell them anything again, ever.

He slipped his hands around the balcony railing and squeezed tight, unconsciously trying to ground himself. Was this it, then? The moment when it would finally all hit him as reality? Some part of him kept waiting for the part when this vacation would be over and he’d get to go back home as normal, to sit around the table during shift change. He often clung to that kind of thought, and sometimes it helped him get on with it, but here in this novel place he struggled to distract himself. The bass was so heavy that he could feel the metal rail vibrate rhythmically in his grip, feel it shiver in his throat like nausea. 

It sounded like-

Explosions rumbled the earth around him, muted by a thick layer of concrete and steel. He was stuck half-kneeling in the bunker, his fingers on the latch, frozen between lingering in safety and pushing the hatch open again to do something, anything at all.

( There was nothing he could have done.)

He had sat limp in an uncomfortable chair while Radzig, stranger-turned-savior, paced across the room. Henry's ears rang as if he were still deafened by destruction, still straining to hear knocking on the hatch instead of violent rubble. “The liquidators are already hard at work in the area,” Radzig had told him kindly. His voice buzzed, muted and difficult to focus on. “It won't be long until it is safe to visit again.”

(There wouldn't be anything left worth visiting.)

A hand fell heavy on the bar next to Henry's and the startling warmth of a body pressed in close to him. He didn’t flinch, body already too tense.

“Henry.” 

Henry sucked in a breath and realized he hadn't breathed in a minute, lightheaded. 

Hans leaned in closer. “Can you hear me? What the hell are you doing over here?”

“Sec-” Henry’s mouth was impossibly dry; he swallowed and tried again, fingers twisting around the metal railing. “Securing the area,” he finally answered.

“I was shouting for you,” Hans said, indignant.

“It's very loud in here.”

“You're meant to pay attention to me.”

“Sorry.”

“What's wrong with you?” Hans asked. He leaned forward and turned to stare at him, trying to meet Henry’s eyes. “You look pale as shit. Are you going to throw up? Don’t do it over the crowd.”

“No,” Henry said, aware that he might be lying. He pictured himself vomiting over twenty people at once and pushed himself back quickly from the ledge. “I'm fine.” His voice wavered, and loose from the railing he felt untethered, weak at the knees.

He was not fine. Hans was searching his face with narrowed eyes and all Henry could think about was the fact that he was never going to be able to tell Ma about the DJ who played musical sets from wires connected to their spine. She would have loved it, and Pa would have wondered whether it was not actually a preset mix of music and a performer acting for show. There was a great hollowness in Henry’s chest threatening to turn him inside out, and the way Hans was looking at him- he felt laid bare under the club’s awful, shifting lights.

“You know what,” Hans said slowly, “this place really isn't the vibe tonight. “Let's find someplace more exciting.” He didn't wait to let Henry speak before he turned on his heel. “Come on, keep up with me before you’re left behind.”

Bewildered, Henry found his feet following. It was enough of a sudden change to bring him back together for a moment, the physical movement jolting him back into possession of his own thoughts and giving him control over his body again. The memory of fire retreated.

He quickened his step and fell in next to Hans. “You want to leave already?”

“I hate when Sam's on duty,” Hans said. He threw a little wave towards the bartender and received a deadeye stare in return. “He's such a downer. Charges me extra.”

“Why?”

“Maybe I make the bouncers work a little harder, sometimes. He should be glad they end up worth their pay.”

He was lying, Henry realized. Not about the bouncers being called in- though there was mostly likely plenty of truth there. No, he was making an excuse to leave because Henry couldn't keep it together. A flash of shame warmed his neck and he tucked his hands into his pockets.      

The elevator ride back down to the street was silent and horrible. Hans opened his mouth once to speak before thinking better of it and shaking his head slightly. 

Henry felt the strongest urge to run back home. But there was no home to go to, so he followed Hans out of the elevator and back onto the darkened sidewalk. He expected Hans to call up his car, but the two of them simply walked down the road for a few blocks before Hans finally spoke.

“This is going to be a rude question,” he warned, and Henry braced himself. “But are you…” Hans waved one hand loosely in the air. “Stupid?”

It genuinely caught Henry off-guard. They paused on the edge of an old street curb. “What?”

“You know,” Hans said, doubling down. “Dense. Slow? A half-wit moron hired just to get on my nerves?”

Ah. Hans was irritated at him. It was almost a relief to discover, because it was justified. Henry shook his head. “I'm not stupid ,” he insisted. He started walking again, forcing Hans to double-step to keep up. “I don't know why your company hired me,” Henry added honestly. “I've never done this before.”

“Clearly.”

There was silence for another long minute, broken only by the clack of Hans’ heels and the periodic vehicle zipping past them. Henry didn't know where he was going, but Hans didn't redirect him. They passed a few fallen signs, relics from when self-driving cars had been legal. The skytrain elevator here was closed down, but its barricade had long ago been broken into for street housing. There was a series of degrading benches lining the sidewalks, and on one of them a woman slouched. She sat up as they neared, extending an arm, and Hans stepped towards her as if to speak to her.

Henry moved quickly to shove himself between them, elbowing Hans to the side and putting up a hand to warn off the stranger. She recoiled, meeting Henry's stare with wide eyes. He hadn’t pulled any weapons, but she still seemed afraid of him.

Hans pushed his blocking arm out of the way. “Henry.” 

“Hans.”

Hans rolled his eyes. “Be sensible.” He inserted himself between Henry and the woman and Henry grudgingly allowed it. Hans reached out his silvered hand. “Let's see it,” he said, his voice softer.

She handed him her phone, a scratched device that took a few tries to register his implant-print before it’d let him click around. “There,” he said after a moment, handing it back carefully.

She clutched it to her chest like a lifeline and slunk back onto the bench, avoiding Henry's eyes. Hans simply began walking away until Henry started following again, leaving the woman behind.

“You gave her credits,” Henry accused.

“I sure didn't give her my number.”

“You shouldn't have done that.”

Hans glanced at him briefly. “And why not?”

“She could have attacked you,” Henry said.

Hans paused to give him a pointed look. “And then you would have shot her in the head like the crazy dog you acted in the firing range this morning.”

“Well, I…” Henry's rebuttal faltered. That morning felt so distant, like another lifetime. Another version of him created by the rot. He might have shot her, though. If she had done anything scary. It made him nauseous to consider. 

Hans started walking again with a shake of his head. “Did you see the scars on her neck?”

“No,” Henry was forced to admit.

“Well, then.” Hans hummed. “Not a very observant bodyguard, are you.”

“So you've said.”

“She wouldn't have hurt me,” Hans insisted. “I don’t think she could have even if she wanted to.”

“No,” Henry said again, distantly thinking about the circumstances that would put a maimed Omega on the street. A flash of Alpha fang or illegal Command would have warned her away better than a gun. “Probably not.” 

Hans sighed quietly. “You were pretty quick on the uptake, though,” he allowed.

“Thanks,” Henry answered after a pause. He felt less good about it now that the interaction was over, but compliments from Hans felt rare enough. He glanced towards the small strip of black sky visible through the countless skyscrapers and then looked at the mostly empty streets around them. “Where is it that we’re going now?”

“I don’t know,” Hans admitted. “There’s a few places nearby that could be options. I didn’t have a plan; I just felt like I needed to get your ass out of there before you got me banned once and for all.”

Henry’s jaw tightened. “Don’t exaggerate.”

“Exaggerate!” Hans barked a laugh. “I could see your teeth from across the room! One of the waitresses forced me to go deal with you. Told me they don’t allow that kind of Alpha. Really, Henry.”

Henry looked away, half-attempting to read the withered graffiti on the building next to him but mostly embarrassed and unable to argue that he had needed to be ‘handled’ in the first place. He was too proud to apologise, too worn out to play nice. He settled for biting his tongue.

cats with bigger teeth                                             

Graffiti rarely made sense.

“Listen.” Hans stopped them again. A low-riding skytrain buzzed loudly above them, buying Henry time to pull his gaze from the blue letters on cement. Hans turned towards him. “Is it drugs?” he asked. “Too many? Not enough?”

“What?”

“You’re fucked up. Something is wrong with you. You gotta tell me what it is.”

“Drugs?”

“You look like you don’t sleep, you’re constantly scowling.” Hans threw up his hands. “Henry, you’re a bitch to be around and you also have a fucking gun strapped to your side. Forgive me if you make me a little bit nervous.”

Nervous? Henry made him feel nervous? The power here all belonged to Hans- money, authority, implant-tech. The shock that Hans might feel otherwise had Henry answering almost honestly. “I was involved in an accident about a week ago,” he said reluctantly. 

“A week ago?” Hans echoed. He eyed Henry up and down, clearly looking for injury. “What kind of accident?”

 Henry tensed. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. They’d barely left the club and his nerves were still shot.

“You owe it to me,” Hans said, “after I had to leave that club for you. I was quite comfortable with two people who would have been a lot more fun to take home than you are.”

The prospect of saying the words out loud was terrifying. Henry’s chest burned and his tongue felt like steel in his mouth. Hans was still an enigma to him, a man from a different world who wouldn’t understand and whose reaction was unpredictable. Indifference, pity- how could Henry continue this professional relationship if Hans looked at him with the same haunting expression that Radzig did? They didn’t even really like each other. Why would Hans trust Henry to keep him safe if he found out how Henry left his parents to die? 

“I’m-” he struggled to get one word out and bit down on the rest. I’m going through something . That kind of thinking made him feel like an adolescent enduring the hormonal flux before their first Pre-Rut. He distantly remembered one morning long ago where he had felt so infuriated by the color of the kitchen’s accent wall, so illogically angry by that particular shade of brown, that Pa had pushed a quart of green into his hands and told him to fix it and his attitude both.

Henry pressed a fist against his mouth until he could feel his teeth leave gentle indents in his skin. Even now, a certain shade of green makes his jaw ache; tastes like the memory of blood from his fangs growing in.

Hans was staring at him and all Henry could think about was puberty. He forced his hand back down against his side. Hans’ eyes followed it before drawing back up towards his face.

“Tell me,” Hans ordered. He glanced towards either side of the empty street before leaning closer and repeating himself, his voice quieter, firmer, just a hint of Command wrapped in his tone, “ Tell me .”

Henry wasn’t expecting it. “They’ve all died,” he answered immediately. He had been on the verge of saying it anyway; not like that, not in those words, but some sort of confession had been ready on his tongue. It still burned. “Fuck you.” And then because Hans apparently played that kind of game, he said again, “ Fuck you .”

Hans’ scowl shifted into a frown of concern as he slowly took in Henry’s words. “Who died?” he asked.

It was out there anyway. Henry’s heart beat fast. Maybe he did owe it to Hans- maybe there’d be no trust anyway if he refused. There’d be complaints again to Radzig, maybe enough of them to make Radzig reconsider- and maybe he should, maybe Henry wasn’t ready for this and maybe there was no good reason that Radzig should have taken pity and hired him anyway.

Hans was looking at him with an impatient expression. Henry chose to speak before he was Commanded to again, unsure what he’d be compelled to say if he wasn’t in the right headspace to fight it.

“There was an explosion. It was… we had two atomic batteries stored for machine transfer.” He stepped back from Hans until he could feel the building’s wall against his back. It centered him; let him keep going before Hans could interrupt, ask questions he didn’t want to answer. “The fire burned hot enough in the garage until it reached them.” Putting it into words made it sound like a casual passage in a history text. Simple words couldn’t convey the heat in the air or the shouting as the crew tried to coordinate firefighting measures.

“That doesn’t make sense,” Hans said after a moment. “Storage requirements for nuclear-”

“It doesn’t work like that,” Henry cut him off. “We just moved them from one machine to another. We didn’t-” He let out a puff of air in an annoyed huff. “It was cheaper to pay off the auditors than to build standardized storage.”

And they had ultimately died for it, but at least there had been food on the table.

Henry felt pinpoints of pain from how hard he was clenching his fists, nails digging into his calloused palms. He forced himself to unfurl them and take a deep breath. Hans’ Command had him naturally on edge and it was becoming difficult to focus. “Can we talk about this later?”

“Bribed the auditors…” Hans was mumbling. He set his hands on his hips in a pose that was entirely frustrating. 

Henry could hear it already, could see it in Hans’ raised eyebrows and tilted chin; a lecture from a man who had no idea what money was worth about the necessity of workplace safety. If they had the required concrete, the insulation for noncombustible storage, then the fire would have been less damaging. If they had been keeping up on their fire suppression supplies then there’d have been no issue at all. If he had questioned the stranger walking through the stacks- If he had known where Ma was, if he’d been strong enough to push the machine shrapnel off of Pa, if he hadn’t locked the bunker without really, truly checking that nobody else was on the way-

“What are you doing? Are you in there?” Hans reached to grab Henry's arm and Henry shook him off, retreating further back against the wall. 

“Don't be a cunt,” Hans admonished, but Henry wasn't listening, was faintly struggling to lift his gaze from Hans black boots. The world felt fuzzy and it was difficult to hear Hans through the murky flash-bang explosion in his skull that was making his vision go fuzzy.

The street lit a little brighter as Hans pulled his phone up. “This is ridiculous. You're going to pay me credits back for this.” He put his phone away and then again reached for Henry's upper arm, this time more aggressive, holding onto him against Henry's reluctance tight enough that Henry’s skin might bruise later.

Hans was in his face, pushing him hard into the cold steel at his back. Henry took a sharp, messy breath and tried to twist away, but Hans’ fingers were twisted in his shirt relentlessly. “Off,” Henry demanded, flashing teeth, “ off .”

Hans grumbled but held steady. He grunted uncomfortably and leaned in impossibly closer. “Come the fuck on,” he muttered.

It took only another short few moments before Henry realized what was happening. He felt his muscles start to relax and pressure ease. He couldn't stop himself from breathing deeper and he tasted the scent in the back of his mouth. Relax, it said. You're safe. Henry hated it. It was a familiar scent, a memory of dark nights held in his mother's warm arms. Home. Safe. Shelter. To be so heavily scented like this felt insulting, and yet Henry found his shaking hands reaching out anyways. One hand pulled on a strap from Hans’ stupid gold harness, the other rested against Hans’ bare arm.

Embarrassing, shameful-

His body reacted to the scent despite himself and soon enough, face flushed, he didn’t feel the urge to argue anymore. Henry let his forehead come to rest against Hans shoulder and his eyes fluttered half-closed. No more memories of fire, guilt poison, regret. It would be alright. He would be alright.

“Uh, sure, okay,” Hans mumbled. 

Thankfully, he didn't let go. Henry wasn't sure that he wouldn't have clung harder if Hans had tried. It was the first moment of true peace that Henry had felt since everything had happened, and his body was exhausted.

They lingered there on the street for uncountable minutes before the effects of the scenting wore off and Henry finally peeled himself away. His face felt flushed and he couldn't meet Hans’ eyes, but the aura of peace and safety remained.

Henry cleared his throat after a moment and forced himself to say, “Thanks.”

Hans took his time to respond, and Henry felt still too abashed to meet his gaze or gauge his reaction. “I had to pay good money to download that,” Hans finally said.

Henry's breath left him in a stilted laugh. “Thanks,” he repeated. “I wasn't…” he trailed off, unsure of what to say. He had been lost, like a daytime nightmare he couldn't wake from. He felt freed from it now, his thoughts softer, slower.

“I'm calling the car,” Hans finally decided.

Henry nodded, grateful.                                                                                                                                                                                                       

Chapter Text

Henry slept that night better than he had in a long time. Somebody had cleaned his room while they were out, including his bedding; it made sense that Hans had an actual cleaning service, but Henry vaguely wished he had been aware strangers would be digging around in his room. Whatever, it meant his sheets were clean and smelled only of freshly laundered silk. He fell into them limp and exhausted despite the somewhat early hour and was out as soon as his eyes shut.

His sleep was dreamless and calm and when he woke it was slowly. Henry stretched, pushed hair from his face, and sat up in bed. He still felt sad; devastated, if he thought too deeply, pressing one hand to his chest. But it seemed easier to handle it this morning and easier to focus on getting through yet another day. 

Henry showered, taking his time in the always-perfect temperature of the water. He couldn’t hear music from the rest of the flat and suspected Hans was still asleep. They hadn’t really spoken much last night. The car had left them in the garage and they’d gone up the private elevator nearly ignoring each other, Hans with his face in his phone and Henry staring resolutely at the elevator button-pad. Henry didn’t know how to address what had happened last night. Most of the evening felt like a blur to him, the details foggy and indistinct, but he remembered Hans shoving him up against a wall, force scenting him, and he remembered the way he had melted into Hans’ arms. 

Ah, fuck. He pressed one hand over his face. Maybe they just wouldn’t talk about it at all. He imagined it was just as embarrassing for Hans. An Alpha scent wouldn’t have hit him so hard and so quickly, an Alpha scent wouldn’t have had him clinging desperately. Hans had purchased? and downloaded? an Omega-style scent to his spinal implant. What would a programmed scent cost? And how did that work; did it come only from the neck glands, or would it affect the wrists and thighs too?

Henry shook his head to clear his train of thought. Thinking about Hans’ scent glands wasn’t necessary. Henry had zero plans to install that kind of implant, free of cost or not. And anyway, it wasn’t appropriate to think about. They had crossed one crazy line last night, but circumstances had been… unfortunate… and it’d be easiest for both of them if they pretended yesterday hadn’t happened at all. Henry nodded at himself in the mirror. Hopefully Hans would be of the same mind.

He dressed slowly, choosing to leave his weapons stored away safely in the room. Briefly he checked his daily emails again, relieved to see no mention of last night’s events. Staring at the screen, he thought once again about sending messages out to everybody.  Just a quick hello, a short note to say- to say what? ‘Are you alive?’ Henry closed his eyes and turned the screen off, not quite yet ready to face them, dead or alive.

The apartment was still quiet when Henry left his room. Yesterday’s identical sunrise glittered on the wall, lighting the living room. Something about it this morning felt a little bit more peaceful- but it might just be Henry himself. At lunch yesterday he had figured out how to use the food ordering system, and so he turned from the window towards the kitchen, eager to try out more options. His family had never honestly wanted for food, even if there were shared meals that ended without everybody completely full, but he had never had access to variety like this before.

Hans’ voice stopped him just as he stepped up out of the living room. Henry was surprised to find him awake without the music on; it was quiet enough that Henry could hear Hans’ footsteps pacing back and forth on the second floor balcony above him. Hans was on the phone and Henry knew it was rude to eavesdrop, but he found himself standing still, holding his breath to listen anyway, because it sounded like the conversation was about him specifically.

“-fine,” Hans was saying. “I guess. I don’t need a babysitter at all. I can take care of myself.” He paused; Henry assumed he was speaking to his Uncle, complaining again. “Fuck, I can carry a gun myself. I’ll go buy a damn gun. You know my sharpshooting skills are-” Hans made an irritated noise as if he’d been cut off and it was indeed a moment before he continued speaking again. “Well, tell Kobyla that he needs to go out and find himself a new dog. This one is…” Hans drifted off, pausing his pacing.

Henry took a breath, wincing. He debated sneaking into the kitchen and shutting the door behind him; nothing good ever came from listening to two people talk about yourself. And yet he didn’t move.

“No, I’m not being obstinate . I swear I’m actually trying to- Ha. You only think I’m difficult because you’re- nevermind.” Hans huffed and started walking again. “Just listen. He isn’t right. We went to the range, and- no, I don’t think he’s dangerous .” Hans paused and his voice quieted just enough to force Henry to have to strain to hear him. “He’s not going to shoot me ,” Hans said with emphasis, “I think he’s more likely to shoot himself.”

Henry pushed open the kitchen door and shut it behind himself as quietly as possible. He felt his pulse quicken uncomfortably. There were limits to conversations you could bear overhearing. Hans wanted him gone- that wasn’t a surprise anymore. Hans also thought he was a suicide risk.

Henry flicked the low-lights on in the kitchen and walked to step in front of the ordering screen, pausing.

He wasn’t a suicide risk. He had a future, a sponsor dedicated to supporting him (for some reason). Things might not be going very well at the moment, but he just needed a little more time to adjust. And besides, there might be… there had to be somebody else who survived the attack in the Yards. 

He scrolled the list of food options slowly, but he wasn’t truly reading them.

And if nobody had survived, if Hans convinced Hanush and Radzig that he really was worthless and he was left with no place to live and nobody to worry about… Well, there was always that shadowed man at the edge of his dreams, that vivid memory of the stranger in the Yard storage before the first fire alarm sounded. Henry was pretty sure he could live for anger if there was nothing else.

Music started up in the room and shortly after the kitchen door swung open. Hans paused in the doorway, hair a terrible mess as if he’d spent the entire phone call with his hand running through it. “Oh,” he said, before letting the door fall shut behind him and turning the lights on brighter. “Morning.”

“Good morning,” Henry answered politely. The way Hans was looking at him felt too intense, so he looked back at the infinite list of food. He ended up selecting a warm oatmeal, a familiar enough food without having to search too deeply. It arrived just before the silence became uncomfortable and he pulled the bowl from the hatch, pleasantly surprised to see what looked like real, fresh fruit over top of it. He took a seat at the counter, idly wishing it wouldn’t be weird to go eat in his room.

Hans got himself his usual mystery shake and perched on the other end of the counter, again forgoing an actual chair to jump right up on the quartz. Henry stirred his oatmeal. He wasn’t sure what half of the fruits were, only used to having dried, packaged fruit on rare occasions.

There was a moment of silence before Hans slid off the counter and started pouring his drink down the sink with a sigh.

Henry couldn't help but ask. “You don't like it?”

Hans laughed once, softly. “Tastes like every powdered sweetener currently legal.” He shook his head. “It's part of my ‘strict diet protocol’,” he continued, “but I just realized that since you live here and you can eat whatever you want, nobody will even know who eats what.” He migrated back to the tablet and started scrolling with a smirk.

“Why don't you tell them you don’t want to eat the other stuff?”

“I tell them plenty,” Hans said lowly. “Like every other damn thing in my life I have no control over, he doesn't seem to listen. Steak and eggs,” he decided with a satisfying stab at the screen. “I haven't had beef in ages.”

It came up the hatch soon enough and this time Hans actually sat in a chair to eat. The smell made Henry a little regretful he'd only gone with oats, but truthfully he still wasn't sure his stomach was in a state to try something so rich. Their meat proteins were all genetically synthetic- he was sure even Hans hadn’t ever had meat from a living animal. Still, there was a large range in synthesized quality, and there was probably a wide difference between the tough meat proteins Henry’s family had been able to get every week or so and the marinated cut that Hans’ personal chef sent up.

The music was a comfort as they ate together, a series of lowkey pop-songs that filled the almost-awkward space. It wasn't until his spoon was scraping the bottom of his bowl that Henry asked, “What are we doing today?”

Hans lifted his gaze and looked at him for a moment. Henry could only guess what he was thinking- wondering if Henry was about to take his own eyes out with the spoon, probably. “Do you not have my schedule?” Hans finally answered.

Ah. He definitely did. Henry pulled up his phone and unfolded it. There was a new message from Radzig, a bright notification at the top that Henry briefly read. 

Hope things are settling well. Let me know if you run into any issues or have any needs. 

Henry knew this was a subtle way of asking what the hell was happening. He pictured Hanush hopping on the company line immediately after Hans’ call with him earlier. His ears felt warm and he swiped the text away, ignoring it. 

There was a calendar app specifically for Hans’ schedule and Henry probably should have looked at it before now. Each day had a list of things, many of the previous tasks amusingly labeled red for ‘missed’. Even yesterday's firing range trip was on the schedule and was apparently a weekly activity that had been going on as far back as Henry could scroll. It made him feel a little better to know it wasn't only a test for him, but just something Hans did routinely- for fun, or as forced as his meal plan?

Today looked like most of his weekdays, more or less; breakfast, gym, private study, lunch, joint lessons, daily update meeting, dinner, personal time. 

“You’re in school?” Henry asked, putting his phone away without answering Radzig at all. Yes, there were issues, yes, he had needs- no, he wasn’t going to call the man who had given him a new life and tell him how hard everything was.

“Of course I’m in school,” Hans answered.

“Studying what?”

Hans gave him a blank look, fork pausing mid-air with a dripping bit of meat speared on it. “Business.”

“Oh. Right.” 

Hans sighed, easily bored by simple conversation. He ate the bite on his fork and then set it noisily on the plate. “Subject change, Henry.”

Henry took a breath. Hans was looking at him seriously and it probably meant nothing good. He sat up in his seat. “Um, okay.”

“I know you’re… sad,” Hans began.

“Sad,” Henry echoed. Were they actually going to talk about last night? He’d been hoping they were both on the same ‘pretend it never happened’ page.  “Okay.”

“Well, I had an agent send me all the news articles. So you don't have to explain it or anything.”

He pictured Hans sitting in bed and casually scrolling through posts written by strangers about the worst day of his life. It made him feel slightly ill. “Am I allowed to initiate a subject change or is that only something you can do?”

“Just me,” Hans confirmed with a flash of a smile. 

Henry rolled his eyes, but he vividly remembered the overheard phone call and waved his hand, gesturing for Hans to go ahead and continue, get it over with.

“I know what will help you.”

Henry leaned back in his chair, bowl long empty. “Do you.”

“You might be aware that I, too, have been through some… difficult times,” Hans said. Henry continued to stare at him and Hans’ smile wilted faintly. “What I mean is…” He failed to continue the sentence and his gaze gently drifted to the countertop, brow creasing.

Henry decided to take a little pity on the rich boy. He realized somewhat belatedly that there was likely an obvious reason why he had only ever discussed this job with Hans’ uncle and not any closer relatives.  He could suffer through some terrible advice for the sake of their working relationship. “Go on,” he encouraged warily. 

“What I'm saying, Henry,” Hans continued finally, “is that I know exactly what you need. Lots of alcohol, good food, better music, and ,” he went on, visibly perking up, “we need to get you laid.”

Henry stared at him.

Hans laughed at his shocked expression. “Yes, that's the exact face of a man who really needs to get his knot wet. What's your type?” He pulled up his phone and his fingers flashed as he scrolled through his presumably extensive contact list. “Are you picky? I heard all the Yardsmen are really old-fashioned; should I just invite a bunch of Omegas?”

“Invite-?”

“We can just have a little get-together, a little party. I've been getting messages for hours complaining about how early I left last night.” He glanced at Henry, who was visibly struggling to come up with any kind of answer. “Not Omegas?” he guessed. “Girls? Boys? I can just invite a fun mix and we can see what happens?”

“Stop,” Henry finally said. He stood up and picked up his breakfast dishes. “I don't-” He couldn't help making a face. The conversation felt like a field of landmines, like he might say something to offend Hans and start an argument with him again, or he might start dwelling too much on-

( On Bianca's ring left in the ashes , he purposefully avoided thinking).

“Maybe I'll just start with the alcohol,” Henry agreed after he'd stalled long enough putting his dishes in the hatch to send them for cleaning. “And the music. Food.” 

( And maybe more purposeful scenting, the part of his mind that wasn't being allowed to think added.)

He shut the hatch with more force than necessary and moved to the sink to wash his hands. 

( Was scenting always like that? Bianca had been a Beta. )

“I already invited a bunch of hot people over for tonight anyway,” Hans was saying at the counter behind him. “I could also stand to get some action.”

( It had been an Omega scent. He didn't need to be specifically remembering Hans’ neck against his cheek when he thought about it.) 

Henry let the water run hot over his fingers until his brain finally begged for mercy and then screwed the faucet off. “Tonight?” he asked, mouth dry. 

“Yeah.” Hans stretched his arms out comfortably before getting up. He didn't bother with his dishes, the food only half-eaten. “But first I have to go log some cardio before my schedule starts throwing alarms at me, and then I've gotta pretend to learn shit about economical law.” He paused at the door and then turned to Henry, who was still at the sink. “You should come with me,” he announced. “For safety. My safety. As my bodyguard.”

And also, Henry read obviously between the lines, because Hans was convinced that Henry might go back to his room and shoot himself in the head.

Henry sighed. One day at a time. He reminded himself just to be grateful the toxic grief that had tried to drown him yesterday was slumbering today. It would do him good to work out, anyway. “Show me your gym,” he allowed. 

Chapter Text

Routine activities with Hans were truly a test. He combined his studies and his cardio into one longer session, using a soundpatch on the skin underneath his ear to conduct vibrational sound without playing anything out loud. Henry was largely left to himself in the quiet to figure out how to use the machinery in Hans’ small, private workout room, and just when his mind would properly start to wander, his thoughts drifting to dangerous places, Hans would turn around while running and say something inane. He’d ask what Henry’s favorite alcohol was: “Beer’s cheap.” He’d make comments presumably related to the coursework he was listening to: “I think the human to robot proportional taxes should adjust for percentage of implant parts.” Lots of remarks were related to the party he still promised to throw that night: “Do you think Sammy would come bartend for me if it was you that asked him?”

After a while, Henry found himself simply sitting on a weight bench and watching Hans run. Hans kept going, pace steady, mumbling to himself periodically. Sweat glistened across his bare back and made the silver of his implant almost glitter in the room light. It was fascinating to see it in full like that, metallic circuitry that splintered its way down his spine. 

“When did you get it?” Henry found himself asking.

Hans looked over his shoulder. “What?”

“Your spine implant.”

“Oh.” He hummed, thinking. He brushed one hand through his hair and it slicked back, sweaty.  “When I was thirteen,” he finally answered. “Hands when I was ten.”

“ Ten ?”

“Sure, the first set. Removed and replaced a few times until I finished growing.”

Henry looked down at his own hands, turning them over to look at the small implant that had barely finished healing. Installation had burned despite the local anesthetic injections they’d done first; he found it hard to picture what it would be like to pull them out and put in new ones. “Is that… normal?”

Hans' wide shoulders shook when he laughed. “No, Henry. That’s not normal.”

--

He should have expected that Hans’ ‘just a few people over’ really meant ‘an absolute rager’. Henry suspected it when Hans was talking about hiring a bartender, and by the fifth group of people that wandered in the front door he was sure. He lingered in the background while Hans greeted everyone wearing his ridiculous, skintight crop-top with his last name stitched wide across the front; CAPON. 

Henry had managed not to actually cackle upon seeing the shirt earlier, but Hans had not missed the startled expression on his face. They’d had a few quick words and somehow Henry had been the one forced to go change. After more than a few minutes spent rediscovering his evolving wardrobe, he had swapped his long-sleeve shirt for a tighter one with short sleeves and it’d seemed to appease Hans- that or Henry had taken so long deciding that Hans had forgotten about the whole issue by the time he’d reappeared, room carefully locked behind him.

The main room’s window screen had been switched to a never-ending sunset underneath a dark sky filled with beautiful, rainbow fireworks. They sparked and exploded across an impossibly darkened skyline, filling the room with an excess of color. Unfamiliar music poured from the speakers, something different than Hans’ normal 24/7 playlist, easy and slow and just short of too loud.

Henry leaned against one of many expertly placed bar-style tables and watched Hans play host. He was good at it. He addressed almost everybody personally by name, greeting most of them with warm embraces or fast, casual wrist scenting. One blonde grabbed Hans by the collar and pulled him down into a messy kiss; somebody cheered, somebody else took her place as soon as she stepped away, and Henry decided maybe it was time to go see who was manning the bar.

He was handed a tall glass of ice and alcohol as soon as he stepped up to the counter. He took it on instinct and the woman behind the bar smiled at him. She was pretty with a warm face and long, dark brown hair that cascaded over her bare shoulders, and she was wearing nothing but a long kitchen-style apron that covered everything necessary only technically. Everybody was showing plenty of skin, but she was nearly naked; Henry felt his cheeks warm and took a drink while he schooled his flustered reaction. He tasted something sweet; whiskey cold and smoother than any liquor he’d ever had before. 

“He told me to make sure you never have an empty glass,” she told him, leaning so far over the bar towards him that he could tell she hadn’t bothered with a bra. “My name’s Mary. You can have whatever you want. I mean, so can everybody else, but you especially.” Mary stepped back and made a show of looking him up and down. “Me included, definitely.”

Henry’s fangs clicked on the edge of the glass. “Thanks,” he choked. He needed to get it together. It wasn’t as if he’d never seen a naked woman before. (The count was, to be specific, a single naked woman, but still.) He was a grown man and if he was going to survive the night surrounded by undressed cityfolk who may or may not have been instructed to try and seduce him, then he needed to pretend like he was totally used to all this and a perfectly normal, suave Alpha. He took a long breath.

A warm hand touched his bare arm and Henry did not startle. He clutched his glass and turned.

“You look like you need something to calm you down,” said the man who’d approached him. He had a cheeky, fanged Alpha grin and well-groomed facial hair, but Henry found it impossible to stop staring into his eyes- because while his right eye was perfectly normal, dark, almost hazel, his left iris was light by a faint green glow and weaved with circuitry. Fake, a type of implant sold by a company other than Intent Rattay, though Henry wasn’t well-versed enough in current tech to guess which one.

The man leaned in towards him and said, quietly like they were sharing a secret, “You smell nervous.”

“A little out of my element,” Henry agreed.

“Would you like something?” the man asked. “To relax?” He pulled from his pocket a small envelope. “It’s just a pheromone patch. Legal, safe, etcetera.”

“Old-fashioned.”

“You’ve used them before?”

Henry shook his head. “No.” Too expensive to get secondhand in the Yards and not the most exciting drug of choice- not even a drug, really, just a natural compound usually designed to take advantage of the scent response. “I’ve heard of them, though.” 

“Well?” The man waved it at him. “It’s yours if you want it.”

Henry took a breath and held out his arm, wrist facing upwards. Why the fuck not. They were safe and typically only lasted as long as you had the patch attached to your skin. He could peel it off if he hated it.

Mary appeared and slid another drink their way. “Do you have one of those for me, Barrie?”

“You certainly don’t need one, Miss Mary.” He took his drink and tried it before setting it back down and taking a napkin to wipe the condensation from his hands. “I also only carry Alpha patches on me.”

She sighed and gave them a playful wink before sliding down to serve others filling the bar space.

“Barrie?”  Henry asked, his arm still held outstretched.

“If you like,” he shrugged. “Bartosch if we’re being professional.”

(Henry was quickly feeling increasingly unprofessional.)

Bartosch slid one warm hand underneath Henry’s arm to hold him steady. He tore the little envelope open with his teeth, freeing the sticky patch from within. Instead of putting it on, he ran his fingers down Henry’s arm and then casually slid his wrist to Henry’s, pressing their scent together for just a moment. Henry looked up to meet his strange eyes and felt almost like he might not need the patch at all, actually- but Bartosch simply smiled at him while he peeled the backing off and smoothly applied it to the sensitive scent gland on Henry’s arm.

“There you go,” Bartosch said. “It’ll last a while if you leave it be.” He still held Henry’s forearm and traced the path of his single-line implant up towards his thumb before finally letting go. 

Henry slowly pulled his arm back and ran his fingers over the patch, noting absently that Bartosch didn’t have any Intent implants of his own. “Do you know Hans well?” he asked.

“Well enough; about as well as anybody else invited. Grab your drink, we can move somewhere more comfortable.”

Henry took his recently refilled glass and followed as he was led down into the main living area. They settled onto a couch; one of many littered around the room and surrounded by scattered tables. Henry remembered thinking nobody would ever use this much space or furniture when he had moved in only a few days ago, and now he wasn’t sure if it would be enough for the amount of people who were still slowly arriving. He heard Hans’ loud laughter and turned to see him with a half-empty glass in hand entertaining a semi-circle of people near the bar they’d just left.

“He’s a fun host,” Bartosch said, pulling Henry’s attention back. “How do you know him?”

“We work for the same company,” Henry answered vaguely. His actual position would quickly become public knowledge the more they went out together, but he felt it a poor idea to offer the information too freely, especially on a night like tonight. 

There were so many people here already. Was this a good idea? How had he let Hans talk him into this; into inviting all these people into their home unchecked? And him casually getting drunk, having stashed his weapons behind a locked door? Henry got back up to his feet, an uneasy feeling in his gut.

Bartosch grabbed his arm, stopping him from unconsciously peeling the patch from his wrist. “What's wrong?”

“Ah, I…” He looked over again at Hans. Hans knew these people; he looked so comfortable and unworried. Henry talked himself through it. The door locked automatically and had to be triggered open each time. There was a rigid security system and an AI responsible for actively reviewing camera feeds. The nervous feeling he was experiencing likely had nothing to do with any of that. He slowly let himself sit back down. “Haven’t really been to an event like this before,” he admitted, choosing one truth over another. “Little nervous.”

Bartosch laughed and leaned back. “Don’t worry, nobody is going to go tell your mom what you get up to.”

Henry smiled faintly and took another long drink of his whiskey. It went down too easily; he already felt warm at the edges, but maybe he could contribute some of that to the patch, too. Fireworks on the screen lit the room in shades of color. Music and excited voices blended together into an almost familiar background sound. Henry sipped at his drink until it was nothing but ice clinking and reached to set it on the couch’s nearest table. The room was filling quickly and he felt more like just another person in the crowd. 

Bartosch was watching him quietly, music heavy in the background, and Henry realized that yes, the pheromone patch was absolutely taking effect. He felt his pulse in his throat. It all felt so easy. He wanted to scent share- more specifically, he wanted to put his scent on the other man, to mark him in a quiet way.

“So, uh.” Henry swallowed and readjusted the way he sat, increasingly aware of his body. “How do you know Hans, then?”

Bartosch hummed and shifted closer. He watched Henry like he could read his thoughts and for one crazy second Henry wondered if his fake eye allowed him to do just that. “We were introduced somewhere or another. Some party, club. Business meeting, maybe, once he started attending them again after…” Bartosch shrugged, waved a hand casually, and didn’t finish his sentence. 

Henry was becoming more and more aware of Bartosch’s thigh against his and less concerned about the conversation they were having, but he continued to play along while eyeing the line of the other Alpha’s neck. “After what?”

“After Capon Sr… you know.” Bartosch mimed a gun to his own head. “But that’s not what you want to talk about, right?”

Wait, actually, Henry maybe did want to talk about that-

But Bartosch was leaning closer and staring at him so intently that no matter how badly Henry wanted to turn to look at Hans again, he found himself unable to move, pinned by the intensity of his gaze and the urges in his own chest.

“You don’t smell nervous anymore,” Bartosch told him.

Henry ran his tongue over his fangs, mouth dry. “I don’t feel nervous anymore.” He reached out with his uncovered wrist, heart racing and tipsy and anxiously giving in to instinct. It was why he’d taken the patch, wasn’t it?

Bartosch reached for him but instead of pressing wrist to wrist, he took Henry’s arm gently in his grip and pulled it up towards his neck. They were much closer, the rest of the party dimmed and forgotten. Bartosch’s scent was rich like aged wood and his skin was hot as Henry slid his wrist over the sensitive gland on the side of his neck. Bartosch spoke softly, “Those Rattay implants can ruin your scenting, you know.”

“Can they?” Henry asked absently. He did not care about any kind of tech at the moment. He cared only about mixing their scent oils against Bartosch’s skin, pushing closer on the couch.

“So they say.”

“Sounds awful.”

“Mhm,” Bartosch murmured. It felt natural that their lips met then as they grew closer on the couch. Henry felt the world spin pleasantly, tipsy, and let his fingers run through the short hair along the back of Bartosch’s head. He parted his lips carefully, conscious of sharp fangs, and realized the cloying scent of smoke was his scent now.

It had changed.

He didn’t want to think about that right now. He pushed closer and deepened the kiss, making a little sound in the back of his throat as Bartosch’s hand twisted in his shirt.

The sound of glass shattering interrupted the music for a moment, a quick sound like a wine glass hitting the tile. Somebody laughed. Henry’s eyes fluttered open and it felt like light in the room had dimmed even further. He forced himself to pull away for a moment, hazy, and turned to look at the window. 

There was a large strip of black pixels running down the screen. Henry blinked at the broken strip.

There was a feminine scream and suddenly the room was filled with movement. Somebody rushed past his couch and knocked into the table, sending his cup of melted ice to the floor.

Hans’ panicked voice pulled him from his confusion. “Hen- HENRY .”

Henry turned, pushing himself off the couch. Hans was in an armchair with a topless woman, his expression horrified, and violently red blood splattered over them both.

“Ah, fuck,” muttered Bartosch.

Chapter Text

Hans sat stiff in a chair, his hands gripping the arms of the woman straddling his lap tight. His eyes were wide with shock. Blood dripped from his eyelashes. 

“ HANS ,” shouted Henry. “Get down .”

Hans shoved the woman from his lap and she fell backwards to sprawl horribly over the floor. He pushed her legs away and threw himself over the edge of the couch to hit the ground.

Henry pushed past a fallen table to join him there, sliding down onto his knees. “Are you hurt?” He grabbed Hans’ arm, trying to get a good look at him.

“No, fuck ,” Hans groaned. He shook Henry away before yanking on Henry’s collar to get him low to the floor with him. “Watch your head- she just fucking- where’s your gun, Henry?”

“Locked in my room.” Henry pushed himself up carefully on an elbow to look past the edge of the couch. The room spun and the remaining fireworks seemed eerie now, cracking away nonstop despite the strangled aura in the room. He blinked to focus better and regretted it upon seeing the woman’s ragdoll body. Her face was- it was ruined. It was a mutilated hole. Strands of russet hair turned crimson matted against the remnants of her broken jaw. He could see cracked teeth, he could see what remained of her tongue, he could see- 

Hans dragged him back down to the floor. “Why is this the one fucking time you aren’t armed,” Hans hissed at him. 

The penthouse alarm finally sounded, loud and sharp. Henry flinched when the front door locks loudly engaged and the lights all came on at once. The fireworks finally stopped, replaced with a screen black enough to see the city’s dusk light flicker through a small hole in the window. Somebody had shot through the screen, which meant they knew not only where Hans lived but where he was at that moment, able to track him despite the opaque window.

“Are you drunk?” Hans had to speak loudly to be heard over the alarm.

“I’m fine. We need to move away from that giant window.”

“Behind the bar?” Hans suggested. “Kitchen?”

Bar was open on both sides; kitchen had a door. “Kitchen,” confirmed Henry. “Ready?”

“Let’s go.”

They stood quickly. Hans slipped in the blood pooling underneath him but Henry caught him, heaving him back to his feet.

There were three other people huddled in the kitchen who startled when they shoved the door open. Henry closed it behind them, but it didn’t have a lock. He surveyed the kitchen quickly and found nothing he could move in front of the door except the flimsy chairs at the counter; he didn’t bother. Hans stumbled towards the sink and turned the water on. 

“The security team will probably be here soon,” Henry said. He moved around the counter to kneel next to the three guests who had chosen to run into the kitchen instead of out the front door. Two drunk women and a young man in a fashion collar who was doing his best to keep them calm but who also looked like he was barely holding himself together. “It’s going to be alright,” Henry told them.

The brunette on the left scowled at him, her eyes wide with fear. “Alright? Bethany is fucking dead . I saw her-” she cut herself off with a despairing whimper and took a long, wet breath. “Can we leave?”

“Soon.” With the doors locked down, nobody was leaving until the security team arrived. Henry wasn’t about to tell them that, though; their fear was making him feel almost ill. He suddenly remembered the patch on his arm and tore it off, crinkling it and throwing it aside. His wrist was faintly pink and he rubbed at it gently.

A trembling hand was thrust over his and he took it out of instinct. Her skin was impossibly soft. She clung to him and he squeezed back, sliding his grip to share their wrist scents together. 

Insistent vibration in his pocket forced him to pull away. He answered his phone without looking at the screen. “Henry.”

“We’re two minutes out,” said a masculine voice he hadn’t heard before. “What’s the current situation?”

Henry stood up to take the call and moved a few steps away. “There was a… sniper? One shot from outside through the giant window. A single civilian casualty. Hans is fine.” He glanced at Hans at the sink and frowned. The way Hans hunched over the sink, frantically washing his hands, made Henry a little bit less sure that ‘fine’ was the right word. “He’s unhurt,” he amended.

“That concurs with the surveillance system. Stay where you are and hold tight. We will arrive and release lockdown shortly.”

“Affirmative,” said Henry, because it sounded like the sort of word it was proper to answer with. The line went dead and he stuffed it back into his loose pocket. The alarm finally quieted. Adrenaline pulsed through his throat; he felt almost perfectly sober. He should have trusted his gut. It had been so stupid to leave his weapons behind. Somebody else had died on his watch.

Not that anything he could have done would have prevented what happened. Not here, and not then.

Still. He could do better. He would keep them safe. Keep Hans safe.

“Henry.”

He spun around and moved to Hans’ side at the sink. “Are you okay?”

Hans turned to look at him. He had clearly been making an effort to clean himself off in the deep sink but hadn’t been able to get everything without any sort of mirror. Blood mixed with water and dripped down his neck, pooling against his collarbones before soaking into his shirt. “Am I okay?” he answered breathlessly. “Someone just tried to fucking shoot me!”

“Unsuccessfully.”

“ Unsuccess- Henry.” Hans brushed one hand through his hair, dampening it further. “Do me a favor and keep your damn mouth shut. If you want to be useful, just keep standing there and doing that.”

“Doing what?”

Hans stuck his palms back under the faucet. He grumbled something that Henry couldn’t understand over the roar of the water, then said, “You’re doing, like, the Alpha scent. How do you not notice?”

Henry frowned. “After… what happened, my scent changed. I think. I can’t always tell what’s me and what’s…?” He gestured vaguely at the air. 

There were only a handful of scent patterns that he figured could classify as ‘ the Alpha scent’, and most of them involved Courting or rutting and Henry suspected (hoped) Hans wasn’t referring to either of those.

“Whatever,” Hans said. “Just don’t move. I need to- I have to get this…” He took a shuttered breath before leaning over the sink and pooling more water over his hands. “Her face, Henry. I’m covered in her damn face -”

Henry edged in and pushed Hans back. “Let me help you,” he said. The kitchen was barely functional, but there was a stack of decorative dish towels resting near the sink. They’d barely hold water, but they would work. Henry grabbed one and wet it after turning the temperature down; it was so hot to be nearly steaming, turning Hans’ palms lightly pink. “You’re just making a mess.”

Hans squeezed his eyes closed and stood still, one hand resting on the edge of the sink and the other tense in a fist at his side. He stayed surprisingly still while Henry carefully wiped blood from his brow with the towel. He was so pale, his breath coming fast and his lips pursed tightly. Like yesterday, Henry thought, but reversed. It was a little unnerving to be so close to him with that memory still vivid in his mind. 

A smear of red marked Hans’ lip and Henry gently moved to wipe that away too, but Hans grabbed his arm to stop him. Hans’ eyes fluttered open. “Be careful. I bit myself; that’s my blood.”

“Badly?”

Hans licked the blood from his bottom lip. “No.” He freed Henry’s hand and took a quick glance over his shoulder towards the three guests talking themselves out of hysterics on the floor across the room. “I’m sure I look like a fucking mess. PR is going to kill me if pictures hit the feed.” He rubbed his wet hands over his face, leaving behind steaks of pale red.

“I think they have more to worry about than sneaking photos of you.” Henry took his towel and roughly wiped the new mess from Han’s cheeks before reaching to attempt to dry his hair with it as well. Hans obediently lowered his head for him, and Henry might have been surprised by his compliance if they hadn’t already mentioned his scent. In this smaller space he was cognizant of it now, this different version of his altered smoke-scent, and though it would be some time before he could recognize it as his own , he knew what it was he was doing.

It was a strange, dichotomous state of being: he was taking each moment step by step, unsure and inexperienced, vaguely terrified, and yet his body knew exactly what needed to be done. He was unconsciously filling the space with a very Alpha scent that conveyed protection, shelter, sanctuary. 

Henry knew that the second he had time to himself in the quiet after this event was over, he was going to overthink this and feel horribly embarrassed. Hans didn’t seem to care; he almost seemed to appreciate it- but Henry thought it was probably different for a man who was used to anybody summoning any scent at will.

Henry’s scents were pure honesty, for better or worse. It hadn’t felt like such an ominous concept when the same was true for everybody.

He ran the towel down Hans’ neck slowly until Hans pushed his arm away again.

“It’s cold,” Hans complained. “Are you done?”

“I can’t fix your shirt.” There was fresh blood pooling on Han’s lip again. Henry dragged his gaze away and tossed the stained towel into the sink with a thunk. 

The kitchen door slammed open, making everybody jump. Two helmeted men in black came through the doorway, each with a different type of firearm in their hands. They stepped aside after a moment and one more man came through, his helmet already folding to reveal his face. He was a stern, older man with a shaved head and he surveyed the room slowly before turned to address Hans. “Alright, sir?”

Hans took a breath and then stepped out from behind Henry, who had unconsciously moved in front of him. “We’re unhurt in here, Captain. But in the main room-”

“Yes,” said the Captain, raising one hand to cut him off. “I’ve already got a cleaning team on it.” He looked at Henry and his stare was intense. “You’re Henry?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Saw the footage. Not terrible.”

Henry and Hans briefly exchanged a look. “Thank you,” Henry said, uncertain.

“Not great, though,” the Captain added. “Civilian deaths aren’t great.”

“I-”

“I don’t think you could have prevented this one, however.” He kept speaking over Henry, for the most part already disregarding him and turning back to Hans. His men were pulling the three guests to their feet and shuffling them out of the room. “Too close for a lucky shot. We’ll need access to the guest list. Somebody either hacked into the camera system or had somebody on the inside they were communicating with.”

Hans rubbed his forehead. “Yeah, I’ll… see if I can get you contact information for everybody.”

“Work on that. In the meantime, we will take care of everything here. You can go upstairs to your room; it’s been marked safe.”

“Thanks, Bernard,” Hans said. “Come on, Henry.”

Henry trailed after him out of the kitchen. Hans specifically turned his head away from the main part of the room as he stepped quickly towards the stairs, but Henry couldn’t help but look. They had a blanket covering the girl and were taking pictures of everything. There were a half dozen people in the room at least, and yet Henry thought it felt unbearably empty.

“Hurry up,” Hans said. “I need a fucking shower and to get out of these damn clothes.”

Hans’ room was, as expected, huge. It took up most of the top floor, sharing balcony space with his private gym and an office. Henry was waiting for Hans to realize he didn’t need to be there any longer, but that didn’t happen; in fact, Hans half held the bedroom door open for him as he flicked the lights on.

The bed was giant and took up most of the room. Their secret maid service must have been by, because Henry suspected Hans wasn’t the type to make his own bed and he certainly wouldn’t have replaced the decorative pillows so perfectly. A pair of expensive dressers lined the bed and an elaborate desk sat against one wall. On the other side of the room was, predictably, an entire mini-bar and a few options for comfortable seating.

Hans struggled out of his shirt. He tossed it on the floor and went straight to the door of his private bathroom. Henry let him be and paced around the room. There was one window in the room and it looked to be real when Henry peered out of it. City buildings surrounded them and he wondered which one had contained the shooter. He felt like they should cover the window, but he had to trust the security team.

He turned away from the window, still faintly ill at the height of the penthouse. Movement startled him from the other wall and he froze before realizing it was just a picture in a frame- a series of pictures that rotated through. Henry felt a little nosy doing it, but he watched for a while. They were mostly photos of an older, somewhat stern looking blond man- clearly Capon Sr. Sometimes a very young, pre-augmented Hans was in the photos as well.

It felt somewhat too personal for him to watch for too long. He turned away.

Henry sat on the chaise lounge, his hands folded in between his knees. The quiet in the room felt overwhelming; Hans hadn’t turned the music on before getting into the shower and Henry was left to sit with his thoughts. He kept picturing alternate events every time he blinked. Hans slumped over the couch. Hans with a hole in his head, face gone like that girl’s. The portrait of Hans’ father with his face blown out too. The last expression of his own father’s after Henry had left him pinned before the second explosion.

Henry pushed himself to his feet. He wasn’t sure where he was going when he started, but was unsurprised to find himself at the bathroom door. He grabbed the handle and paused, leaning against the doorframe. Was this weird? Was anything weird between two men after a near-death experience? Did Henry care if it was weird- would a little bit of strangeness be better than suffocating alone?

He turned the unlock knob and walked into the enormous bathroom, averting his eyes from the clouded shower door. “I’m just going to sit in here,” he announced over the water.

Hans was quiet for a moment before he said, shockingly, “Okay,” and then, “Why?”

“Because somebody is trying to kill you and I feel like I should stay close,” lied Henry. The toilet was just close enough to the shower that it might be crossing a line, so he hefted himself up onto the long countertop instead.

“Well.” Hans cleared his throat. “I wasn’t crying.”

Henry glanced towards him; his image was nothing but a fuzzy, shapeless figure distorted by glass. He didn’t appear to be doing much washing, just standing under the multiple shower heads.  “I couldn’t hear anything over the sound of the water,” he promised, but he was now pretty sure that he’d made the right choice by intruding on Hans’ space.

“This is so fucked up. Why would anybody want to assassinate me ? I haven’t done anything that serious to anybody.”

“Who knows,” answered Henry vaguely after realizing Hans couldn’t see him shrug.

“Sure, maybe I’m not exactly respectful of anybody’s marriage vows, but it’s not like they were mated or anything.”

“Do people get mated in the city?”

“What?”

Henry repeated himself a bit louder.

Hans laughed faintly. “People do whatever the fuck they want to. But usually, no. It’s more complicated than paperwork. Do your people?”

“My people are your people too, you know.”

“You’re the one talking like we come from different planets.”

Henry leaned back against the mirror behind him and closed his eyes. He smiled briefly. “Feels like we might.”

“I’ll fix you yet,” Hans promised.

“It’s not so strange in the Yards,” said Henry, “being mated.” Henry personally suspected part of the reason for that might be lack of money for suppressant resources, but he wasn’t prepared to get into a socio-economic discussion in the bathroom. “Were your parents?”

“I…” Hans sighed. “They weren’t. I don’t really want to think about them right now, Henry, just like I’m sure you don’t want to talk about yours.”

“I would talk about mine,” Henry said quietly. He didn’t know if Hans could hear him, but he wasn’t asked to repeat himself this time.

“I’m coming out,” Hans said instead. The water turned off abruptly.

Henry turned towards the door. “I won’t look.”

The door slid open and Hans snorted. “Teaching modesty in the Yards, eh? Who gives a fuck; we’re both Alpha men.” Still, when Henry looked back towards him he was wearing a fluffy white robe embroidered with his monogrammed name. He shook water from his head, hair wet and limp over his forehead, and moved through the bathroom, stopping just in front of Henry.

They simply looked at each other for a moment in the humid, bright room. Hans' eyes really were just as blue as all the photo-edits on the feeds made them look. There was still blood on his lip, the wound from his own teeth reopened by the shower. 

“Did it help?” Hans asked, leaning closer.

“Did… what help?”

Hans’ stare flicked over him. “The alcohol. The man.”

Henry felt hot in his chest very quickly and spread his hands over the cold countertop he sat on. “The… murder?” he added dryly.

Hans slouched backwards, rolling his eyes and letting Henry have his space back. “Alright,” he said, throwing his hands up as he walked out of the bathroom. “Was just asking.”

Henry slid off the countertop and followed him into the bedroom. Today had been a mess and he didn’t have the mental wherewithal to question what exactly Hans had been asking. He shook his head and admitted, “It helped. Before…”

“The murder?” Hans echoed. His lips curled devilishly before he shook his head. “Stupid shit to joke about.”

“Yeah.” What a fucking mess. Henry turned to leave. “I’m going to go check in with the security team before bed.”

There was a pause long enough that Henry hesitated and looked back at Hans. Hans blinked at him, adjusted his robe, and said, “Sure. Okay. Leave your phone on and all.”

“Yeah,” Henry agreed.

There were only a few people remaining downstairs, most of them part of a hazmat cleaning crew that were currently tearing out pieces of Hans’ carpet and taking window measurements. Henry nodded at them when he went past and stopped in front of the Captain to check in. “Is it safe to keep staying here,” he asked, “if we suspect some kind of security breach?”

The Captain was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, and he looked down his nose at Henry with a sigh. “For now,” he confirmed. “We have hovercopters in the sky and teams on the ground. It’s possible we may move you quickly at any point.”

He’d have to make sure Hans had some kind of go-bag packed. “Thank you. Let me know if you need anything.”

The Captain nodded. “You’ll get your standard report in the morning, or sooner if there is news. I’ll have men stationed here overnight for the time being. Get some sleep.”

Henry nodded in return and headed towards his room. He unlocked the door and gave his stored weapons a dry look. He logically could have done nothing with them, but… he wouldn’t be caught without them again. As he finished pulling his shirt off, his phone rang and he rushed to answer it.

“It’s Henry.”

It was Radzig. “Henry, how are you? I heard about the incident tonight. Apologies for calling so late, but I assumed you’d still be awake.”

“Hans is okay.” Henry debated how much detail to go into and genuinely felt too exhausted to elaborate.

“I’m aware and very glad of it. But you, Henry, how are you holding up? I truly did not expect something so drastic to happen.”

Henry was struck silent for a moment by Radzig’s surprising sincerity. “I’m… alright,” he finally settled on. “I wish I could have done more.”

“As is too often the case, unfortunately.”

“Do you know who might want him dead? Hans seems clueless.”

Radzig hummed over the line. “I do have some thoughts, but this may not be the correct time or place to discuss that.”

He meant that the phone lines might not be safe. Henry pressed further anyway. “If he dies, where does his trust go?”

“Half of the shares would go to Hanush, Intent Rattay’s acting CEO. The other half would be specifically sold and that money inherited by his mother. I was in court for a few years after his father’s death arranging the details. Neither of them have any ill will towards young Capon, Henry; I can hear the gears in your brain spinning from here.”

“I’m just anxious.”

“We all are. Just remember that we have multiple teams handling this; you are meant only as a last defense. To be perfectly honest, Henry…”

Henry waited.

Radzig sighed. “Well, Hans is greatly in need of better influences in his life.”

“Right,” Henry said slowly. It was flattering to hear, but Radzig did not know him as a person. Maybe he was just on edge, but it was somewhat suspicious to consider. “Well, sir, it’s late and I suspect tomorrow may be a long day.”

“Oh, of course. Please keep in touch; I am at your disposal.” 

He didn’t say goodnight before hanging up, which Henry appreciated. All hope of a good night were long gone. He put his phone away; he’d take his own shower and try to sleep a little, somehow. Exhausted, he locked the door for the night.

Chapter Text

Henry's dreams were convoluted and strange, new memories mixed with old mixed with scenes his brain invented for him. Vivid images spoiled his rest. The orange-haired woman with no face propped in a chair. The loud bang of a sniper rifle he'd never heard at all. Hans covered in pooling blood poured over him like paint, and Hans’ father standing with his face blown out like the girl's. Henry dreamed another loud BANG and then a crunch and then he was suddenly jolting awake in bed, sitting up in the darkness, and he could still hear a noisy creak.

He held his breath, pulse racing. Leaning slowly to reach for the handgun resting at easy reach on the nightstand, he watched the door swing open inward, revealing a figure illuminated in the dim emergency lights flickering from the main room.

Henry pulled his hand away from the weapon. “Is that a fucking crowbar?” he asked, exhausted.

Hans looked down at the crowbar in his grip and shrugged. He had dressed after his shower but just barely, wearing only pajama shorts (probably also monogrammed, Henry thought dryly). He weighed the steel bar in his hand before tossing it to the carpet with a padded clank. “You locked the door after you promised not to,” he accused.

“And you broke it open with a crowbar.”

“Well, to be fair, I did try knocking first.”

Henry was too tired for this. He inched backwards to lean against the headboard and rubbed his face. “What's wrong?”

“How am I supposed to sleep underneath another fucking open window?” Hans walked straight into the room and kicked the door shut behind him. It settled into the doorframe awkwardly, latch definitely broken but tweaked enough to keep itself from swinging back open. The unsettled edges leaked a very faint bit of light from outside, just enough to paint silhouettes in the dark room. Hans sighed. “The drones going around in circles are driving me crazy, too.”

Henry reached for his phone to check the time and found it'd only been a little over an hour since he'd tried to sleep. He felt groggy but tense, nightmare visions barely fading and his pulse drumming in his ears. It wouldn’t matter where he ended up sleeping, so he turned to slide his bare feet out of bed and onto the floor. “It's fine, I'll trade rooms with you. I can play decoy and they can shoot me instead.”

Hans stopped at the other side of the bed. “That's not funny.”

Henry grunted. He'd slept through years of machinery running outside his window; the buzzing of a few drones and ‘coptors wouldn't bother him at all. 

“Wait,” Hans said, making Henry pause in the motion of standing. “You don't have to leave. It's safer down here; we can both fit.”

Henry twisted to look at Hans’ tall figure in the dark. “In the same bed?”

“Why not?”

“But why… would we?” Henry countered.

Hans hissed an aggravated sigh. “Because I'm a little bit fucking scared, Henry, that's why. And I'm also your boss or… whatever.”

“Oh,” Henry said quietly. That was fair. Not the boss thing- he was actually pretty sure there were plenty of legal protections stating that he should explicitly not have to share a bed with his employer, and also he thought that technically Radzig was his direct boss? But fear was something he knew intimately. Laying awake alone in the black with your heart threatening to thunder its way out of your chest and nobody who would answer if you called out into the night… “Alright,” Henry allowed. “We are pack animals, after all.”

“Pack animals,” echoed Hans as he patted the bed for the edge of the sheets. “Maybe three thousand years ago we were.”

Henry pulled the blankets back for him. “Tell that to the feeds focusing on who is in whose pack every other week.”

“You follow those?”

“Absolutely not.”

Hans chuckled softly and climbed into the bed. 

This was, at best, a glorified guest room and the bed wasn’t anywhere near as large as the monstrosity upstairs in the master, but it was still bigger than anything Henry had slept in before. He waited for Hans to mostly settle and then laid back down himself, relieved that the mattress was wide enough to fit them both without any required snuggling. If he stayed there on his back and closed his eyes, he could almost pretend that it was just him alone in bed.

That lasted about 90 seconds before Hans yanked on the blankets and started talking again. “Well,” he said, loud enough to nearly startle Henry in the darkness, “back in the Yards, do you have- did you have a sort of pack?”

Henry paused to absorb the slip-up, wincing faintly. He wondered if it was too soon to pretend to be asleep and ultimately decided he owed Hans the fraction of kindness it took to answer him. “No. Maybe when we were all pups, but it wasn’t something we were all interested in naming.”

“I bet you would have been leading it, if you did.”

Henry turned his head to look at Hans but couldn’t make out much in the darkness. It was impossible to read him sometimes; Henry had no idea what to say. He distantly tried to picture himself as head of a truly-defined pack at home and found himself smiling faintly. There'd be a fight every other day; Fritz and Matthew would bitch about it until the girls rebelled. It probably was for the best that they'd ultimately all been too busy to worry about that sort of thing.

The ache of reality was quick to make the memories more bitter than sweet. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. 

The bed shifted as Hans flipped onto his side to face him. Henry kept his eyes towards the black ceiling. It felt like the conversation wasn't over, like Hans clearly wanted to keep chatting for whatever reason, but Henry knew him just well enough to suspect asking about pack dynamics in Hans’ history would be a non-starter.

“I have nightmares,” he said instead, his tone shifting. “My scent will be miserable.”

“Ugh,” Hans grunted. “Like the first night.”

“Mhm.”

“Like recycled petrol gone bad.”

Henry was tempted to kick him, but it was an unfortunately apt description. “Not everybody can choose their fragrance.”

“You didn't complain the other night.”

It caught Henry off-guard. “ Hans ,” he said sharply.

“What?” Hans asked, faux-innocent. “It worked.” He abruptly moved again, leaning over to hover above Henry, who simply stared up at him. “And it would work again, too.”

Henry was desperately thankful for the cloak of darkness in his windowless room that hopefully hid his conflicted expression. His earlier nightmares still clung to the edges of his mind, sticky with trauma memory. Another night of peaceful sleep felt like an impossible reality, but one he was almost desperate to have after so many sweaty, exhausting nights.

Despite that, he couldn't convince himself to beg for it.

He tried to sound casual when he finally spoke. “We should just try and sleep. You’re probably going to have a very busy day tomorrow.”

Hans slowly retreated, but Henry could tell that he was still being watched. 

Enough time passed that Henry had forced his eyes shut and slowed his breathing before Hans spoke again, his voice soft enough that Henry almost missed it. “You surprised me,” murmured Hans.

Henry hummed just to show that he'd heard; he felt almost like he was at a sleepover with a friend too excited to sleep, though he thought anxiety was more likely the cause of Hans’ chatter and it was difficult to begrudge him that.

“At the party,” Hans continued, and Henry's eyes blinked open to look at the dark shape next to him in bed. “I invited a whole collection of Omegas, Betas, some of the prettiest people I know, and you went for some random Alpha.”

Henry spoke slowly, unsure. “It was more like- he went for me. He spoke to me first.”

“Oh, I see.” Hans chuckled quietly. “You like to be chased.”

Blankets shifted and suddenly Hans' hand was like a pinpoint of fire on his chest, palm flat against his skin. It froze him silent for a moment, unsteady, his thoughts slow as an oil-slick sludge trying to play catch-up. What had Hans just said? Chased? “I wouldn't say-”

Hans kissed him. His hand slid up through the hair on Henry’s chest to rest against his jaw, tilting his face closer. Hans felt so warm, so confident that Henry didn't question it. He let his jaw go where Hans’ willed it and parted his lips with a quiet noise thick in the back of his throat.

“Chased,” Hans whispered against his lips, smug. He grasped Henry's chin tighter in his long fingers and turned Henry's face away so that he could continue slow, languorous kissing down the line of his jaw and over his neck. 

Henry's eyes went wide as the heat of Hans’ breath fluttered over his sensitive scent gland. 

The light of his phone flashed once, twice, illuminating the curve of his holstered weapon and reminding him suddenly of where he was, what he was doing- and it was a genuine fight with himself to finally reach out and push against Hans’ shoulder. 

  “Wait,” he insisted, voice embarrassingly raspy.

Hans fought his touch; Henry felt a scrape of teeth against his neck that sent full-body shivers across his skin, and when he shoved Hans backwards for real there was a true growl against his ear. Henry pushed himself up to sit again against the headboard; Hans sat up on his half of the bed, looking away for a moment and then back at Henry. 

They lingered quietly until Henry felt like his pulse had slowed and he was more in control of his breath. “What… was that?”

“You wanted it,” Hans argued, voice slow and almost pouty. “I could smell you.”

Henry glanced away, flustered. “Scent doesn't mean consent,” he said by instinct, repeating grade-school rhetoric he'd be hard-pressed to believe Hans hadn't also been made to repeat at one point in his life.

The gentle scoff confirmed that it was a familiar phrase for both of them. “Well, sorry, then,” barked Hans, obviously insincere.

“Is that what you came down here for?”

“No!” Hans heaved a big, dramatic sigh. “I truly didn't like lying under the window. And maybe I wanted just a bit of… I don’t fucking know.” He put his face into his palms so that his final word was almost completely muffled by frustration. “Comfort.”

Henry watched him pout and… considered it. He really thought about it. Maybe his decision making was a little stirred up by everything , but- would it be so bad?

Yes, it probably would. Hans was, if you followed any feed at all, a historically messy person to get involved with. And Henry knew that he himself was nowhere near ready for any kind of anything.

But did it have to be anything?

He was absolutely not thinking with his head. He wished he had drank more alcohol so that he’d be able to blame all this on still being drunk.

Comfort . 

Henry wanted that too, desperately, but he had never considered that it could come in this sort of form.

“Alright,” he said.

Hans lifted his head and looked at him. “Alright, what?”

Henry tossed the blanket away down to the foot of the bed and turned to Hans. He put an arm to Hans’ chest and pushed him backwards down into the mattress, climbing over and on top of him, straddling him. Henry bent over him until he could make out Hans’ wide eyes even in the very faint light and said, voice low, “We don't talk about this tomorrow.”

Hans was already reaching to pull him closer, nodding eagerly and leaning up to meet him in another kiss. It was sloppier, more eager, and the click of their sharp teeth together was audible in the quiet. One of Hans’ hands slid across Henry's neck; his fingers pressed against the sensitive gland there and Henry groaned into Hans’ open mouth.

This would be a better kind of scent to leave smeared across the sheets than his nightmare-fueled fear-

But the goal was to avoid thinking about that. 

Henry kissed him again, pulled Hans’ bottom lip between his fangs until Hans’ hissed and the taste of iron bloomed in his mouth; he had broken the self-inflicted bite open again.

“Sorry,” Henry murmured.

“It's fine.” Hans licked a smear of blood from his lip and let his hands roam down Henry's chest. “Give me more.”

Henry shifted gears and knelt to mouth along the line of Hans’ neck. He pressed his tongue to Hans’ scent gland and felt him squirm underneath him. The implant felt like trails of cool metal under his tongue, patterns across hot skin. Henry reached an arm around Hans to twist his fingers in his blond hair and tilt Hans’ head back for a better angle. He licked across his neck and tasted nothing but skin and salted sweat.

Henry pressed his teeth to Hans’ neck, teasing for a moment before ordering, “Scent.”

“Which one?” Hans gasped.

A stupid question. “ Yours .”

Hans gripped Henry’s arm tightly, squeezing. “Can't.”

Henry paused, growing still.

“No, it's not like that, fuck,” Hans swore. He strained in Henry’s grip to make eye-contact. “I'm hard, I'm into it, see?” He reached to pull Henry's hand from his hair and shoved it downwards over the definitive hardness in his boxers.

Henry slowly pulled his hand free and let it rest on Hans’ hip instead.

Hans groaned. “What do you want? You want an Omega scent again? You like it sweet? Earthy? You like Alphas; I have a few that-”

Henry kissed him again halfway through a word just to get him to stop frantically rambling. Hans gave in easily and melted underneath him; comfort, Henry thought, and settled heavier over his body. He didn’t give really give a fuck about Hans’ scenting (or lack thereof) when it was so easy to grind against him like this, so easy to pull little gasping noises from him by dragging sharp teeth over soft skin.

“Don’t bite,” Hans wheezed. “Do not bite!”

He really wanted to bite- hard. The thought of Hans with Henry’s mouth shaped on his skin in bruises was entirely too appealing. It took focus to remember why it’d be a bad idea; focus and Hans giving his chest a firm smack. He panted against Hans’ neck before forcing himself to pull back.

“Sorry.” Henry swallowed and attempted a half-smile.

“You need protection, mutt.”

Henry glanced at his side table sheepishly. “I don’t own a muzzle.” Not anymore, anyway, and the idea of getting fitted for a new one had not even briefly crossed his mind since moving in. Bizarrely, he thought Radzig would provide him with that sort of thing with no comment if he asked, but the idea of asking was a nightmare on its own.

“Aurgh,” Hans groaned, throwing his head back. “I have a very strict ‘no visible marks’ rule.” 

(No marks at all, Henry thought, because in the morning, this was going to have not happened.)

“Yeah, I get it.”

“You’re banned from my neck.”

“Fair enough.” (Devastating, actually.)

“Wrists, too,” Hans added.

Henry grunted. If Hans had a scent, a fake one even, he was pretty sure this would be a more difficult conversation involving asking for forgiveness. He couldn’t imagine confessing it to somebody as ‘experienced’ as Hans, but he’d only ever been with one person and she’d had the vaguest, most faintly spicy Beta scent; almost nothing at all.

(A horrible part of him wondered if Hans could mimic a scent just like hers out of his database.)

Hans reached up to grab Henry’s jaw, forcing his attention back. “You have the most ridiculous pout.”

Henry wrapped his hand around Hans’ wrist and peeled Han’s fingers from his chin. He pressed his scent gland to the one on Han’s wrist and pulled, smearing oil across the length of his forearm. It wasn’t as nice as biting, but it eased the frustrated ache in Henry’s overactive brain.

Hans stared at him before roughly yanking his arm back. ‘You are something else,” he muttered. “Acting like a mutt in pre-rut.” Henry sucked in a breath and Hans looked at him sharply. “You’re not , are you?”

Henry shook his head fervently. He wasn’t. Not even close, according to his calendar. “Promise.”

Hans’ assessing stare made Henry start to wonder if Hans knew something he didn’t, but after a tense moment Hans only asked, “What are you then, a virgin?”

He laughed; Henry laughed and rolled himself off of Hans, back to his side of the bed. “ No ,” he insisted, and Hans chuckled too. Their brief moment of mirth cleansed the air a little bit, and Henry reached for the blankets again. He tossed an edge over Hans. “We should actually sleep.”

Hans sighed but it no longer sounded quite so mournful. “We can try, but…”

There were a million things to be read into the way Hans trailed off. Henry thought he might understand; he took a risk that might have gotten him elbowed in the stomach and wriggled closer. Hans shifted towards him at the same time until their bare skin just barely touched. This wasn’t cuddling, it wasn’t sexual, it was just… comfort. 

After all, some three thousand years ago, they were all just pack animals. 

Chapter Text

When Henry woke in the morning, he was alone. The mattress was cool under his seeking palm and he didn't know when Hans had left. Upon awakening he was initially disappointed, foggy memories coming back to haunt him, but this would make it easier- the whole ‘this didn’t happen’ aspect of the night before. He couldn't afford to allow this professional relationship with Hans to become something messy. Stress was no excuse.

He would… forgive himself for the last evening though, considering the circumstances.

Not knowing what time it was, Henry rolled himself out of bed. Light spilled from the edges of the broken door and he could hear the muffled sounds of people talking. His phone showed barely six am, which seemed way too early, but he suspected their apartment would be filled with various people for most of the day. It made him feel a little bit uneasy to have strangers in their home and Hans unaccounted for, but Henry had to shower; frankly, he smelled like lust. He took his phone with him into the shower to save time, clearing through a hundred notifications while the no-scent shampoo sat over his skin.

Kat’s message was a series of links presented with no comment.
Rattay Heir Narrowly Misses Death
Up and Coming Star Brutally Murdered at House Party
Intent Tech History Drawing Deadly Ire
Assassination Claim a Cover for Drunken Mishap?

There were more, but Henry felt he’d gotten the gist of it without having to scroll through ten more. He skipped over to his daily security email and found it as expected, full of new protection detail schedules and drone flight paths and other overwhelming information. How many people did this go out to? The idea of inside information weighed heavily in the back of his mind. He vaguely wondered whether an augment-eye could have recording technology and decided that he’d be doing himself no favors dwelling on that for now. 

Looking over all of these complicated details made him feel out of his depth and anxious. He wasn’t meant to be here doing this kind of important security. He was supposed to be knee-deep in metal shavings with oil-coated hands learning how to patch together a rusted circuit. He should die like his aunt at 65 from radiation poisoning.

Instead he was in the middle of the City underneath a shower whose hot water never ended. His father’s voice echoed in his ear, chiding him for wasting water, and Henry smiled briefly before the grief tightened his chest.

Someday it would hurt less. Rationally he knew that, but part of him wanted the pain and memory to linger as long as possible. It felt like he deserved that much- and that forgetting might mean losing pieces of himself.

Alright, he needed to focus. He didn’t have the luxury of time to sit and dwell. Henry dried himself quickly and ruffled his damp hair into something Hans might not complain about. He squeezed himself into his body armor without overthinking it and stretched, pleased to find that it wasn’t difficult to move in nor did it seem to be obtrusively heavy. The gun rested at his side along with his knife and then Henry threw casual, neutral-colored clothes over it all. He paused in the bathroom for one more moment to look at it all together.

The man in the mirror was almost a stranger. Henry pat his cheeks, let his fingers trail over the darkening circles under his eyes. There was stubble on his chin and he should have shaved but it was too late for that by now. If anything else, he was well on his way towards the ideal gloomy bodyguard look. He shook his head.

Henry peeled open his bedroom door and stepped out into a newsroom. Well-dressed people were scattered around the main room swiping their fingers constantly over tablets and phones; tiny drones hovered soundlessly at different heights, shining picture-perfect lights and recording constant video. At the center of it all, posed at the center of the lighting and standing expert-casually, was Hans. He wore a subtle silver blazer embroidered with abstract patterns in black and there were at least two attendants lingering just out of frame ready to touch up his professionally done hair and makeup at any second. 

How long had they all been out here? It was likely not even seven in the morning yet. They’d be posting morbid interview write-ups in time for most of the City to start breakfast with. Henry edged his way into the line of vultures, ignoring more than one irritated look thrown his way. Hans' eyes flicked towards him for a brief moment and the edge of his lips tilted up quickly before he was forced to attend once more to the reporters. 

“Did you know her well, Mr. Capon?” a tall woman in blue asked.

Hans turned his sharp gaze her way, chin lifted lightly as he addressed the hovering drone camera instead of the speaker. “Unfortunately, I had only met her once or twice before.” He didn’t elaborate and the man to Henry’s left snorted at the waste of a question.

“Does your security team have any clues or leads as to the identity of the murderer?”

“Ugh.” Hans sighed and ran one hand through his hair. “I don’t know, it’s only been like 12 hours. Why don’t you go ask them?”

“ Hans.”

Henry turned at the familiar voice. Hanush was sitting in one of the more plush chairs, leaning back with his arms crossed high up on his chest. He nodded, gesturing shortly for them to keep going, confident that his ward would step back in line.

Hans let out an aggravated huff and stood still while a young man jumped to reposition the hair he’d rumpled. He blinked and recomposed his expression before finding the correct video drone to face again. “They’ve been working closely with the City Police all night,” Hans said, dry but politely, “and will have answers for us soon.”

“And will Intent Rattay be offering compensation to her family after this?”

Hans frowned. He glanced at his Uncle for approval before he decided on the only acceptable answer. “We will be arranging a donation in her name to her family’s location of choice.”

Hanush nodded to himself and pulled out his phone to send a series of messages.

Henry hadn’t seen such a fabricated circus in his entire life. Hans was just repeating phrases he’d probably been schooled on earlier and they’d all certainly have to go over the recorded video for approval anyway. This was what the feeds really were- a collection of generated facts adjusted to appease and draw in the attention of the public. It was nauseating. It was just money trading hands, a different kind of information market. 

“Mr. Capon,” called a new voice, “do you suspect this might have anything to do with the last augment grafts your father had been working on? An act of revenge?”

“Who are you?” Hans asked sharply, his attention snapping towards a gentleman at the edge of the group. “Did you not read the copy guidelines?” He stepped forward and brushed aside the attendant who tried to draw his focus. “I do not answer questions about my father. What outlet are you from?”

Hanush cleared his throat and stood up. The chair squealed as he pushed it aside and attention skewed towards him. “I think it’s time we take a break,” he announced loudly. “There’s caffeine laid out in the kitchen. We can reconvene in a few minutes.”

The reporters headed towards the kitchen in a chatty group, a barrage of heels clicking on the tiled floor and snarky laughs. The drones wavered in place above them but their lighting turned off, leaving them in a dim room. The large blacked out window-screen felt ominous; the carpet squares had been replaced overnight and the stained furniture removed almost as fast as the body, but the screen was still broken and the hole simply taped over. It made the two-story room feel incredibly small.

Hans glanced at Henry before putting his fingers to his temples and reluctantly heading deeper into the living room to meet his uncle. “We have got to be almost done.”

Hanush puffed himself up, trying to feel taller than his nephew who was no longer so much shorter than he was. “We are under contract to allow each outlet a set amount of questions.”

Hans groaned.

Henry empathized, but kept his place standing quietly out of the way.

It took another pedantic hour or two and a handful of retakes before the media team was finally satisfied, and it was another long half hour before they’d finally taken all their tech and left the building. Hanush left with the last team, laughing loudly, his voice loud enough to be heard down the entire entrance hallway.

The moment that the elevator closed on Hanush, Hans threw off his blazer and unbuttoned the first couple buttons on his black undershirt. He fluffed his hair with his hands and ten years worth of stress fell from his shoulders all at once. “I could sleep for days,” he said with a tired laugh and shake of his head. “Actually, I need a drink. Actually, I need more than a drink.” 

“I thought you did very well today, Hans,” Henry told him honestly. 

Hans met his eyes with a bemused expression and shook his head again. “Do you need to change?”

Henry smoothed out his shirt. The armor was truly breathable and he felt fine in it, almost safe. “No?”

“We’re going out- is what I’m saying.”

“Oh. Right.” Henry hesitated. “Are you sure? Now? It’s barely gone lunchtime.”

Hans shrugged and headed straight to the door, abandoning his blazer completely. “With or without you, Henry.”

The drive took forever. Hans had them in an unremarkable black car, something smaller and less likely to stick out on the street; no brilliantly yellow dart like their first drive. He rested against the door, chin on his hand against the tinted window, eyes fluttering shut every few minutes. 

Something thick lay between them in the car, something Henry couldn’t quite identify. Whether it was last night or last night or the risk of going out again now- he wasn’t sure, but it weighed heavy in his chest. They passed building after building, shifting highways and took multiple height transfers.

Hans shifted and finally glanced his way. “Do you report my location?”

Henry shook his head. He didn’t need to; they already had some way of tracking Hans and had been for a while, judging by the records Henry had been sent at the start of this job. He suspected it was probably as simple as a hidden phone tracker, but he wondered what the odds were that Hans’ implants were traceable on certain networks, with enough connection.

“Good,” Hans said decisively. He turned the music up louder.

Henry bit down on his reservations and folded his arms, absently making sure he still felt the shape of his weapon. 

They had to be nearly on the other side of the City before the car finally came to a slow, rolling stop on a sky-street some fifteen stories off the ground. Hans leapt from the car before Henry could and Henry was relieved to see the sunlit, afternoon street was mostly empty. It was warm out even this high up and brighter than the normal ground-level alleys, and as he hurried around the car to catch up to Hans, Henry felt a little bit more normal.

Part of him worried that whatever bar Hans wanted to go to at one in the afternoon would be closed, but the nondescript door Hans took them to did open after the entry camera scanned in his face. Muffled music came from deep inside as well as a rush of air conditioning and a dated smell. Henry hesitated and Hans grabbed his arm, pulling him through the dimly lit entrance hallway and into a club that could not have been more different than the place they’d gone a few nights before.

“You took us across the city for this? This can’t be the right place.”

A strip club at best, a sex club at worst- Henry was uncomfortable the moment he walked in. It was the kind of sexual grunge that you’d see in the serial crime shows; semi-private booths and tables all surrounding an ancient stage lit half as well as it should have been. Nondescript house music thrummed through the walls and there was an undertone to the perfumed air that tasted suspiciously sweet and made Henry swallow uncomfortably. There were few people there so early and the stage was dark and empty. 

“It’s the right place.” Hans man-handled him towards a circular booth. “I’ve had enough peacocking for today.”

Henry reluctantly allowed himself to be pushed into a padded seat. “Have you been here before?” He eyed the poles looming center stage and felt that somehow, despite his grown age, he was about to get caught doing something he wasn’t allowed to be doing. 

“Yeah. It’s old fashioned. Nice change of pace.” Hans looked more at ease here than he’d seemed all morning, settling into the set and leaning his elbows on the table. 

It had barely been a moment before a woman came by their table. She was barely wearing anything at all, dressed in more neon make-up than fabric. Metallic glitter sparkled in geometric lines across her skin and it was nearly dizzying to look at for too long, amplified by the lighting. “Hi, Hans,” she purred while she set shot glasses filled with clear liquid from her tray onto their table. Her pointed nails slid against the condensation on the last glass she delivered, a taller amber drink she set directly in front of Hans.

“Thank you, Anna.” He flashed her a genuine smile. 

“You want company tonight?”

Hans shrugged and then nodded briefly. “Send us somebody fun. You know what I mean?”

“Oh, I know what you mean, Hans.” She tucked the tray against her side and turned a polite smile towards Henry. “Anything for you?”

Hans spoke before Henry could decline. “Just keep bringing drinks over for the table. Charge me for everything.” He waved her off..

Henry leaned back against the seat and eyed the rest of the club, trying to spot security cameras. He realized he could contact Hans’ security team and not only let them know where they’d gone, but request back-up or drone surveillance or even just blueprints for the location. The idea felt like it might be a betrayal. What was more important, Hans’ immediate safety or maintaining whatever tentative trust Hans might have in him? 

“Shit, Henry, you look constipated with that stupid look on your face. Relax. Drink this.” Hans pressed a cold shot glass into Henry’s hand and didn’t relent until Henry grasped it on his own. “Come on.” Hans picked up his matching drink and lifted it. “Cheers. We’re having fun.”

Alcohol was absolutely not part of the ‘keep Hans safe’ plan. Henry shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I don’t think-”

“ Drink it .”

Henry’s fingers shook faintly and he watched the ripples spread across the surface of the shot. He could fight the Command and he suspected he could fight it successfully , but maybe it was just easier to give in. Safety, or trust? He tilted his head back and took the shot. Vodka. Burned against his throat and yet smoother than any he’d ever had before. He set the empty glass on the table while turning an irritated look towards Hans. “Stop doing that.”

Hans smiled at him; elbowed him in the arm. “We are going to relax and enjoy ourselves whether you like it or not.”

“I just think-”

Hans put up a hand to stop him. His casual smile twisted into something more serious. “Henry. I don’t dislike you. In fact, I… well, here's the thing.” Hans leaned in closer and spoke more quietly until Henry had to focus to hear him better. “The chain around my neck is very tight and I am very sick of it. I've been practicing good behavior recently and if you don’t shut up and let me blow off some steam, then I might have to start making your life very miserable.” Hans' eyes flicked over him once and then he leaned back, but not before biting, “As if it's not already.”

Any replies Henry might have had froze half-formed on his tongue. 

Hans plastered on what Henry was starting to think of as his ‘good-boy smile’ and turned to greet the woman who was sliding into the booth to sit next to him. “Bunny,” Hans greeted her  cheerfully as he took empty glasses from her hand so that she could better set down the bucket of ice and uncorked champagne bottle she'd also brought. “My favorite girl.”

“You look so handsome when you lie, Hans.” Bunny settled in next to him and leaned to pour champagne. Her hair was short, platinum, asymmetrical and striking, but not half as interesting as her completely uncovered chest straining against a single black ribbon tied across her tits. A silver chain rested between them, hanging from a collar so wide it stretched from the bottom of her chin to the edge of the shoulders.

Henry had not ever in his life seen anybody like her, and yet what ran through his mind was Hans’ vague threats- nothing to do with the golden streaks on her eyes or ultraviolet glitter painting her overzealous chest. 

They ignored him while spilling fizzy champagne on the table and he was glad for it. 

Chapter Text

Hans was drunk and Henry was irritated. There was a beer in front of him but he hadn’t really touched it, choosing instead to let the foam dissolve and condensation pool on the table around the glass. He was increasingly uncomfortable; uncomfortable with being there, with Hans’ increasing intoxication, with the amount of credits Hans was so casually giving out. There were three members of the staff at their table now, each with an equally cutesy old world animal name and not a full outfit of clothing between them. One young man calling himself Fawn was spread out over the table on his belly and showing off his new set of nails to Hans, who was promising to pay for the next set while miss Bunny pet through his hair.

The club was still fairly empty, so it was no wonder the staff was crowding their table. Their scents were perfumed sugar, an alluring sweetness that was starting to make Henry a little bit foggy after having spent so many days in Hans’ sterile and scentless flat. He was starting to suspect that the club itself was pushing a specific scent through the climate control system, something designed to make guests excited and eager to pull out their wallets for attention.

Henry pensively eyed Hans and rolled his eyes before he pushed himself to his feet and slid out from the booth. He mumbled something about stepping away to find the bathroom and was predictably ignored.

His head felt a little bit clearer as he moved away from the table, hands tucked into his loose pockets. He walked a loose half-circle around the stage and then past the entrance hall just to make sure he knew where it was. Purple LEDs flickered over the bar, mimicking expensive neon, and though nobody was standing there to attend it, Henry could hear voices casually chatting through a door he guessed led back to a more brightly lit kitchen. He turned past the bar down another small hallway and found the bathrooms labeled in glowing blue. 

The music faded slightly as he stepped inside the men’s room and he moved to the sink. Water from the faucet never got cold, just lukewarm at best. Henry washed his hands, centered himself on the feeling of water rushing over his fingers while idly reading the accumulation of stickers and posters and scrawled words and numbers decorating the wall around the mirrors. He had expected Hans Capon to live a life of wealth surrounded by the high-tech elite; he had pictured endless meetings spent standing at attention near the door, ballroom parties dodging black-tie waiters serving hors d'oeuvres. 

It was taking a bit for him to adjust to the concept of dirty sex clubs and an active shooter.

(And he was still refusing to try and process the idea of midnight kissing for comfort.)

“Alright, Hal,” he said to himself, “focus.”

When he returned to the table, there was no longer a man sprawled over it- he had taken Henry's seat entirely. That was fine, probably. Henry lingered next to the booth instead and crossed his arms, preparing to settle in for a long wait of pretending he wasn't there.

Hans reached across Bunny and yanked on Henry’s arm. “Sit with us,” Hans whined, leaning against her sloppily and tugging Henry’s sleeve. “You look so boring.”

“Yes, okay, fine.”  Henry reluctantly slid into the seat, settling a polite distance from Bunny's bare thighs. He batted Hans’ hand away from his arm and eyed them all. Bunny, Hans, a girl called… Fox? and the boy Fawn, who had made himself comfortable and was even sipping at Henry's abandoned beer.

“Henry,” Hans began, and Henry looked at him. His cheeks were pink and his hair mussed in a way that made him look very young. He was leaning heavily against Bunny again, one hand splayed over the meat of her thigh to support himself. “You should be having more fun,” he insisted.

“I'm having a great time,” Henry lied.

“You're not!”

Henry looked at him and paused for a moment, assessing. “What did you take?”

Hans’ blown-out eyes widened and then he laughed loudly. “You're sharp.” He shifted back into his seat and grinned, elbowing the girl on his left. “Told you he wouldn't like it.”

Certainly an understatement. “Hans, what did you-”

Bunny placed a hand gently against his shoulder. “Shhhh,” she hushed him quietly. “It isn't anything serious. Not dangerous.”

“Henry,” Hans interrupted, yet another drink in his hand, “you know they have a room here that's just, uh, it's just covered in Heat scent?”

That was somehow more shocking to Henry than the idea that Hans was taking mystery drugs. His eyes went wide, borderline terrified. “They what?”

Hans raised his eyebrows. “Slick for lube, Henry.”

Hans laughed and Henry felt vaguely nauseous. “That can't be safe. What are you talking about?”

Giggles erupted around the table. Bunny shifted closer to him and it was an effort for Henry not to jump out of the seat. “We do offer different ‘experiences’ for interested parties,” she told him in a sweet, low voice. “Like a heatshare, without certain risks.”

He leaned away from her and her cloying scent. It was making him start to sweat and the fact she was nearly naked wasn’t helping. Certain risks, she'd said.

Hans set his freshly emptied glass on the table next to more than a few others. “What do you think?”

“About what?”

“The- about a room like that!” Hans leaned forward again. “Do you want to?”

Henry felt goosebumps prickle across the back of his neck. It was increasingly warm in there. “With… you mean the both of us?”

Hans shrugged and gestured towards the staff at his sides. “Them too, if you like.” His grin widened. “Although I know your tastes now, and-”

“That's insane,” Henry snapped. “We would kill each other. These things aren't a game.” He stood up from the table suddenly and then froze, all eyes on him. His heartbeat was louder in his ears than the music. If he was lucky, he could bang his knee on the table and wake up to find it'd been a dream. 

Unfortunately, the uncomfortable silence seemed to be increasingly real. The damn City- these people lived these pretend lives. Had they ever had to face the reality of a Heat gone bad? A Rut you weren't prepared for? 

Henry stepped back from the table. Hans frowned and nudged Bunny out of his way to climb to his feet as well. He was unsteady for a moment, one hand on the edge of the table before he got his feet underneath him.

“Henry,” Hans said, stopping him from going too far. He grabbed Henry’s wrist with one very warm hand and awkwardly patted the front of Henry's shirt with the other smoothing a nonexistent wrinkle. “You should… relax.”

“Heat scent?” Henry snapped. “I'd ask if you were high, but I already know that answer.”

“You're making it sound like a big deal-”

“It is a big deal. First of all, we'd have to be muzzled-”

“I am,” Hans insisted, taking his turn to speak over Henry.

Henry paused. “No, you're not.”

“Yes!” Hans opened his mouth and tilted his head back, pointing into his mouth. Some kind of wire contraption lined his upper teeth, like an old fashioned retainer. He clicked his mouth shut. “See?”

“I don't know what that is.”

Hans rolled his eyes and squeezed Henry’s hand; at some point his grip had slid low enough without Henry realizing that Hans was basically just holding onto his hand. “A muzzle . If it senses pressure it locks my jaw. Fancy. Expensive.”

Henry took a breath and let it out slowly. 

“I bet you all out in the garages still wear those…” Hans let go of Henry's hand and gripped his jaw instead. “Cages.”

Henry shifted backwards until his face was no longer in Hans’ fingers. They built their own in the Yards, usually out of scraps of faux leather salvaged from clothing or cars, bits of steel for stability. The most important factor was durability and safety- there wasn't time or money to give a shit what it looked like. He didn't expect Hans to understand and he frankly didn't care to explain. Henry switched topics to one he thought might irritate Hans in the same way that Henry was currently increasingly aggravated. “What scent are you using?”

Hans’ lip twitched. “Mine.”

“Is it? Are you sure it's not sold as Alpha number 24 or-”

The rest of Henry's words were muffled by Hans’ palm. Hans leaned in closer and hissed quietly, clearly unwilling to let anybody else hear. “It’s proprietary. Made for me. It's mine .”

“But last night you-”

Hans’ palm pressed so hard this time that Henry's teeth threatened to leave indents in his skin. “I'll tell you… if …”

Henry peeled the hand from his face and pushed it back against Hans’ chest. “If what?”

“If…” Hans began again before throwing his arms over Henry’s shoulders, “you have fun with me tonight.”

His breath was alcohol sour but his scent- his choice of scent- was striking. Distinctly Alpha, somewhat spiced and woodsy, almost alluring enough to make up for the ridiculous expression Hans was doing with his eyebrows. Henry sighed, not even bothering to free himself from Hans’ heavy arms. “Don’t go around spilling your secrets drunk.”

“Spoilsport.”

“Hans, I cannot go into your weird sex room.”

“Why.”

Henry finally grew frustrated enough to grab Hans’ arms and slip out from his grip. “Are you serious? I know you know this. Exposure to Heat scent can trigger Ruts and we do not have time for that right now.”

“Mhph.” Hans certainly had the face for pouting. “That’s what suppressants are for .”

For playing stupid sex games? The idea was appalling. He knew, conceptually, that Hans was one of the most affluent people in the City, and yet each superfluous use of money surprised him further. “I can’t afford those,” Henry said. Not even on Radzig’s undefined credit limit; and if he could , he wouldn’t be wasting them on something so petty. It was almost enough to make him angry, but Hans’ big blue eyes went a long way to make it impossible to be mad at him specifically. 

Not for that, anyway.

“You’d be more fun if you were drunk,” Hans told him. 

“Maybe. Probably not.”

“If you-”

“ No .” He said it so sharply that Hans flinched and Henry immediately felt bad. Alright. Start over. He wasn’t playing this right; getting upset at a drunk person was never the right way to get anything done. “Let’s go back to the table. I'm really not trying to ruin your night. What do you want to do?”

Hans turned to look over his shoulder at their table. It was just Bunny and Fawn left, the third girl having gotten up to go find paying clients who weren't having a bitchy argument in the middle of the room. Bunny waved, her stiletto heels folded up on the table.

“I wanna be more drunk,” Hans decided, crossing his arms and facing Henry once more.

Henry laughed quietly. He was long past trying to fight that part of the night. “That's easy.”

Hans nodded briefly towards the table. “I wanna fuck at least one of them.”

“Uh. Sure.” Presumably that was allowed… encouraged? Legal, at the bare minimum? Henry truly didn't think Hans was the kind of guy to force somebody to do anything- except money could do a lot unpleasant work towards convincing-

“And,” Hans continued, “you know what I'd really like, Henry? Hennie?”

“Hal, if you have to?" Henry grimaced. "You don't have to.”

“ Hal . I want to see you lose control.”

“You… have seen that,” Henry answered quietly, thinking about Hans pressing him into the wall and scenting him back into sanity.

“Oh, not like that . That was, you know. Too much control.” Hans moved into his space again, one arm slung around his neck, Henry's hands up and against Hans’ chest in surprise, tentatively prepared to push him away and yet pausing. “So stiff,” Hans murmured almost directly into Henry's ear. “I meant like this .” He kissed slow down Henry's neck and then pressed his teeth against the soft skin, just to be foiled by his muzzle with a grunt. “Like last night.”

His scent was vibrant, irrepressible so close to Henry's face that it nearly made him forget they were standing publicly in an open room. “We agreed not to talk about that,” Henry argued. He half-heartedly tried to push Hans back.

“I didn't say that. You did.” Hans fought to stay close to him, wrapping his fingers around one of Henry's arms.

“You- what are you doing?”

Hans hummed into Henry’s neck and then chuckled warmly. “Still chasing?”

This was… a bad thing. What'd they call it? A compromising position. A vision of them posted on a news feed flashed through his brain and his racing heart stuttered for a moment, wondering if that would cost him his job; what Radzig would say. He turned his head away from Hans, pushed with a little more effort, and Commanded him, “ Off .”

Hans didn't move. He laughed again, his hot breath tickling the hair on Henry’s nape. “Some of us have practice denying those.”

“Hans.”

Something in Henry’s voice finally convinced Hans to quit playing and step back, letting him go reluctantly. Hans looked disappointed, his face flushed and lips shiny wet. He sighed elaborately. “Fine, fine.”

“Thank you,” Henry said, nodding, not exactly sure what he was thanking him for.

“I’m going to go rent a room, though- not a Heat room , don’t make that face.” Hans rolled his eyes. “I haven’t gotten laid since before you were dumped into my life and I’m fixing that. You can just be boring and watch out for secret ninjas or whatever.” He pat Henry’s shoulder as he walked by him. “Keep me alive until I cum at least, okay?”

(Henry thought Hans staying alive was becoming less appealing by the minute.)

--

The door locked solidly and did not budge. Henry set to watching it, stoically determined not to turn and look. He heard the clothes falling, buckles loosening- practiced giggles and Hans’ warm voice- and he crossed his arms over his chest and swallowed deeply.

The room wasn't pre-scented but it didn't have to be. Two Omegas in the small space quickly filled the room with teasing sugar and made him sweat. He had hoped that maybe, being sex-workers, there might be some aspect of subdued to their scenting, but clearly once the collars came undone all bets were off. Henry should not have promised to stay inside. He shifted uncomfortably on his feet.

And what if he… gave in? Fuck, if he had drunk more than this would be an easy decision. Did that mean it was the wrong one? The music was distracting, the scents overwhelming- why did every day have to feel so overwhelming? Constant obligations weighed heavy on his shoulders. To keep Hans safe, to stay sober and prepared; staying separate had to be the best choice the safest choice, and besides, he was- 

No, he reminded himself, brain frustratingly foggy, he was not with anybody else.

Henry felt like he understood what Hans was doing, playing these cocky games with him. Hans had no true control over his life- he was bound by a trust that would free him too late in life, living in a home he didn’t own or choose, contracted to obey a man he didn’t like and who seemed to enjoy yanking the leash around. Of course he would exercise himself in other parts of his life and he had every resource at his disposal to get people to do what he wanted; money, fame, sex appeal, even his damn secondary gender. To Hans, Henry was only slightly more interesting than the sex workers currently in bed with him.

Which was good. Because their contract was professional. Making safety decisions about somebody you considered a friend would be hard enough, if they ever got even that far.

“Henry,” Hans grumbled, yanking Henry from his spiraling thoughts. “Your resolve is truly impressive, but can you stop playing good boy and join us? I’ll Command you.”

“No, you won’t,” Bunny cut in.

“I’m teasing ,” Hans insisted, and Henry finally turned around just in time to watch him pull her down for a wet kiss. They were all naked, of course, glittered bodies shining in the low lights. She sat solid in Hans’ lap, flush and filled with his cock, and slick pooled over his skin. Hans finished kissing her and grinned at Henry over her shoulder, all silver teeth and dangerous eyes. 

Fawn kneeled casually next to them, hand petting through Hans’ hair, waiting his turn, probably- Henry didn’t know how these sort of things went and he was finding it hard to look at anything except Hans’ triumphant stare.

“Are there…” Henry licked his dry lips, swallowed and tried again. “Are there rules, then?”

“No,” Hans answered, but Bunny smacked his cheek lightly.

“Yes. No Commands. They’re illegal,” she said directly to Hans, running over nails over the edge of his grin. “If you knot, it costs extra. If you bruise or bleed us, it’s also extra. And you either wear a muzzle or we put our collars back on.”

“Sure, sure,” Henry said faintly. That did not feel like enough rules.

“Muzzle him, Fawn.” Hans slapped the young man’s arm and he sighed playfully before slipping off the bed.

Naked- he was just as naked as everybody else- Henry felt ridiculous attempting to keep his gaze up and polite, but he couldn’t help trying to offer a little bit of respect as Fawn opened a cupboard, fussed through some options, and approached him with a black and silver muzzle that was by and far fancier than anything he’d ever been forced to wear before.

“Do you want to undress first, sir,” Fawn asked.

“Uhm.” Henry put his hand over his shirt where the gun lay. “Yeah, let me- yes. And just. Henry is good.” The ‘sir’ made him feel faintly unwell. He moved towards a rack clearly made to rest clothes on and pulled off his shirt, his face almost unbearably warm. Was this even ethical? He was sure Hans was paying more than they asked, but- Okay, they were professionals, they weren’t his neighbors debating the risks of accidental matebonds or pregnancy versus putting food on their table.

He wiped his face on his shirt and folded it over a hanger. If he was doing this, then he was doing this, and fuck it sure seemed like he was doing this.

He laid the gun and his knife carefully on a clean surface and then started on the underarmor. Fawn’s warm fingers helped him peel it from his chest and Henry took a deep breath now that he was free from the reminder of its constant pressure on his skin.

“This isn’t a strip tease, Henry,” Hans called, “hurry up.”

Henry gave him the finger.

Hans laughed loudly.

Henry’s pants came next and then the rest of his flex armor and then he was naked, but Fawn was immediately there offering the muzzle again and distracting him. Fawn held it up for him, letting him lower his chin against the straps on his own. He bent down to let it be strapped behind his head and when it was on, he ran his fingers over the shape of it. It was lighter than he was used to, almost comfortable even, and it wasn’t difficult to open his mouth but he wouldn’t be biting anybody through the bars just past his lips.

“Thanks,” he said softly, adjusting the soft leather strap over his nose.

Fawn took his wrist and pulled him towards the bed. It felt obvious that Henry wasn’t the first nervous patron he’d ever had and there was a relief to that. Henry was led onto the mattress after him and very sweetly manhandled until Fawn was underneath him, grinning slyly up at him from the soft mattress with his knowing hazel eyes.

Henry’s heart was racing. He could feel a faint itch on his neck as his oily scent pooled. Fawn reached up to soak his wrist in it and then rubbed it down Henry’s chest. Overwhelming- he’d already thought the word a hundred times, but the scent… there was nothing like an Omega’s scent to draw instinct from an Alpha and Henry breathed it deep, his eyes fluttering shut. He was so fucking hard, pressing his cock through the scent oil and slick smeared across Fawn’s skin.

Hans reached out to twist his fingers in Henry’s muzzle, yanking to get his attention. Henry stared at him, at his flushed face and blue eyes and sweat-damp hair. “I was going to get you fitted for a mouth-muzzle,” Hans said, shaking Henry’s head by the grip on his muzzle, “but you kind of look like you were made for this one.”

It pooled in Henry’s chest suddenly, a low, deep growl that he’d never heard himself make before.

Bunny gently peeled Hans' hands off of Henry’s face. “New rule,” she announced, rolling her hips over Hans to distract him, “no Alpha fights.” It wasn’t until she bent to suck on Hans’ neck that he was actually able to turn his wide stare away from Henry.

Fawn pulled his attention back with gentle touches. “Make that pretty sound for me instead, Alpha,” he murmured, and it was cheesy as hell but it was working. Henry slipped his arms underneath the Omega to hold him tight and nuzzled his face (as close as he could, caged) into the crook of his neck, breathing warm, sweet, and entirely too compelling scent. Heavy on top of him, Henry rolled his hips, grinding sloppy between Fawn’s thighs, wet and soft and dripping slick.

He wanted to taste it desperately. There was drool on his tongue that he couldn’t wipe away, stuck doing nothing but pressing the edges of his caged chin into the Omega’s neck. His brain was foggy, fuzzy, nothing but scent and slick and his pounding heartbeat. A strangled note choked him, a frantic whine.

Fawn stroked down Henry’s back, adjusted his legs. “You can fuck me,” he reminded Henry, “whatever you want. What a good boy.”

The whole situation would be weird if he stopped to think about it, but that’s what instinct was for- you didn’t have to stop and consider fuck all.

Henry shifted, lifting Fawn just enough to fit his cock inside, to thrust in deep with a satisfied moan. So wet, warm, tight; Henry panted with his eyes squeezed shut. The Omega moved underneath him and made a practiced, pretty noise that spoke directly to Henry’s baser urges. The rest of the room was completely forgotten, Bunny, Hans- Henry thought only of his Omega’s sweet scent, almost floral, his jaw strained and desperate to taste, to put his teeth to skin and make lingering, promising marks. He moved back onto his knees for a better angle, Fawn collected tightly in his arms, and fucked him hard, desperate.

You could knot for extra pay, Bunny had said, and Henry, horrified, had thought, ‘not in a million years’.

That, however, had been before, when his brain had been in control. Now Henry, who had never been with an Omega, had barely been with anybody, had been raised in a world where careful prevention and planning had been the only affordable, safe options- for Henry who was so constantly focused on suppressing his trauma and his feelings about it- instinct was impossibly powerful.

His knot swelled as he got closer, a low, possessive noise purring deep from within his chest. He had to shift, one hand sliding down Fawn’s side to tightly grip his hip and hold him still.

Fawn let his head fall limp against the pillows, his pretty lips wide as he focused on breathing. There was a noise he had at his disposal, an easy call of distress that would more than likely bring everything to a halt (could have the Alphas fighting each other if he did it just exactly right), but instead he worked with Henry, let him have his way, murmured nice, encouraging words like, “Okay, alright, that’s good.”

Henry worked until the thick, swollen base of his cock pushed inside with an ugly squelching sound and then (again, still) overwhelmed, he finished, spilled deep inside with the Omega crushed firmly against his chest, his teeth unsatisfyingly locked together so hard that he’d feel it for hours.

Sweat burned the edge of his eyes when he finally opened them, blinking in a daze. Fawn was petting sweetly through his hair, mumbling gentle, nonsense sounds, his scent gone calmer, relaxing. They’d be tied together for a little while yet. Henry felt quietly submerged in emotion as he came back to himself and turned his caged face away from the Omega’s neck.

Hans and Bunny were there next to them in bed (of course- had he forgotten?), she laying languorously across his chest and both of them, having long ago finished, just watching him. He felt suddenly… not embarrassment, not shame, not even anything that he could put a name to, just… he felt.

Slowly, Hans reached over and undid the strap behind his head. The muzzle fell from his face and Hans moved it away before cupping Henry’s chin in his warm hand. He ran his thumb through the pooling tears at the edge of Henry’s eye and nodded slowly.

“There,” Hans said, a little bit smug. “That's what I wanted to see.”

Chapter Text

It was a very long car ride home. Hans sprawled in his seat across from Henry, half-empty beer can dangling loosely from his fingers and two more unopened ones waiting inside the icebucket attached to the footwell. He idly nodded along to the too-loud music at various intervals, whenever he seemed to remember it was playing, but his half-lidded gaze rarely drifted away from Henry, who had smushed himself against the side of the car watching the City pass too slowly with his foot nonstop tapping.

“You,” Hans announced slowly, just loud enough to be heard over the music and pointing at Henry with the same hand limply clinging to his beer, “are entirely a… a vibe killer. Absolute vibe murderer , even.”

Henry took a deep breath and peeled himself from the window to face down his (still and increasingly) drunk assignment. “I don’t think I've managed to say no to you one single time tonight,” he pointed out. Not once- except for the terrifying idea of the heat room. Henry truthfully still did not believe Hans had actually been serious about that. He couldn't have possibly been. If the club even had a room like that, would they allow two Alphas at once? They'd kill each other. They’d need to have… there’d have to be chains or… or something equally fucked up, something Henry hadn’t even begun to consider even during his most teenage-inspired fantasies.

Then again… he seemed to be discovering that rich people sometimes did some really fucked up stuff just for the fun of it. 

Henry stretched, rolling his shoulders and mentally pushing thoughts like that out of the way. He considered pointing out that it had been Hans who demanded they leave when they had, but sometimes there was no point in arguing. (Not with a drunk man; not with Hans specifically.)

“I got bored waiting for you to be done,” Hans complained, unsatisfied by Henry’s non-answer.

Henry grimaced. It had been possibly the most horrible, awkward half hour of his life. Hans hadn't even had the decency to wait with him and had left him stuck alone, sexually tied to a stranger who made him more and more nervous as the rush of hormones faded from his system. Thinking too much about it now was making his throat dry, his mind trying to forget about a lot of aspects that his body was still too eager to consider. He wiped his damp palms against his wrinkled pants before reaching up to kick the air conditioning down another notch.

“If we hadn’t gone to the sex club at damn noon, you could have stayed and watched the shows,” Henry muttered, crossing his arms. He’d seen some of them advertised in the bathroom; none of them were starting until deep into the evening. 

Hans leaned forward. “What? Can't fuckin’ hear you mumbling.”

Henry rolled his eyes and shook his head, unwilling to repeat himself over Hans’ party music. He leaned against his own shoulder to watch the City skyscape. It was such a different view here, on a multi-lane road suspended halfway between the ground and the sky. Most people lived at this level; most people who weren’t Capon-rich or Yards-poor. Some called it beautiful, apartments and shops and facilities twisting amongst each other, but the towering presence of the always-there skyscraper constructs of metal and glass just made him feel trapped- in the car, in the shadows of this City, in his new life surrounded by people who didn't yet feel real to him. Artificial bodies and souls, the City and its people both.

Hans kicked at his foot; he hadn't realized that he'd been tapping it against the seat again. The volume of the music lowered just a little bit, enough so they wouldn't have to yell and Henry lost his excuse not to oblige conversation.

“The vibe , Henry,” Hans repeated yet again.

Henry vaguely wished he had taken the chance to drink more. Two drunk people were fun; one drunk person was tedious. “What would you like me to do about the ‘vibe’.”

Hans finished the rest of his beer and let the empty tin can drop to the floor. He too glanced out the window and then dipped his head back, watching buildings tower above them through the moonroof. Clearly, no answer was forthcoming.

Henry bent to grab the empty tin can and tossed it into the ice bin for recycling later; it bothered him to watch it roll around unchecked. When he straightened up, Hans slid from his seat onto his knees and crowded himself on the floor between Henry's legs, forearms resting heavy and warm over Henry’s thighs. 

Hans bent his neck to look up at Henry. “Did you really hate it?”

Henry swallowed and looked down at him, his pink face, tousled hair, wide eyes. “You are incredibly drunk.”

Hans shifted himself up to meet Henry's unamused gaze at the same level. The pressure of his hands on Henry's legs made them tense, was almost painful as Hans’ supported himself like that. “I could be drunker. Don’t lie to me. You hated it? You're pouting.”

Henry pursed his lips and tried to avoid Hans’ stare. Hated it? No, but yes. Yes, but not at all.

“Because it wasn't an Alpha?”

“Don't-” Henry couldn’t help but snort. “Quit trying to put some kind of fetish on me. And stop leaning on me like that.” He pushed at Hans’ arms until Hans gave in and sat down on his ass right in the middle of the carpeted floor between the seats.

Hans reached over to grab one of the remaining beers now that they were at ‘remembering’ height and popped it open with his teeth. “An Alpha fetish? I’m teasing,” he insisted, drinking half the can and shifting to loosely kick at Henry’s feet again. “You looked plenty happy. And angry. In a good way.”

Henry hummed neutrally. This wasn't particularly a conversation he wanted to have with a man so drunk he was lying on the car floor. Or at all, really. He had active plans to lie awake for at least one solid hour processing it all later and then he figured he'd reassess if it ever became relevant again (ideally never, but depending on his current career options, possibly as soon as tomorrow).

“I think he liked it,” Hans mumbled, grinning sloppily over the edge of his beer.

“I think he liked the money.”

Hans scrambled up to his knees once more. “You don't think you're good at it?” He attempted to get between Henry's legs again but Henry was prepared this time and squished them together, leaving Hans just to lean against his lap instead of being halfway in it. “You looked like you're good at it. They don't tell you that?”

It was like babysitting an X-rated toddler. Henry almost laughed. “Who?” he asked, incredulous, grabbing Hans’ wrist to prevent alcohol from spilling across them both.

“Aw, virgin boy.”

“I've told you already-” Hans was clearly joking, his grin wide. Henry rolled his eyes and peeled the beer from Hans’ grip hand to drink it himself; still cold and slightly sour. “How about you go sit on your half of the car.”

“How many?” Hans asked, ignoring the request and folding his arms over Henry’s knees.

“Don't be nosy.”

“I'm the boss of you,” Hans declared, “it's allowed.”

Henry took a longer drink. “I think your Uncle is my boss, actually.”

Hans made a face, rolled his eyes so hard that Henry was surprised it didn’t make him dizzy. “Ugh. He gave you to me, so now I’m boss.”

“Is that how that works?”

“Yes.” Hans rested his head over his arms, bent onto Henry’s lap, and let out a slow sigh. “You don't have to tell me if you’re embarrassed. I'll look it up on the web later,” he threatened quietly. 

Henry doubted he'd remember at this rate.

Hans' eyes fluttered shut and Henry foresaw the remainder of the drive with Hans drunk-asleep in his lap. He was loath to shove Hans off even if he’d hear about it later when Hans’ knees felt like shit.

Henry turned to rest his head against the back of the seat, watching through the window again. Glass reflections buzzed past. His fingers tapped the edge of the beer can but he left the remainder to warm in his grip undrunk. After all that had happened- the club, Hans’ drunk attempts at ridicule= try as he might to avoid the dangers that lie with reminiscing, his thoughts kept twisting back around to Bianca.

It didn't feel like she was dead. 

(He knew she was. He had seen her rush past him towards the assembling fire squad, all of whom would have been directly next to the first blast. She had shouted something irritated at him as she went by, but the windy fire was loud and he hadn't heard.)

It felt like they were just in another ‘off’ phase of the on-again, off-again game they kept playing. More on than off, to his credit, but-

Henry couldn't shake the ill feeling in the pit of his stomach, the apprehension she'd slip back into his life again pretending that she hadn't stormed out, always demanding accountability for her time away-

Her time dead. Because she was dead. Like everybody else, and maybe that was the truth behind the constant nausea, the guilt that threatened him when he wasn’t focused enough to avoid it.

His free hand pet through Hans’ hair and he stared at the hard edges of the road zipping by. Took one deep breath and let it out slowly. Was it becoming easier to compartmentalize all this, or was he simply running out of room for new emotion to take hold?

Or maybe a real good fuck had just knocked his brain loose for the afternoon.

He glanced down and freed his fingers from Hans’ hair; ran them down the shorter shaved bits at the nape of his neck and then over the metal that integrated itself into Hans’ skin shortly after. Henry always expected the implants to feel cold but they never did, just a different, smooth warmth. He traced them idly, spiderweb circuitry nestled into skin with the gentle tension of scar tissue. His breathing slowly settled and he leaned back against the headrest, eyes half-closed.

Before long Hans shifted and knocked Henry's hand away like a buzzing fly, mumbling something grumpy under his breath before stilling again. Henry turned the music in the car up again, glad the vehicle’s environmental system was designed to prevent them from drowning in their own scents.

--

The penthouse was filled with flowers on every open surface. Metallic petals mostly; tin, aluminum, a select few done in shiny copper. Some were peeled out of paper or plastic, none of them organic, each manufactured out of the reusable, recyclable components crafted to manufacture old world beauty.

Hans scowled as soon as they walked through the door, rubbing his face with an irritated groan. “I always tell them to hold deliveries at the desk.” He paused for a moment to flick open the note attached to one and shook his head. “More useless shit to clean and gratitude notes to write,” he grumbled (as if he would ever be the one cleaning or the person composing copy/pasted thank-you notes). 

Henry had never seen anything quite like them before; they were pure indulgence, creation only for the sake of creation. He paused to read the note attached to a petite bloom on an iron stem. They were sympathy gifts, condolences attempting to earn a little bit of attachment from the Capon name. Expressions of grief sent to a man who hadn't died. 

Had any of these people bothered to send anything to the family that was actually grieving today?

Hans made his way straight to the bar and slid behind it, shoving a set of glass lilacs out of his way. He pulled out a beautiful decanter filled with honey-colored liquid and snapped part of the hand-crafted flowers off to roughly carve through the wax seal.

“If you cut yourself on that, I’m not helping you.” Henry picked through the living room turned artificial forest to meet him across the bar. “You’re still going to be drinking?” He had assumed (wrongly, clearly) that having to assist Hans up out of the car on shaky legs meant they’d be done for the rest of the evening.

“Uh, yeah, we’re still drinking.” Hans selected two glasses at random and poured. He slid one towards Henry, the glass so full that the liquid nearly wobbled over the edge. “Bottoms up or whatever.” The other one he picked up, saluted in a ‘cheers’ motion, and then proceeded to drink until the glass was empty. 

Henry sipped his carefully. It was difficult not to think about how much money he was drinking, how many months of work each swallowed contained. Room temperature, warm and sweetly spiced. He was used to alcohol fermented in hidden corners of the cold storage, stuff meant to get drunk off and not meant for tasting. 

Hans refilled his tumbler and pointedly ignored Henry's thoughtful frown. “You can stay sober, but I'm done with today,” he said, lifting his glass for emphasis and spilling streaks down its sides. “I don't even have a fucking sunset to drink to anymore, just a giant black screen.” He glared at the broken wall and then leaned against a barstool with a pouty sigh, taking another deep swallow, barely tasting it at all. “I should have brought someone home from the Bitchhouse.”

Henry paused with the glass against his lip. “The what ?”

Hans laughed. “Come on; don’t make that stupid face. Did you not notice that’s what it was called?”

“No.” He liked to think he would have argued a little more about going there if he knew it had such a seedy name (probably not).

“Eh, it doesn’t matter.” Hans patted himself down until he found his phone and started the usual music in the apartment again. “I’ve got other numbers I can call if I get desperate.” He leaned heavily against the bar and closed his eyes for a long moment before he opened them again with a nod and stood back up. 

“You should slow down a little.”

“Henry.” Hans kicked the barstool out of his way and then turned a look on Henry that was clearly an attempt to be serious- made a little bit unsuccessful by his flushed cheeks and completely disheveled hair. “Today is done. I’m over it! I was fucking over it before I even got out of your uncomfortable bed. Now I’m really fucking over it.” He shoved the crystal plug back into the scotch decanter and tucked it precariously under one arm. “I’m going upstairs so I don’t have to look at all this shit all over my flat.” He left the bar and headed towards the stairs, sloppily moving through gift-laden tables. He paused very briefly at one and elbowed a collection of silvered roses to the floor with a crash before continuing. “Come on, Henry! Move your ass.”

Henry spun towards him and pointed towards his own chest. “I’m coming with you?”

“Passing out is depressing if you’re by yourself, come on. If you’re with somebody, then it’s a party. Rules are rules.” Hans shook his head as if that were obvious and started climbing up the stairs. They were designed for aesthetics and curved, an open riser staircase with just a hint of support. He awkwardly clung to the railing with the hand still holding his phone, the other arm squeezing the whole bottle of scotch whiskey tightly against his side while attempting not to spill too much of his full drink.

“What if we don’t pass out?” Henry suggested, suddenly a little bit concerned about the rest of the night.

“Terrible idea.” Hans shook his head. “The sooner I black out, the sooner tomorrow happens. And I think- ah, fuck. ” Inevitably Hans missed a step and slipped, thunking heavy onto his ass. A tinkling crash sounded as his cup, dropped for the sake of a better grip on the decanter, rolled through the open riser and shattered below him on the floor. 

Henry was quick to get to the bottom of the stairs. One hand on the rail, he looked up at Hans, who’d barely made it three meters up before wrecking himself. “Are you alright?”

Hans looked down at himself and then further towards Henry. “Well!” he said, displeased. “Come help me up!”

Henry muffled his laughter in his shoulder before he skipped up the stairs. He had seen a terrible flash of having to tell Hanush that his dearest nephew broke his neck drunk on the damn stairs (an event that would likely be unsurprising), but watching Hans sit there and pout, unharmed, was too funny for Henry’s frayed nerves. He made his way to Hans’ position and held out a hand.

Hans looked from the offered hand to his own- one with a deathgrip on his phone and the other swaddling the alcohol like a child. He scowled at Henry. “What do you expect me to do?”

“Give me your phone?” Henry suggested.

“Fuck no.”

“Fall down the rest of the stairs and die, then?”

Hans grumbled under his breath and tried to get up on his own, awkwardly pushing himself to his knees. Henry grabbed onto his elbow and helped him- he might be irritated but not so badly that he truly wished to see him fall over the edge. 

Hans sighed dramatically once he stood on his own two feet again, leaning heavily against Henry and crowding him against the railing as he tried to look over it. “I’ve got more glasses upstairs,” he said after a moment of observing the puddled crystal on the floor.

“Oh good,” Henry answered dryly, “I was worried.”

Chapter Text

“Twenty minutes,” Henry firmly said, prying Hans’ grip from a yet-unopened fifth of flavored vodka. “You just- you have to take a break for a minute before you drink any more.”

Hans let him wrestle the alcohol away with a dramatic sigh. He sat slouched at his bedroom desk, a piece of furniture Henry had quickly discovered contained just about as many bottles of alcohol as it did overly technical study books. Hans leaned his head against the back of his chair and looked up at Henry with disappointment. “Do you know,” he said, voice slow and somewhat slurred, “what I'm thinking right now?”

Henry walked away for a moment to set the vodka across the room on a shelf next to the half-drunk whiskey from downstairs. “Probably something about the vibes again,” he guessed.

Hans’ mouth twitched and he kicked one leg up onto his desk. “Add some swears to whatever you’re guessing.”

“You're going to give yourself alcohol poisoning if you don't slow down.” Henry came back to stand behind Hans, looking down at him largely unamused.

“Ehhhh.” Hans shrugged loosely.

Henry rested his hands on the back of the chair and pressed down until it unsettled Hans enough that he startled, putting both feet on the ground again and clutching the chair's arms with a meaningful cuss. “Dying of alcohol poisoning would be a great kick in the face to your would-be assassin,” commented Henry. “If you want to drink yourself to death, I could just leave.”

Hans reached one hand up awkwardly over his shoulder to grab Henry's forearm. “Don’t leave.”

“Then you'll have to go easy on the drinking,” Henry warned. He suspected Hans was just drunk enough that he wouldn't question Henry's absolute lack of authority over him. “Let the last shit you chugged hit first.” He watched Hans’ sweaty fingers grasp his arm tighter, slipping on his skin. 

“If I actually wanted to die,” Hans said, shifting lower in his chair and putting a foot against the edge of his desk again, “then I would send you away.”

Henry followed Hans’ gaze to the large frame hung above the desk, the one that shifted between various old portraits of Hans and his father. The one currently on display was more candid than most of the others; a tall, slender man with his sleeves shoved to his elbows and his hands covered a dated version of electro-mag gloves that gave him functional control over the elaborate model hovering across his desk. It was a replica of the spinal cord, something far beyond Henry’s knowledge of the body, but recognizable enough that he could infer it’s connection to early models of the implants. 

Little Hans, maybe a meter tall, was endeavoring with a furious look of concentration to reach pieces of the model. He stood on tippy toes barely taller than the desk itself, one hand clinging to the edge of it and the other stretched as far as he could get his little fingers to go.

Cute.

The vibes were absolutely atrocious.

Henry cleared his throat. “When you have people in your bed here, is it weird to have your family pictures just right here on the wall?”

Hans tilted his head back once more to look at him with a somewhat concerned expression. Henry shrugged. Hans leaned forward, bending his leg to reach past it, and tapped the screen of his phone a few times. The frame filled with a noncommittal piece of abstract art and the faint LEDs along the edges of it dimmed. “No,” he answered, settling back into the chair. “That would be fucked up. Has it been however many fucking minutes you decided yet?”

“No,” Henry lied (he hadn’t, at any point, actually started counting).

Hans sighed in very dramatic disgust. He twisted around and grabbed Henry’s arm again, this time pulling it towards him, twisting it around his neck and rubbing against it like a cat to catnip. 

Henry allowed this with minor amusement despite the uncomfortable way he had to lean down to allow his arm to be manhandled.

“You didn’t shower,” Hans commented, slowly scenting himself with Henry’s wrist.

“When would I have?”

“Coulda at the club. I did. While I waited for you. One hundred years waiting for you.”

“Nobody told me that was an option.” A shower had been high on his list of priorities since the club, slick dried on his thighs. It wasn’t going to be possible unless Hans actually fell asleep, so… “You should get in bed,” Henry suggested, slipping his arm from Hans’ grip loosely. “More comfortable.”

“Yeah,” Hans agreed after a moment. “Yes.” He stood up, a little bit wobbly, one hand on the back of the chair. Henry offered an arm but Hans shook his head and made his way across the room to his giant fucking bed. He sat himself on the edge of the mattress and laid back. After a moment he sat back up, leaning on his hands. “Come undress me,” he demanded.

Henry weighed his options. He could argue with a drunk man, make them both frustrated, and probably still end up helping him out of his clothes- or he could just strip Hans and go take his fucking shower as soon as possible.

“Come here,” Hans repeated, kicking his feet against the faux-wood base of the bed. He levelled a look towards him that was all too easy to read.

Henry hesitated, suddenly wary.

“Here.”

“Hans,” Henry said slowly, stepping closer. He had fully intended to go with the ‘get this over with’ route, but he felt like approaching was going to get him stuck in something that would take a lot longer. Something that he really needed to sit down and consider for longer than it’d take to cross the room. Something with consequences. He paused, swallowing before switching tactics.  “I’m not your butler.”

“Do you think butlers get paid more or less than bodyguards?”

Henry was beginning to suspect that Hans was less drunk than he’d been predicting- less drunk than he’d be himself after a day of near-continuous drinking followed by multiple full glasses of liquor.  “Butlers who have to undress their grown-ass charges deserve hazard pay.”

Hans’ expression darkened. He sat up straight and started to unbutton his rumpled shirt, pointedly looking away from Henry.

It felt… bad, like an unfamiliar pressure in his chest. Henry took a steadying breath and then crossed the distance between them, grabbing the fabric of Hans’ shirt just as he started struggling to get it from his arms. “Hold still,” Henry told him quietly, “I’ll help you.”

Hans allowed Henry to finish pulling the button-down from his arms, but he was still purposefully avoiding eye-contact.

Certainly not completely sober, Henry thought wryly, crumpling the shirt into a ball and throwing it loose onto the floor; the room was too clean to have a visible hamper. How drunk would Hans have to be to not remember this evening later? A lot drunker than this, probably. Henry placed a palm against Hans’ chest and pushed him to lay back; Hans went easily, but the flash of a smirk on his face was nearly infuriating. Henry undid Hans’ belt and yanked it through the loops before dropping it onto the ground at his feet.

It was the kind of situation you couldn’t think too much about. There was no simple way to get this done without just… getting it done. Henry took a breath and undid Hans’ pants, watching Han’s chest move with silent laughter. He peeled them down his legs and off his feet roughly and found some satisfaction in the way Hans was jostled and the sound his heel made hitting the bed frame.

“I’m not taking your socks off,” Henry told him, setting himself at least one limit with dignity.

“What about-”

“No.”

Hans laughed. He kicked at Henry’s thigh with his foot- soft black socks, the same color as his boxer-briefs. “Maybe I need a different kind of butler,” he said, leaning up on his elbow to look at him pointedly.

Henry considered briefly how many people would pay however much money to be exactly where he was with the same view he had. Hans was beautiful, truly, a confident Alpha with gorgeous silver wired into his pale skin, toned muscle head to toe, an honest grin that could get anybody eating out of his hand- except for Henry- but that wasn't exactly true either, because Henry had just spent five minutes stripping him mostly naked for no real reason other than the most simple one; Hans asked him to.

And Henry knew that like the night before, if Hans asked him to, in words that forced a yes or a no, he would find it genuinely difficult to answer one way or another.

It was just such a terrible idea for so many reasons that Henry struggled to begin to list them. Impossible to remember them while watching the lines of Hans’ chest rise and fall as he breathed, waiting. 

He wasn’t the drunk one- Henry had to somehow manage to be better than this. He needed space to breathe for a second. “I'm going to shower while you fall asleep,” Henry finally said, stepping backwards.

Hans blinked at him, once, twice before frowning. The two of them stared at each other in silence before Hans broke it, shifting backwards towards the head of the bed without a word. 

“I can turn the lights off for you,” Henry offered, but Hans waved a pouty hand at him and then reached up behind his bed frame. There must have been some sort of button or screen back there, because the lights dimmed slowly until they were completely off and the music switched to something softer, slow and quiet. A faint white light periodically blinked on and off from the window, slightly more vibrant than the rest of the City’s typical rainbow-colored light pollution, and Henry assumed it was one of the security drones (or hoped it was, anyway).

Henry turned to finally head to the bathroom but paused when Hans spoke again. “I don’t get you,” he said, “not at all.”

“I’m not-” Henry bit his tongue, because what he was going to say- ‘that kind of person’- was that hurtful? Did that imply he thought ‘that kind of person’ was less than, negative, or just… different? What did he mean? What kind of person was he? What kind of person did he want to be?

He must have taken too long to answer. Hans sighed. “Just go shower.” Almost pitifully he added, “But come back.”

Henry’s feet remained still. He stared at the closed bathroom door ahead of him. “Surely you must have been turned down before in your life.”

Hans grunted. “Don’t presume.”

“What?”

“Presume to- to have been- fuck, I’m drunk.” The sheets ruffled and Hans started over, slowly. “I haven’t asked you for jack shit.”

Something about that was just… the absolute boldness of Hans’ lie made Henry turn around suddenly and it seemed to startle Hans, who was sitting up and peeling his socks off. They both froze for the briefest second before Henry pulled his shirt off and dropped it at his feet. 

Maybe he was looking at this all backwards. Maybe the only way to maintain this contract job was to quit fighting against Hans. 

(Actually, when he phrased it like that, he was clearly just attempting to justify the decision he’d already made last night. Comfort. Pack animals. Desperation.)

He was, of course, still wearing body armor and his gun underneath that, something he had somehow forgotten, and his attempt at stripping quickly and getting in the giant bed without addressing it was slowed immediately by this road block. Hans balled his socks up together and flung them off the bed and then crossed his arms over his chest, levelling a silent stare at him. 

The tiny drone light flickered repeatedly. It was not too late to retreat, Henry thought, but then Hans raised an eyebrow delicately, just barely visible, and that was almost like a dare- which, historically, Henry had never been very good at refusing.

He hurried to the desk and started pulling all his accessories off, tossing them half-gently in a pile there. The air conditioning felt cold against his bare skin and he shivered as he bent to strip his pants off, socks- he paused for a moment with his hands at the hem of his underwear, for a moment unsure, but, well, when he thought about it (and he was thinking about it, because he absolutely still smelled of that Omega’s sweet, alluring scent underneath his clothing) what he was doing now was actually less scandalous than what he’d done just hours before.

‘It’s okay, Ma,’ he thought, somewhat hysterically, ‘this time it isn’t some random whore my employer is buying for me.’

Fully naked, handgun abandoned next to a well-read textbook, Henry moved across the room back to the foot on the bed. There was a line there and he hadn’t quite crossed it yet, but the moment he placed his palm on the plush comforter and looked up to meet Hans’ satisfied expression, it was too late to go back. He had no plan in mind, no real goal other than to be touching Hans, and he climbed up the bed to make that happen.

“Wait,” Hans said suddenly, and Henry froze just between his legs just as immediately as if he’d been again Commanded. “Up here,” Hans continued, gesturing at the space beside him.

Henry shifted course and moved where directed, frowning as Hans proceeded to slip off the edge of the bed. “What are you doing?”

“Relax .” Hans stood and stretched his arms over his head (Henry watched politely) and then snagged his phone from where he’d left it abandoned on the desk. He pointed at the ceiling just as the music swapped from slow instrumental to a faster playlist that Henry just knew had some sort of terrible sex pun as a name, then flipped through his phone for a few more moments before he tossed it casually back onto the desk with a heavy thud. “Cool,” Hans said, which Henry took to really mean, ‘I’m still drunk and maybe a little bit nervous even though I think I’m a sex god’.

There were some confusing old laws regarding the legality of prayer and the use of religious phrases or icons, and Henry had genuinely not cared enough about old world studies in school to understand what had culturally been lost after the second Extinction War, but watching Hans saunter towards him in the multi-colored dim City-light from the window, a practiced leer on his face- Henry felt something very warm spread across his chest and suddenly thought he could ace a history exam on what ‘worship’ meant.

“I can’t believe you ever have to pay for sex,” Henry said without thinking.

Hans paused. Frowned. Took a breath and sighed. Finally he rolled his eyes. “That’s strike one and two both.”

Henry mimed zipping his lips shut.

Hans shook his head, but Henry could see the hint of a laugh in the shake of his shoulders. He bent to slide his boxer-briefs off and climb on the bed in one smooth move and then it was him settling between Henry’s thighs instead.

“You showering would have been a crime,” Hans commented as he got comfortable on his belly. He made sure to meet Henry’s wide eyes as he bent to lick slow up from the base of his cock, the smooth edge of his titanium coated fang dragging torturously. “I’ve thought about this all day,” he continued, pressing the flat of his tongue to Henry’s tip just for a warm moment between words. “I just think there is nothing better than tasting slick off an Alpha’s cock.”

Hans had been touching him for all of two minutes and Henry was already overwhelmed. He knew that Hans- he thought- well, frankly, it was hard to think at all. He’d never been this hard in his life and it was a little bit hard to breathe and one thousand different things raced through his suddenly gone fuzzy brain.

First- wow.

Second- also wow.

And then, sort of all at once- 

Hans was (predictably) confident, talented, so sexy, probably way better at any of this than Henry could ever even imagine being. This last bit was sobering for a half-second, because what Henry had not considered until right then was that he might be disappointing in bed. Bianca had not complained (mostly- at least, not in ways that felt genuine) and Hans had not complained last night and what-was-his-fake-name had not complained either, but he was literally selling a sex experience, so that couldn’t count either, and-

Hans squeezed the base of Henry’s cock in his hand and swallowed the rest of him as deep as he could without risking teeth, and suddenly Henry just wasn’t that concerned about anything besides the heat of Hans’ mouth. He gripped the blankets, fingers twisting in expensive fabric, wondering if he was allowed to touch Hans or not, worried he’d squeeze too hard if he did. A low, pleased rumble purred within his chest; one of those natural noises that were nearly impossible to control. 

Almost embarrassing, but it seemed to please Hans immensely. Hans pulled back up slow and grinned at him with wet lips. “Don't put up so much of a fight next time,” Hans told him, wiping his mouth on his hand. The traces and scent of slick were triggering him to drool.

“Next time?”

Hans leaned back on his knees and looked over Henry with hooded eyes. “Maybe,” he said, licking the palm of his hand slowly and then reaching to stroke his own cock, “if you start being well behaved.”

Henry decided he needed to kiss Hans’ sultry mouth immediately. He sat up and grabbed him, one hand pulling at Hans’ free arm the the other reaching to loop around his neck and manhandle him close enough to smash their lips together.

“This,” Hans said through a breathy gasp, “is not well behaved.” Still he kissed eagerly in return, shoving his wet tongue in Henry's mouth and sharing the taste of him.

Henry did not give a fuck. He went backwards and took Hans with him, arranging the other Alpha on top of him to kiss him better, less awkwardly arranged. Hans gave up on jerking himself off and shifted between Henry's legs to rut between them, against Henry's own cock, and Henry groaned low in his throat. Hans turned to kiss him there, licking upwards towards his scent glands with a greedy hum.

Close like this, Henry could smell him- or not him, that manufactured scent of warm spice Hans had used before. It was slightly different, a different flavor for a different occasion, but it was striking enough that Henry knew it was the same. He tangled his fingers in Hans' hair and forced him still while he pressed his face to the crook of Hans’ neck and breathed deeply. 

There was a pause when he pulled back, a dangerous look in Hans’ expression that warned him to judge his words carefully- or better yet, not to speak at all.

Henry held his initial questions and said instead, in a low voice he hoped conveyed the depth of honesty he suddenly felt, “Scent me with it.”

Hans throat bobbed as he swallowed. “You're holding me still,” he breathed after a moment.

Henry smoothed his hand through Hans’ hair and turned his head slightly, not quite far enough to break their intense moment of eye contact but enough to leave room for Hans. Hans placed his hand against Henry's chin and shifted him more anyway before sliding his fingers gently behind Henry’s head to lift him a little and make the gesture easier. 

It was one of the more intimate forms of scenting, topped only by the variations done with the more functional thigh glands Omegas developed. Hans leaned down with a fragile sigh of air and pressed his neck to Henry's, one scent gland to the other. He held himself there, fingers tensing against Henry's scalp.

Henry suddenly didn't know what they were doing. Objectively, physically, yes- sharing hormonally altered oils, rutting against each other like teenagers unafraid of consequences, hard and horny and- 

both of them just really

lonely. 

Henry slid an arm around Hans’ back without really thinking about it and pulled him close. He felt Hans freeze for the quickest moment before easing into it. 

After too long, two thousand fast and fluttering heartbeats, Hans shifted against him, smearing his scent more directly, and then pulled back to look down at him. Again, the same intensity in his blue eyes, the same warning against stupid words. 

Henry, frankly, found it hard to say much of anything at all by that point. He blinked stupidly up at Hans, mouth slightly parted, and his mind felt like nothing but static. 

Hans rolled his eyes and kissed him hard, sloppy, the kind of kiss where fangs click together audibly and somewhat painfully. He dropped Henry's skull to the mattress and ran his hands down Henry's chest, touching, squeezing, groping. Whatever bizarre moment shared between them was gone and Hans was grinding against him nearly desperately. 

Henry slid his hand down Hans’ back and tried to fit it between them. He wanted more than just this, his cock aching, mixed pre-cum pooling between them. He wanted Hans’ mouth again, his thighs, more- but it was hard to focus with his tongue exploring the split between titanium and bone in Hans’ mouth and he settled for grabbing his thick cock, growing thicker slowly as the knot threatened to form.

Hans, rhythm interrupted, growled so quick and deep that it felt nearly like a Command and Henry stilled underneath him. “I'm going to cum first,” Hans said firmly, a quiet voice against Henry's mouth.

Henry, seemingly left with no other choice but in the moment perfectly content to do whatever the fuck he was told, nodded very faintly.

Hans kissed the edge of his mouth, teased at his lip with his teeth before moving down the line of his chin towards his neck. He breathed against Henry's scent gland and Henry shivered head to toe, cock twitching violently in his grip.

“If you're a good boy,” Hans murmured near his ear, pausing to press his teeth over Henry’s neck with so much pressure that it threatened to bruise- “If you're a good boy,” he repeated, “I'll let you finish too.”

Despite feeling like he was on the verge of finishing any second anyway, permission or not, Henry nodded again and felt Hans’ teeth drag along his tender skin.

“Tell me,” Hans ordered, and then more gently, “yes? Okay?”

“Yes,” Henry echoed, and his voice sounded embarrassingly strangled.

Hans slapped Henry’s hand from his cock and grabbed his own, shifting between his legs until Henry could feel it when Hans thrust into his own fist; could feel how much he wasn't being touched while Hans chased his own pleasure.

Henry groaned and Hans slid his other hand into Henry's hair, petting though it almost gently, sometimes yanking it just when Henry was starting to feel like this might not be worth the wait. Not knowing what to do with his own hands anymore, Henry simply let them tangle in the sheets.

Bianca had teased him before, but this felt different; something more than. Almost unbearable; he focused on Hans’ panting breath in his ear and the deep, rich scents mixing between them, two bold, strong Alpha scents that would linger in the room for days if Hans didn't run the air cycler.

Hans kissed over his neck, edging with his teeth, drool dripping down into the sheets. Henry could feel the heat of his knot at times, the focused stuttering of his movements as he chased completion against Henry's body. He was close, Henry could tell, the pressure of his teeth and hot breath-

With a moment of clarity, Henry realized something important: if Hans had bit his lip so hard that it still felt painful, throbbing, then that meant-

Henry was quick but not quite fast enough. He reached to push Hans away and succeeded in saving the fragile skin of his scent gland but still felt teeth sink deep into his shoulder. It hurt, a sharp pressure that pulled a pained moan from him. Caught up in instinct while he came, spilling hot over Henry’s stomach, it was a drawn out moment of titanium fangs embedded in the meat of Henry's shoulder before Hans opened his eyes and pulled away.

Blood dripped from his lips as he looked down at Henry with wide, horrified eyes. “Oh, fucking-”

Henry growled and Hans attempted to dodge but wasn't quite fast enough; Henry rolled them over on the bed, pinning Hans beneath him into the mattress. 

“Henry-” Hans wheezed, but Henry already had his mouth on him.

Henry's teeth hit collarbone, grinding audibly, painfully, but he didn't reach as deeply and he pulled away fast. It would bruise more than it’d bleed but it was still wet when Hans slapped his palm over it.

“Fuck,” Hans repeated. He relaxed under Henry, limp and tired, and sighed, hand over his eyes.

Henry stared at him. It was overwhelming, emotions and instinct at odds within him; the need to bite to mate, the rage at having been bitten by another Alpha, warring human regret and satisfaction both, startling pain, and still, more insistent than all of that, the very intense fact that he still hadn't cum.

He whined and then, clearing his throat to make room for English, said, “Hans.”

Hans moved his hand and looked at Henry, eyes trailing to the bite. He grimaced.

“Hans ,” Henry repeated.

“I have a medical kit, just give me a fucking-” Hans paused and then met Henry’s gaze. “Oh,” he said, realizing, remembering, his mouth curling into an almost astonished, catty little grin. “Yeah, wow, okay. A good boy can cum. But no biting . Fuck.”

Henry took himself in hand. He barely needed to; he'd been on edge for what felt like ages and finished with body shaking relief, squeezing his knot tight in his other hand. It felt incredible, messy as it was with Hans’ release dripping slow over his abdomen. 

He sighed deeply.

Hans let him have a moment and then slowly entangled himself, crawling off the bed on shaky legs. “I'm turning the lights on,” he warned, closing his eyes before he dialed the LEDs brighter.

“Ah, fuck me,” he said, looking at Henry wiping his chin. 

Henry distantly reached up and felt his shoulder. He pressed one finger into an actual, physical hole in his flesh and felt vaguely nauseous.

“Hans,” he said flatly, “I might let your assassin murder you.”

"Yeah,” Hans answered after a moment, his voice a little wobbly. “Yeah, that might be fair.”

Chapter Text

Henry was on edge, for multiple reasons- yes, most of them related to Hans. 

It had started upon opening his eyes to the dawn sky creeping through the bedroom windows, alone in a giant bed mostly stripped of sheets. His mouth tasted terrible, his skin sweaty, and the wound across his shoulder was… numb, thanks to the crooked patch that had been hastily applied under bathroom fluorescents just before they'd given up on being awake. It was a neat little first aid tool, some kind of patch that infilled the literal open holes in his skin to cease bleeding and came with some sort of analgesic. Henry had been too exhausted to question it and too fixated on the smell of him and Hans mixing on their skin.

The bed was empty, the bathroom door shut; music spilled from within and Henry made the decision to simply collect his scattered things and retreat to his room. He’d finally get to take his fucking shower.

Before that, however, he checked his usual daily messages and noticed an extra from security chief Bernard, one that was labeled, ‘Regarding Confidentiality’. 

Henry grit his teeth and forged ahead, cranking the shower on to heat up while he read (more out of long habit than because Hans’ shower needed any sort of pre-heating at all).

Please be aware that while traditionally all security feed footage is viewed and screened by our company AI, emergency circumstances may require us to have live people monitoring the situation. Hans’ safety (and privacy) is our biggest concern.

On a related note, I might recommend reviewing your employment contract. Just in case.

Henry read it twice and then put his phone aside to shower. What a professional way to say ‘we noticed you fucking, fyi’. He wasn’t going to ‘review his employment contract’, either. If something about not kissing his target was in the contract, then Radzig, knowing the kind of person Hans was, should have pointed it out. In bold. And italics.

There was nothing to be done about it at this point anyway. If he was going to be fired then he was going to be fired. Sometimes there were so many things to worry about that you had to sort them and shove ‘things I can’t fix’ to the bottom.

The thought of being fired, though, as much as he told himself not to think about it… the idea was disconcerting. Where would he go? He had some places kept in the back of his mind, emergency holes and the few people he’d known in the Yards outside of the blastzone, but… what about Hans? Would they assign him somebody better? And leave Henry with just the fucking new scar on his shoulder to remember the week by?

It was making him feel a little bit faint to think about it too much (unless that was the humidity and heat from the shower he’d been running at full blast since reading his email).

Shower. Right. 

Henry stepped through the glass door and hesitated. The patch on his shoulder was… waterproof? He touched it gently and it did have that crunchy, plasticky feel that usually meant yes. If it disintegrated under the water, then he’d just deal with it; clean it out and ask Hans for a new bandage later if he couldn’t make it stop bleeding.

Fucker owed him, anyway- bandages and an apology that was unlikely to be forthcoming.

Henry lowered the temperature and finally stepped into the stream. He felt the subtle pressure of the water over the wound, still numbed, and decided the covering would stay at least long enough to wash the events from yesterday off his body; all of them except, of course, the bite.

A bite was one of those things everybody avoided and yet most people had to deal with at least once. Stupid teenagers, too much alcohol, poor risk assessment- or fuck, sometimes you just got pissed enough to add teeth to your fists in rage. It was actually bites caused in anger that were most dangerous, because that was when flesh would tear. This wound in his shoulder now was only a possessive mark, just fangs sunk in deep and pulled out. You couldn’t stitch a messy laceration like that and you didn’t want to glue it shut either; just keep it clean, wait for it to heal, and see what kind of mark you were left with.

For the hundredth time, Henry thanked whatever spark of clarity at that final moment had told him Hans’ was no longer wearing his muzzle. It wouldn’t be a Bond bite, not without the canine growth that occurred during Rut, but it would be an atrocious scar over his sensitive gland that could cause nerve damage and, worse, would be visible to everybody. Embarrassing. There was a stigma of shame attached to that; he remembered the woman Hans had given money to on the street with scars all over her skin.

If he had ever gone home to his parents with a bite over his scent glands- well, he wasn’t sure what they would have done but he had taken care not to have to find out. That, truthfully, had been one of the benefits of being with a Beta.

He pressed his fingers against the bandage harder until he finally felt a flash of pain beneath the analgesic. The sensation was incredibly satisfying.

--

Hans sat at the kitchen counter, in a chair for once, a warm mug of something steaming between his palms. He looked up from the drink as Henry entered but quickly lowered his gaze again. There were faint shadows underneath his eyes and he seemed solemn, but perhaps the effect was simply amplified by the deep black turtleneck he wore, fabric tight around his neck up to the line of his chin.

Was it awkward between them? Henry wasn’t quite sure. With no scent whatsoever, Hans wasn’t easy to read. There was certainly something in the air, a tangible type of tension, but he found himself unable to put a name to the way he felt. It kept him silent as he ordered food from the tablet; the same oatmeal again, because there was a homesick sort of comfort in eating the same thing he’d grown used to over the years. 

He slowly settled into his usual seat at the opposite end of the island counter and met Hans’ gaze for a very brief moment. No, awkward wasn’t the right word at all, Henry decided immediately. Hans’ eyes flashed down towards Henry’s right shoulder and his lips parted as if to speak, but eventually he closed his mouth and stared down at his drink again. 

No apology, then. It’d not even been a week (had it really been so little time?) but Henry found he couldn’t be surprised. Hans couldn’t take blame for something if it’d kill him. So, you know what, fuck it- Henry wouldn’t be apologizing either. 

He had, already, last night in the bathroom with his own blood dripping down his chest, unable to pull his eyes from the growing bruise and pinpricks of red swelling Hans’ collarbone.

But he wouldn’t say it again.

He let Hans continue to sulk and finished his breakfast quietly. It was a busy schedule per the app today and it seemed like their routine might be shifting back towards a semblance of normal after the attack. Hans was slated to be in multiple overlapping meetings for most of the early afternoon, followed by an hour labeled ‘Exercise: schedule B-L6’, before designated study time that he suspected Hans was going to simply mark as complete and skip entirely. A very boring day for Henry, in other words, and he was glad to finally face boredom.

For a moment, he sat with his empty bowl and watched Hans. He looked good in the turtleneck, simple, like an officeboy. There was something anxious about him, the way his fingers circled the same spot on his mostly undrunk cup. Henry wondered how hungover he was; if the rich elite had ways to ease that dehydration pain immediately or suffered the same as everybody else. He could simply ask. He could ask Hans how he was feeling instead of kicking around wishing it was as easy as smelling pain on him.

Henry stood to toss his dishes in the sink (he’d never washed them but they were always gone by evening; it made him feel strangely guilty even though he’d rarely had time to be washing the dishes at home) and then stopped to stand against the island next to Hans, who turned to look up at him with a raised eyebrow and a patient look. Perhaps Henry’s uncomfortable lingering was not so unobvious.

“Can I see it?” Henry blurted. He’d been planning to say something, but certainly not the thoughts that’d been bubbling against his subconscious all morning. He snapped his mouth shut.

Hans seemed as surprised as Henry was, but he recovered faster. He shifted to rest his chin against his palm, elbow leaning on the table to better watch the blush bloom and fade from Henry’s cheeks. “Are you horny at eight in the morning?” Hans asked dryly, faintly smirking.

Henry rubbed his face. “No. I could just tell you were thinking about it,” he said, a half-lie.

“We’re not all knot-brained,” Hans remarked. He leaned back in his chair and toyed with the edge of his turtleneck, fully enjoying the way Henry’s eyes fixated there. The mood in the kitchen shifted- maybe both of them had just been waiting to see exactly how mad the other one was. Just a little bit, it turned out, but maybe not at all. 

With a silent laugh Hans stood up, elbowing Henry as he dumped his own half-drunk mug in the sink. “I have plenty of other things to focus on. Like the idea of somebody trying to kill me while my well-paid bodyguard sits and thinks about cock.”

“I wasn’t-!” Henry sighed, well aware that Hans was just teasing him. “I’m not that well-paid.”

“Well.” Hans leaned back against the sink and looked him up and down. “What would you even buy?”

Henry stepped into his space. It was risky, but the temptation felt too strong. He leaned in to place his hands on the edge of the sink around Hans and spoke quietly. “How many credits do I owe you now?”

“I’d like to keep you in debt for a while,” Hans answered, an easy smile slowly spreading over his face. Henry’s unbalanced scent was always stronger than he meant it to be, and Hans shifted even closer.

And suddenly the doorbell rang, a sharp chime that overtook the background music for a moment. Hans stepped away from the sink immediately, Henry moving backwards to let him free, and whatever moment they’d been creating broke. Hans pulled up his phone to check the cameras and his eyes went wide for one anxious second before he swallowed, turned to face away from Henry, and hit a button to answer.

“I’m busy,” he said directly.

It was Hanush outside the door, his voice so loud it nearly distorted the speaker. “I should hope so. Open the door. They’re replacing the screen today and I need to make sure those idiots know what model to use.”

“I’m sure I can handle the remodeling contractors.”

“You’re busy,” Hanush echoed. “Let me in or I swear I’ll force them to give me a keycard. Can’t even get into my own damn apart-”

His voice cut out because Hans gave in and unlocked the front door, turning off the camera. “My damn home,” Hans muttered. He shoved his phone into its pocket and took a breath, smoothing out the edges of his sweater before he forced himself from the kitchen.

Henry started to follow him and then hesitated. Part of him felt that he currently owed everything to Radzig and Hanush, but the other half of him was starting to realize that Hanush was less involved in that equation and simply more of an unwelcome presence in Hans’ life. Maybe if Henry waited in the kitchen, the entire interaction could be shortened. (Especially if Hanush knew about the camera-recorded activity of last night, which, judging by the fact that he couldn’t get into the flat on his own and Bernard had specifically emphasized Hans’ personal security, Henry was going to assume that Hanush did not know. Hope that he did not know.)

“Has nobody shown up yet?” Henry could hear them from the kitchen, Hanush’s voice loud enough to echo across the high ceiling. “These people can never hold a time slot.”

“Nobody’s here,” Hans told him, already sounding irritated. “Will they be loud? I have meetings.”

“I don’t know; close the damn door if it’s noisy.” Hanush scoffed. “Look at you- you look hungover. You’ll have to fix your face. What are you wearing?”

“Watch your hands; it’s expensive.”

“You’re going to change before your appointments?”

There was a slight pause before Hans answered. “Wasn’t planning to.”

“You can’t wear that in front of board members,” Hanush said scornfully. Henry was suddenly very glad that he’d chosen to hide away in the kitchen; it’d taken less than twenty seconds for a petty argument to start. 

“Oh, am I three years old? Last I checked, I was perfectly capable of picking my own clothes.”

“Don’t play stupid, Hans. Do you understand your position here? You have obligations to-”

“I don’t have to-”

“Legal obligations!” Hanush said, purposefully raising his voice. “To present the company and it’s tech in a professional manner-”

They were constantly interrupting each other, their voices increasingly getting louder. It was making Henry uneasy, but he couldn’t tell if his sudden appearance would standstill things or worsen them. He shifted to the wall by the door, listening with apprehension.

Hanush continued on, not stopping for Hans this time at all. “You cannot go into a meeting with the board with your neck fucking covered, boy, you know that you-” This time he cut off his own words, having made the obvious connection. “What did you fucking do?” he asked, his voice somewhat quieter and yet still just as angry.

“Nothing,” Hans lied quickly.

“The money that literally rests on your neck- it’s like you don’t understand. Is your sex-obsessed brain filled with rocks?”

“Don’t speak to me like that.” (Henry had the same immediate thought.) “You’re fucking impossible to deal with.” Hans took a deep breath. “You scent like an animal.”

“I can’t imagine what your father would think-”

“Let go of me,” Hans snarled, and Henry tensed.

“-with you throwing out all he gave you-”

Henry cleared his throat loudly in the kitchen doorway. He gripped the door’s frame with white-knuckle tightness. There wasn’t a moment when he had decided to interrupt; he simply was suddenly there, making his presence known.

Hanush and Hans both froze, turning to look at him. Hanush dropped Hans’ arm and Hans leapt back out of his space. Hans was flushed to the tip of his ears, visibly aggravated, teeth flashing as he snapped, “OUT.” Then he spun around, intently avoiding Henry’s gaze, and stormed upstairs.

“Hmph.” Hanush shook his head. He rolled his eyes at Henry as if they were somehow commiserating together, both on the same side. “That boy acts like such a teenager sometimes,” he said. “Maybe he shouldn’t be allowed to dress himself.” Hanush laughed quietly alone.

Henry was at a complete loss for words. What could he possibly say? That had been a horrifying argument to witness and he hadn’t even had to watch them. He was suddenly struck with a sense of longing for home, a hollow gratefulness towards his own parents and a desperate regret that he’d never thought to tell them so. Hanush was looking at him expectantly, clearly waiting for him to agree, for Henry to suggest that Hans was intolerable or immature, while Henry was thinking the very same about Hanush instead.

A crash of glass sounded from upstairs and Henry startled. Hanush shook his head, unconcerned, but Henry’s heart was in his throat and he bolted upstairs. His knife was on his belt, fingers tracing the edge of the handle. Everything else was in his room, where it was apparently doomed to stay every time something bad happened.

He flung open Hans’ door just in time to watch him chuck the full bottle of vodka from last night across the room. It hit the wall with a thunk and left a clean dent but didn’t break, instead rolling across the carpet unsatisfyingly. “FUCK,” Hans swore. He walked over to pick it back up, weighing it briefly in his hands before swinging it like a bat at the edge of the bed frame.

This time it shattered successfully into a mess of large glass pieces and alcohol. Hans tossed the broken handle at the other wall.

“Hans,” Henry said sharply, closing the door behind him as he entered. Glass from the smashed whiskey bottle, the first crash, was strewn over the floor near the entrance. Wearing only socks, Henry picked around it carefully.

“You can leave, Henry,” Hans told him. His voice was eerily steady. He shifted the few small steps towards his desk and grabbed what looked like some sort of fancy metal award. It sailed through the air to hit the window and went right through it in a cacophony of noise.

A set of drones were there in a moment and Henry simply waved at them, waved at Bernard’s team, at a loss.

“Did you hear me?” asked Hans.

“I’d rather risk it up here than go back downstairs to hang out with him,” Henry said.

Hans closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He moved suddenly to tear his sweater off, pulling it over his arms and dropping it like it burned. Bare-chested, he breathed heavily, fists clenching at his sides. The bite had bloomed beautifully purple and black over his collarbone, flowering up the bottom of his neck, but Henry wasn’t about to comment on it now.

“Hans.”

Hans opened his eyes and looked at him, waiting for him to say something else.

There wasn’t anything else to say. Henry wasn’t going to try and tell him to calm down or relax. He wasn’t going to scold him for wrecking his own things. He just wanted Hans to know that he was there and he wasn’t going to leave. He focused on calm, trying to push back his fading feelings of protective anger, attempting to push for a scent of safety. Controlling his scent had never been one of his strong suits, but he could try.

Hans turned his attention back towards the desk. A wicked smile crept over his face and he peeled his laptop from its charging dock. He moved past Henry towards the bathroom door, elbowed it open and stalked inside. Henry stepped forward just in time to watch him swing the computer into the glass shower door; the cascade of shattered glass was truly impressive. Hans dropped the computer onto the pile and slammed the bathroom door shut behind him as he exited.

“If it’s his apartment then he can fucking deal with that shit,” he muttered, looking at Henry, daring him to say otherwise.

This was part of the supposed biological need for Omegas- they could easily deal with the Alpha rage through scents and gentle sounds. Henry, however, was entirely too familiar with the sort of anger that made your heart beat so loud that you couldn’t hear your own thoughts. They were humans and not animals, and being mad was no real excuse for bad decisions, but sometimes it just felt good to give in. He simply lifted an arm in a sympathetic half-shrug.

Hans barked a short laugh and shook his head. He kicked his leather chair away from the desk and sat down into it heavily. “I hate him,” he said, resting his elbows on his knees and lowering his head into his hands.

“You’re just a few months from being free of him,” Henry pointed out. Just a few more months until his next birthday and the trust would pay out. (If Henry could keep him alive, that was.)

Hans’ shoulders shook in a silent laugh. “I’ll never be free of him. It’ll go to court for years again. They’ll play nice and then fight it for years, him and her both.”

Henry assumed ‘her’ must be Hans’ mother, but as he’d not once mentioned her before this, he found it better not to ask. 

“And these days Kobyla is so tight with my Uncle, I’ll have to come up with a new lawyer,” Hans continued, his voice muffled by the palms of his hands. “With whatever money I’ve saved myself.”

“You don’t think Radzig would keep it honest?”

Hans twisted his head in his hands to look at Henry. “He’s a lawyer,” he said after an extended pause. “They lie. They keep… secrets.”

“You’d know more than I would,” Henry eventually said. 

Hans ran his hands through his hair and then pulled them down his neck, pressing against his scent glands with his thumbs. “I’m owned by Rattay, Henry,” he said, staring down at his knees. “You don’t understand.”

Henry carefully moved deeper into the room, dodging piles of glass. “I might.” He finally found a seat on the beige chaise lounge against the wall behind Hans. From here he could see that the portrait was still set to generic abstract art. “I was also owned by Intent Rattay.”

“You could quit at any time.” Hans waved a hand dismissively. 

That was a perturbing thought, but it wasn’t what Henry meant. “No, the entire section of the Yards is owned by them. That’s who we maintained equipment for. Instinct paid and housed us.”

Hans was quiet again while he considered that. “Paid you all so little that you couldn’t even afford proper safety measures?” He sat up and leaned back in the chair, and while Henry couldn’t see his face, he could tell Hans was staring at the portrait too. 

“I’m… surprised you remember that,” Henry remarked. He barely remembered the conversation himself, unsure what the context was. Had they been arguing?

“I listen,” Hans snapped. He sighed quietly. “Guess that means your family’s death is on my hands, too,” he commented dryly.

“No, Hans-” What an awful thought. “There was an arsonist, and-”

“Somebody who wants to take down Intent. There’s always protesters. Rival companies with looser morals. Whatever.”

Henry shook his head. “I’m not going to blame you for their deaths.”

“Feel free to,” Hans muttered. “It’s my fault that my father is dead. Add them in.”

In the immediate quiet, during which Henry realized that there was not actually any music playing in the room, he could hear the faint sounds of voices and minor construction equipment from the first floor. It was a strange backdrop to a very personal conversation between two people who were only professionally required to work with each other- two people who also wore each other’s teethmarks. This was one of those moments that felt so unreal that Henry almost expected to wake up in his own bed; his bed at home, with his hand-me-down sheets that smelled of his parents.

“It’s a long story,” Hans said, unable to bear the oppressive silence of Henry not speaking.

“Shorten it, then.” Henry had no inclination to pry into Hans’ business, but if he felt like he needed to talk about it, Henry would listen. He had nothing else to do but listen to Hans.

“Do you…” Hans considered. “I don’t suppose you have any schooling in bio-genetic engineering? Or cyberware biology?”

It was a small blessing that Hans could not see his face. Suddenly, listening seemed a little more like a chore. Henry blinked slowly and frowned. “Let’s say no,” he answered.

“Oh,” Hans said, as if this was a surprise to him. As if it was unusual for a man who’d barely finished a half-assed form of high school not to have a college degree in advanced science. He crossed his arms over his chest and Henry could see one of his feet gently tapping.

“I’m good at context clues,” Henry suggested when the pause became questionably lengthy.

“It’s not that. Explaining science is easy. I don’t have much practice talking about the rest.”

Henry had assumed that much, because he had already gathered that Hans did not seem to actually have friends to tell things to. Not this sort of thing, anyway.

“You already fucking know; I don’t know why it’s so… I don’t have a scent. Scentless.” Hans seemed content to keep talking without needing Henry to answer him, now that he'd gotten started. “Anyway,” he said, and then cleared his throat. “That’s his fault. My father. He did that to me.”

“On… purpose?”

“Shit. No. He loved me, Henry.” He shifted in the chair to get his phone out and turn the portrait back on. The art faded to show his father lounging in a plush armchair with a dusty looking old textbook and a blond toddler asleep against his shoulder. “He was… you don't think I'm fucking up the company, do you?”

Henry almost missed the question, his stare trapped in the old photograph. Fucking up the company? Most of the things Henry knew about Hans Capon Jr came from gossip and sensationalized headlines, and some of those were literally titled, ‘Capon Heir Continues Ruining Intent's Name’. Henry wasn't about to say so, though, and went with the more honest answer, “I've only known you for like… five days at most.”

“What?” Hans spun his chair around to look at him. His face was pale and the shadows underneath his eyes more pronounced, almost matching the bruise. “Is that all? That can't be right.”

Henry shrugged.

“Oh,” Hans said slowly. “Just feels like more than that.”

Henry agreed, so he shrugged again, leaning back against the wall. “A bit, yeah.”

“Right, well. The implants. Fuck, this would be easier if you knew how they worked.” Hans checked the time on his phone and then sighed. “Simple version… the way they change scent. It's a form of genetic engineering; has to be specifically matched to each person. Essentially, the scent organ is modified to allow a larger variation of genetic expression and the implant supports adjustment. Was initially advertised to people who wanted to have a stronger or a weaker scent. It's more complicated than that these days, but that's… an early level explanation. Right?”

“...Right,” Henry answered. He was struggling to follow but felt sure he could track the points that actually mattered to the story Hans was trying to tell him. It was easier now when he could see Hans’ face, but a little bit harder because Hans was also still shirtless and the bite was extremely difficult to look away from. Knot-brained, Hans had called him- Henry did not usually feel like that was the case for him, but something about Hans sitting there so pitifully was making Henry consider asking him to turn around again to make listening possible.

“Okay, so obviously the first iteration was not as finely tuned. It was more of a brute force method. Also, I was thirteen and-”

That drew Henry’s attention enough that he interrupted. “He tested the first version on you?”

“Not- no. Not like you're thinking. Sort of.” Hans threw his arms out in a helpless shrug, because he knew he couldn’t argue. “It was long before market trials, but- enough with the face, Henry, it was working as intended in trials and he wanted me to have the best resources possible.”

Henry attempted to school his expression.

“What went wrong is mostly because I hadn't hit pre-Rut yet.”

Personally, Henry thought thirteen was a little old to still be waiting on pre-Rut and he absolutely would have ragged on his friends at that age who hadn’t done so by then, but in no world was he going to mention that now.

Hans kept talking. He shifted one leg over the other and leaned back again in the chair. The way he twisted his neck to look at the broken window was distracting enough that Henry had to stare at the wall behind him. (Something was fucking wrong with him, he thought, because this was a serious conversation.) 

“My scent glands hadn't developed. And when they did, it was discovered that the implant's learning module had been attempting to establish- okay, the details don't fucking matter. This is stupid. I went through pre-Rut and didn't come out with a scent.” Hans stood up suddenly and shook out his hands. “It was miserable. I was miserable.” He walked towards the bed, stopping just before Henry thought to worry about all the glass. “I had to be pulled from the private school. Had to fake all the scent greetings. Tutors called me ‘unpredictable’.”

“I'm sorry,” Henry said genuinely.

Hans turned just a bit to side-eye him and Henry knew it'd been the wrong thing to say. He didn't take it back.

“A girl told me once that being with me was like fucking a corpse,” Hans said sharply.

Henry winced. “That’s fucked up.”

“Is it?” Hans turned around again and walked back towards the chair. “When I couldn't scent for you, you were angry.”

“No,” Henry insisted, “I wasn't-”

“I was there,” Hans cut him off. He grimaced. “I fucked that up. After everything, I didn’t plan properly. Whatever, irrelevant right now.” He put up a hand to silence Henry's placating argument. “The story. He was trying to fix it. Most of the advertised ScentTech functionality was funded by him specifically for me. But it was slow going to develop something that could change a scent completely instead of simply amplifying or reducing.”

Hans turned once more to look at his father in the portrait again. He crossed his arms; the lean muscles of his back shivered, tense. “I was so angry,” he said quietly. “I'm still angry. But as a teenager… I felt like a ghost. I never felt like my space was mine because nothing smelled right; I didn't know what right was. You can't understand, Henry.” Hans shook his head. “I went through Ruts sobbing, because I couldn't figure out territory lines or feel like my room was safe. I would rub my neck raw trying.”

He pressed a hand to the side of his neck and took a steadying breath. Henry could see the end of the story coming but didn't dare say anything now.

“I made it very clear that I thought my life was over and that it was his fault; that he ruined me. But he hadn't actually ruined my life until the day he told my mother to take me to yet another specialty appointment, and I didn't want to go because I was so sick of them all, so we fought in the dining room, because she and I were always fighting at that point, and we argued so long that we were still there when we heard the gun go off, and that, Henry, is when my life was truly over.”

Chapter Text

Hans recovered quicker than Henry did, which was fine; all Henry had to do was follow him around, after all. Hans simply got up, washed his face and pulled on a Hanush-approved shirt from his closet (into which Henry only got a peek, but it was definitely a room almost as big as the one Henry lived in now).

“Come, Henry,” Hans called, heading back into the bathroom. 

The summons was unnecessary, because Henry followed like all he could do at the moment was exist as Hans’ lingering shadow.

Hans started pulling open drawers, eyeing himself in the mirror. His reflection glanced Henry’s way. “Take your shirt off,” he said, and Henry simply pulled his shirt up and over his head. Hans rolled his eyes and then reached out to grab Henry’s arm, pulling him closer. “Let’s deal with you first. Hold still.” He ran his fingers over the bandage and Henry braced for pain, but whatever tab Hans yanked pulled the adhesive off in one slick move that he barely felt.

Henry took a deep breath. There was a stinging pain to it now that it was exposed to the air and drops of crimson started welling up among the holes in his skin. He turned to look at it better in the mirror. There was irritated swelling and patches of dark bruising, but what was left in his shoulder was clearly a very identifiable Alpha bite. It would definitely scar- the extent would be determined by how well he took care of it. 

“Look at me,” Hans said, and when Henry turned, Hans grabbed his chin. He had a wet, folded wipe in his other hand and Henry flinched when cold touched the sides of his neck, not his shoulder. “Henry.” Hans’ voice was quiet, but very firm. “I need you to be normal. Stop scenting like this.” He scrubbed at Henry’s scent glands, yanking Henry’s head to either side.

Be normal. He’d fucking try. Maybe Hans could pretend like nothing had changed- maybe it was easy when everything had happened so long ago. Or maybe Hans wasn’t normal at all and Henry couldn’t tell because he literally had no scent.

“I will put patches on you,” Hans threatened. “I have things I need to get through today and I won’t be able to do that if you’re hovering around with that terrible, uncomfortable scent.”

Henry nodded, Hans’ fingers still tight on his chin. He would not be a problem for Hans. He would not act like a teenager who needed scent control. He would get himself put together in just one second, he promised.

“Fucking- you have not said one single word since you stood up.” Hans let go of his chin and threw the wipes in the general direction of the trash can. “Say something. Ask me something! Damn, Henry, you can’t act like this over my breakdown.”

Henry opened his mouth to argue and hesitated, because Hans was right. His throat felt unbearably dry and he swallowed roughly.  “I will get it together,” Henry promised, this time out loud. “You said a lot of things, and I…” It was difficult to parse through his thoughts. More than anything he felt the same as he had overlooking the club balcony days before, like the world beyond his body was moving differently than he was used to. Fragments of thoughts collected on his tongue; his breath caught in his chest.

Hans stuck his fingers against the raised edges of Henry’s injury and pressed hard.

Pain shot vibrantly through Henry’s chest and he gasped, knocking Hans’ arm away from him. He stared at him, betrayed, blinking while new blood welled up over his swollen skin.

“Get. It. Together.” Hans looked at him impatiently and Henry felt heat bloom over his cheeks. “You have to figure this out. I have twenty minutes and it’ll take me five to set up comms. Understand?”

Henry nodded and then forced himself to speak again. “Yeah, I get it.”

“Great.” Hans turned and washed his hands in the sink, his expression flat. He dried them under a mechanical dryer and then started tossing the contents of his drawers on the counter until he found what he wanted. Henry watched, focusing on steadying his breathing, while Hans pushed aside the neck of his shirt and carefully painted over his bruise. It was like magic to Henry, who had never cared for make-up even if it’d been in the budget- the way Hans layered green and orange to make the colors disappear.

(It made Henry want to mark him all over again in a way that was absolutely influenced by the pungent smell of sex still lingering heavily over the bedroom.)

Once he was satisfied with the way his shirt lay over the hidden mark, Hans started on his face. Henry found it suddenly difficult to watch. The way Hans turned his head to stare at himself in the mirror struck Henry almost violently with a similar memory; Bianca, settled at a vanity that she’d bullied him into welding together for her out of pretty looking scraps. If he closed his eyes now he could set himself back on her bed and hear her talk about nothing important while she painted lines on her eyes.

If he didn’t pay enough attention to her, he remembered, she would cover her lips in red and wrestle him until she’d successfully left it smeared across his neck. “Don’t you dare wipe off my bite,” she’d tell him.

“Henry.”

He opened his eyes to see Hans watching him. “Yes?”

Hans frowned before softening slightly. “Come here so I can clean and re-bandage that.”

Henry stepped towards the sink. Hans’ touch was more gentle this time as he used a damp towel to clean the blood from Henry’s skin. He wiped the wound with some sort of cleanser, applied a mystery ointment, and then carefully reapplied a new bandage. His fingers trailed gently over the final product and then he said quietly, looking only at the covered wound, “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Bite me?” Henry guessed.

Hans’ brow furrowed. “No, I meant when I…” He pulled his hand away and stepped back to look at himself in the sink. “I shouldn’t have done that either.”

He was trying to apologize for hurting him earlier, Henry realized, in the closest way to an apology that he seemed to know how to do. Henry’s lips curled, pleased. The apology for the bite came in the shape of aftercare. With more time, he could learn to read Hans, scent or not.

They left the devastated bedroom to head towards Hans’ office and Henry froze on the balcony, eyes wide, hair ruffled by wind. The screen was gone, and because the screen was the entire two-story wall, there was simply a giant hole in the penthouse. A giant crane moved outside, surrounded by hovering carrier drones. Sounds of the City flooded inside unmuffled- buzzing, beeping, sky-train rumbling. It was cold this high up despite the heat of the unforgiving sun. And down below, far enough below that Henry felt his stomach flip over, was the ground. His hands squeezed the railing of the balcony tight.

“Henry,” Hans called from inside his office, “I’m shutting this door and locking it, so you’d better pick a side.”

Henry scrambled after him, but he still felt vaguely like he was falling.

--

Hans plowed through his meetings like it was any normal day. He stood through them, facing multiple holo-screens and with two of his own video-drones projecting his image across the net. Audio-patches behind his ears prevented Henry from hearing anything that was said, though Henry thought it was more a precaution due to the construction than hiding anything from him personally, and Hans himself didn’t seem to speak too often but when he did, it was slow and confident.

Henry sat at the door and watched him, thinking, and he wondered what sort of teenager Hanush still saw when he looked at his nephew. 

--

It turned out that Hans’ closet was actually bigger than Henry’s room. There was furniture inside- plush seats inside the closet. Multiple mirrors, just in case you didn’t like your face in one of them, Henry supposed? He had been in people’s homes that were similar in size.

“I don’t care that you want to fit all this ugly armor,” Hans was still arguing, “there’s going to actually be people there this time and I have standards to maintain. Compromise with me.”

“Can compromise involve me wearing pants?” Henry asked dryly, leaning back against a wall with his arms crossed.

Hans rolled his eyes with his hands on his hips. “These are pants, Henry.”

“Tights, maybe.”

“Leggings. And we are talking about you, not me. I’m assuming you won’t leave the gun.”

Henry shook his head, absolutely unwilling to budge on that. “Hans. Somebody is trying to murder you.”

“Mongrel is safe.” Hans waved a hand and triggered another set of shelves to peel open. “Don’t be so serious all the time.”

Henry winced. “We’re going there again? Why?” It’d been only a few days and his memories of that night were… complicated. He wondered what it had really meant for Hans to use a distinctly Omega scent for him. 

“Because, Henry, if we go there, then I don’t have to ‘pay for sex’.” He shot Henry a dirty look that was probably justifiably earned. “Just buy drinks and find somebody hot.” He paused. “A few somebodies, probably.”

They could also just stay home and not pay for sex, Henry thought, dragging his stare away from the distinct lines of Hans’ legs. “It’s safer if we stay home,” he tried. “Can’t you just call somebody over? Or I could… you know.”

Hans turned with silk in his hands and gave him a look before laughing. “Great pick-up technique, Henry, but pass. There’s a billion people in this City and I plan to experience as many of them as possible.”

Henry considered somebody else fitting their mouth over the bite on Hans’ neck and bit down on his own tongue until it hurt. He was regretting that revenge move more and more, because it was becoming impossible to keep his instincts in check. Especially while Hans was shirtless and showered, flowering bruise once more on full display. A professional relationship. Hans had told him that first night- it was just comfort. Henry was totally on board… except for the heat in his blood that was trying hard to convince him otherwise.

“This one’s perfect. Here, Henry. Arms up.” Hans forced a shirt over his head before he could insist on dressing himself. “Quit fussing with it, it goes like this.”

Henry turned to look at one of a hundred mirrors. It was loose, a rumpled gray shirt that didn’t feel like a shirt at all because it neither covered his arms or his chest. It was mostly his body armor on display through an excessively wide and deep V. He looked at Hans, unamused. “You can literally see my gun.”

“Yeah,” Hans said. “It’s cool. Sexy, even, if you’re into that. It’s not like anybody else can pull it from the holster, right?”

“...Right. Sure.”

“And if somebody does come at me, look, easy access. You can blow somebody’s brains out right over the dance floor.”

Henry grimaced. It didn’t feel easy to joke about when he was so worried that it might actually happen. 

“Compromise,” Hans reminded him. “Or I’ll slip out the back elevator and ditch you.”

“You don’t have a back elevator.” Henry hesitated, trying to recall the blueprints he’d barely looked at. “Do you?”

Hans raised his eyebrows and waited for the answer he wanted to hear.

“Alright, it’s fine.”

“You can wear your boring black pants with that. Most people will be looking at me, anyway.”

If Henry could roll his eyes any harder he would have. He sat himself in one of the chairs, plucking at the awkward fabric of the shirt, resigned to the idea of yet another long evening. Did Hans rest? Is this what every night was like; every day another party, another drunken bender? Henry was going to have to learn how to sleep in. He sighed and leaned back, watching Hans wander amongst his elaborate, expensive options wearing nothing but those ridiculous black tights that didn’t even fully cover his calves.

Eventually he pulled a box from a tall shelf and sat himself down on a bench to shove his feet into tall, black heeled boots that zipped to meet his leggings. They seemed simple until he hit something that turned them on, and then patterns of silver light eerily like the implants flickered alive across the boots.

“Can you walk in those?” Henry asked from across the room.

“Could kick your ass in these,” Hans quipped. He stood up and flashed an easy smile Henry’s way. “They match,” he pointed out, gesturing at his spine.

“I see that.” This felt like a different Hans he was dealing with; a different person than the man who had performed the morning’s trembling confession. Which was good, Henry thought. Probably. He wasn’t sure he understood Hans enough to be making decisions on what was normal and what wasn’t.

“Ugh. I’m requesting my next bodyguard to be fashion-forward.”

“After I quit because watching you dress for an hour is unbearable?”

Hans carefully put away the shoebox and opened yet another panel. “Five hours of meetings is fine, but forty minutes here is too much for you?” He drew out what looked almost like sheets of solid metal. “Come help me with this.”

Henry reluctantly pushed himself to his feet and joined him. “What is this?”

“Corset,” Hans told him, awkwardly juggling it to wrap around his waist. The inside was padded, thankfully, and it fit around his stomach like it’d been sculpted for him. (It probably had been.) “Squish it so the back rivets latch.”

Henry obliged while Hans let his breath out, pressing until the magnetic locks clicked together. “How do you get this off?”

“Somebody takes it off me,” Hans answered, as if that was a perfectly normal thing to accept. He stepped back, shifting, and eyed himself in a full length mirror, practicing a silver smile while he turned. “This works,” he decided.

It looked somehow like he was still half naked, but Henry had learned before that making comments like that once they were already dressed was only going to end poorly for him- best case was another hour while she started over with an entirely new outfit, worst case was an evening in the doghouse. He kept his mouth shut and looked at the two of them in the mirror. Where normally they were of similar height, Hans was taller than him in his boots and Henry wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

And the bite-

“Are you covering that?” Henry asked, pointing at their reflection. You could see it perfectly, Hans’ chest left bare. The shape of the metal corset almost dared you to stare right at it. 

Hans leaned in to look at himself and Henry caught the hint of a smirk. Infuriatingly, he chose not to answer. “Almost ready; just need to paint a little.”

A little turned out to be a lot. Henry had complained before about going to the clubs when they’d barely opened; he would never ever say one word again after this. With people to impress, the options for casual went out the window. Hans streaked silver glitter down his neck like the workers at the sex club and drew black around his eyes and lips until all Henry could focus on was the blue of his eyes and his silvered teeth. He got distracted- Hans grabbed him before he could run and within moments Henry was blinking into an eyeliner pen.

There was really no choice but to endure it. Complaining was just going to make it take longer. 

--

The vibe outside of Bar Mongrel was much different this time. People were lined in rows out front and the VIP drop-off was like a car dealership’s line-up of expensive cars waiting their turn. They’d taken the bright yellow creature again, music playing inside so loud that Henry could barely think over it. Hans hadn’t covered the bite. When the car finally stopped he didn’t notice, not getting up until the door slid open on its own. He paused to help Hans out and up onto his stupid boots, and then before he had a chance to catch his breath, they were in the elevator.

“Don’t lose me in the crowd,” Henry said quickly.

Hans grinned wickedly. He stepped closer, crowding Henry against the elevator walls as they rose upwards, then ducked down to kiss him solidly on the mouth. Henry gasped, mouth parted; felt just the barest hint of tongue before Hans pulled away and told him, “It’s your job to keep up with me.” The elevator ‘binged’ and the doors slid open, and Hans brushed past him easily. His artificial spiced scent drifted after him.

Henry caught his reflection in the elevator’s glass. Hans’ lipstick hadn’t smudged at all. 

Chapter Text

It was crowded, it was noisy, the lights were multicolored, shifting and flashing all over the place, and there was at least one fog machine. In other words, it was a sensory nightmare on top of a logistical one. Henry had never experienced anything quite like it; loud constant noise he was used to, bright rainbow LEDs blinding within the darkness he was not. 

And Hans, as promised, made no effort to wait for him. Henry pushed through the growing crowd to follow, suddenly more thankful for the heeled boots’ added extra height. After a moment it became obvious where Hans was going and Henry just focused on getting to the main bar. 

The same bartender was there, assisted by two others to help pass out drinks to the increased patron count. He was wearing a full shirt this time, loose and green with the bar's snarling logo across the chest. When he turned and saw Hans pull up to the bar, he rolled his eyes and waved an assistant away to serve him himself. 

Hans leaned over and reached his arm out. Sam grabbed it, wrist to wrist, and bent closer to hear whatever Hans was saying to him. Henry shoved himself next to Hans and Sam gave him a wry smile before turning his head so that Henry had no way to hear how he answered Hans. Two different shots were put in front of him; Hans let go of Sam's arm and did them both before picking a full cocktail, something purple and iridescent. 

“Whatever he wants, Sammy,” Hans said loudly, gesturing at Henry. “He's probably going to be too boring for any of it, but we never know!”

He took his drink and knocked on the bar's iced surface before pushing back from it and turning around. Henry gave Sam a small wave before hurrying to follow, and the bartender shouted behind them, “No fighting, Capon!”

Hans was looking for something, moving through the crowd towards the balcony in a messy path that forced Henry to gently push more than one tipsy person out of his way to keep track. He felt a little stupid for asking Hans if he could walk in those boots earlier; the man could have run a mile in them, apparently. 

An arm snaked through his elbow and yanked him forward; Hans pulled him to the edge of the balcony and pointed across the packed room at a second, much more private looking balcony. “Do you see him?” he asked, having to nearly yell against Henry’s ear this close to the central DJ stage.

Henry peered through the terrible lighting and only knew who Hans was talking about because the man, sat lounging on his own couch overlooking everything, was wearing some kind of jacket that was edged in blue lights that flickered to the beat of the music. “I see him,” Henry answered. It was hard to make out his features and one particular flash of light revealed that this was because he was actually wearing some kind of full mask, his face entirely covered by reflective black.

“If he comes over here,” Hans said, “you've gotta let me know.”

“You're presuming I'll know where you are.”

Hans laughed. “Ask around. If you turned fast enough now, you could spot people taking pictures of us. Look.” He pointed at a cluster of people below them and lifted his glass towards them- he got a noisy cheer and Henry could see the light of too many phones. Hans leaned in close to him. “These fangmarks of yours will be all over the feeds in about five minutes.”

That was a thought that Henry didn’t know how to process. “Nobody will know they're mine.”

“They won't. The guessing will be entertaining.” Hans laughed and took a heavy drink from his cocktail. “Alright, Henry. Here is where I leave you.”

“I don't think so.” Henry shook his head. 

“I do.” Hans twisted to look over the VIP crowd for a moment. “You have access to the cars, we can meet at home.”

“At home? I don't think-”

“Henry.” Hans faced him and put his free hand firmly on Henry’s shoulder. “My personal recommendation to you is to stop thinking so much. Nobody will fault you for losing me in a crowd. Ask Sam if you need anything. Have fun.” He patted Henry's shoulder and then shoved him so hard that Henry stumbled backwards against the banister. “Be safe!” Hans called over his shoulder with a disappearing laugh.

Henry grabbed the balcony railing and pulled himself back up, immensely irritated. He didn't try to chase Hans; there seemed to be no point. If the best he could do was remain in the same building, that'd have to do. The VIP section was busy and had a few extended hallways, but it wasn't so big that he couldn't find Hans if something happened. Probably. He checked the vehicle app on his phone; at least he would know if or when Hans actually left.

Being at the edge of the balcony was unnerving him. Henry put some distance between himself and the drop, moving through the crowd with the aimless goal of getting closer to a wall. 

--

It'd been about an hour, and people-watching was beginning to get tiring. It had been interesting at first, watching them all like animals flocking in and out of groups. Henry felt almost useful for a while, like an actual guard on the look-out for danger, keeping a general eye out for Hans. Currently he was feeling like he'd inadvertently seen one too many flashes of skin that he would like to have not seen, and was leaning heavily against the wall willing the blush to fade from his warmed cheeks. 

“You look like somebody's dumped plus-one,” said a smooth voice next to him.

“Something like that.” Henry turned to see a man with hair almost like his own, dark, just a little unkempt, holding a nearly full glass of bubbling liquid. He wore mostly white and it felt a lot simpler than most of the other patrons; a sleeveless shirt of off-white, crumpling scarf-like around his neck, and soft loose slacks of a slightly darker hue. It was his skin that was the most striking. While his arms seemed totally untouched by augment or jewelry, when the rotating blacklight hit, intricate symbols lit up in lightning blue over every inch of him.

He lifted an arm for Henry to see, because Henry was blatantly staring. “Do you like it? Took days of work.”

“Does it mean anything?”

“Hmmm. They came to me in dreams.”

Nobody who lived in the City was normal, Henry decided. 

“I'm kidding.” He grinned at Henry; small sharp fangs marked him as an Omega. He elbowed Henry in the side, stepping closer to him. “It’s just random sigilwork. Shit, the face you just made!” He laughed and Henry found himself chuckling with him. “They call me Pious,” he said, holding out his free arm.

Henry took it, wrist to wrist. “Henry.”

Pious slid his arm free and lifted his drink towards the crowd. “Good to come out here and see just how little we differ from animals,” he commented, his comment echoing Henry’s previous thoughts about the other guests. “Little but less painful when my boss is around picking up the tab. You here with anybody important?”

“Not particularly,” Henry lied.

“I get it. Walk with me.” Pious started walking and Henry found himself following in step. He saw no reason not to; it'd make the dragging time pass faster to spend it with somebody barely happier to be there than he was.

They'd nearly rounded the area with the lounges and tables when Henry saw him. It was impossible not to. It felt like everybody else was looking at him, too.

Hans stood just shy of a light whose edges reflected wickedly off his metal corset. He held a drink to his lips, face comfortably flushed, and looked like the most satisfied cream-eating cat that had ever existed. Multiple people were speaking to him at once, a few of them were making blatant excuses to keep touching his bare skin, and at his feet kneeled a man whose heavy collar was linked to a black leather leash, the other end twisted in Hans’ free hand.

Henry stopped. And stared, eyes growing wide. He watched as one well-manicured hand slid across Hans’ shoulder to tease at the bite and Hans, without looking, grabbed the woman's wrist and gently directed it down to touch his chest instead. The short leash clutched in that same hand dragged the man awkwardly upwards by the neck, but his comfort was clearly not any concern.

Henry understood why Sam called them Hans’ pets.

“Like animals,” Pious repeated with contempt, having had to turn himself around once he noticed Henry had stopped following. “Here.” He offered Henry his glass. “Just soda water. You look warm.”

Henry took it absently. He did feel warm suddenly, hot, blood boiling in the furnace of his chest. The cold felt soothing on his sweaty palms. He put it to his lips and swallowed and it wasn’t until the unfamiliar burn of carbonation hit his throat was he able to tear his gaze from Hans. Henry looked down at the bubbles in the drink. “It’s almost bitter.”

“Is it?”

What feeds would he have to follow to find these pictures tomorrow? What did Hans smell like at that moment? What scent did he intentionally choose to gather vultures around himself? What would happen if Henry stalked into the group to chase them all away and fit his fangs back into the grooves they'd already started carving?

What in the fucking world was he fucking thinking. 

Henry put the glass back to his lips and swallowed until he'd finished off the water. “Let’s keep walking. The- the mood is strange here.”

Pious shrugged and moved on. Henry set the glass on the first table he passed, adding it to a growing collection of emptied drinkware. 

There was less crowding near the entrance elevators, away from the bar, and they paused there to breathe. Pious reached to smooth the crease between Henry's furrowed brows with his thumb.

“What'd you do; see an ex in the crowd?”

Henry gently removed Pious’ hand. “Nothing like that. Somebody I thought I might know.”

“Oh, yeah. Here, come sit away from the elevators.” Pious put a hand to his elbow and pulled him along to a stool, a sort of backless bench, currently just a collection of glassware and trash. “Move that stuff and we can sit.”

Henry did, shoving it all the one side until there was some semblance of space for them. Some of it went to the floor and he heard at least one glass shattering, but it surely wasn't the first broken of the evening and he found he wasn't that concerned. He sat down heavily and looked up into the lights, surprised to see them so bright in the darker corner.

Pious sat next to him, shifting against his side. The blacklights made him seem eerie and hard to look at; the UV patterns followed all the way up his neck, swirling hidden geometric shapes around his scent glands. Dizzying, almost. Henry still felt warm but it was better over here, better with some distance. Better away from Hans. He had no idea what had come over him in the crowd and put it off to nerves, exhaustion, stubborn Alpha instinct- all of the above.

“That’s better,” Pious said. His hand came to rest on Henry's thigh.

Oh, thought Henry, blinking slowly down at it. He should probably have realized he was being flirted with fifteen minutes ago. Isn't that what people did at places like this? He hadn't even considered that somebody might look at him and want to flirt at all when there were people like Hans up with them in the VIP area. It was admittedly somewhat flattering.

What was he supposed to… do about it, though?

Pious’ scent was faintly citrus, not unpleasant. Henry had to drag his gaze away from the hand on his leg and found the Omega staring at him with sharp eyes. It felt hard to focus.

“What…” His mouth felt increasingly dry. “What do you want to do?”

Pious tilted his head, observing him. After a moment, he leaned closer. “I think you can tell what I'd like to do.”

Henry could. That heady scent was sweet and alluring, and he could feel himself leaning into it. It was almost unbalancing. Dizzying. He blinked hard, trying to clear some of the blurriness at the edge of his vision.

He felt the hand on his thigh creep upward and turned to look before Pious’ other hand gripped his shoulder and then suddenly he was being kissed. It was rough and unexpected and Henry grunted, but maybe it wasn't bad. Little Omega teeth, he thought nonsensically, feeling them at the edge of his lip.

Pious’ wandering hand moved to his chest, abusing the wide open nature of his ridiculous shirt. Henry felt him pause and then Pious asked against his mouth, “Are you wearing a side-arm?”

Henry rested one hand on Pious’ arm, suddenly unsure if he intended to push him away. It was hard to sort through his molasses thoughts. Some quip had been on the tip of his tongue one moment and the next he found he could only hum in answer.

His experience with heavy Omega scenting was limited, but he remembered the stupid sex club and knew it was a different sort of feeling, more euphoric and natural, not… this sluggishness that was making it difficult to kiss back. He pulled back a little, the tattoos making his vision spin again. “I don’t think I feel well,” he managed, surprised by the way his voice slurred.

“Do you want to go outside? Come with me- I have a car we can sit in.” Pious stood, taking his hands. 

Henry looked towards the crowd of people and felt anxious, nauseous trying to pick out details in the sea of people. He shouldn't leave, he knew that he shouldn't leave, but- 

“Henry?”

Pious dropped his hands. Henry looked towards the new voice. It was difficult to breathe. 

“Oh, worlds, Henry,” said the new voice, and he turned to see a woman in green. “We thought you were dead.”

“M'not dead,” he mumbled.

She bent to kneel at his feet, her hands on his knees. “Are you alright?”

She tried to meet his gaze but he felt suddenly terrified. Something was wrong with him. He lurched to his feet- or tried to, but nothing was working. She grabbed at his arms, pushing him to sit back down.

Henry trembled at her touch and looked away from her still. “You're dead,” he told her, slurring a hollow whisper. 

“Henry,” Theresa said slowly, still kneeling next to him with her hands on his arm. “Henry, did you take something?”

He shook his head slowly. “Ghosts,” he insisted, just a version of his memory like Bianca that afternoon. He wasn't sure why he'd hallucinate Theresa, of all people, but- fuck, the music was so loud. It thrummed inside his head and he closed his eyes.

“Hal, I think maybe you…”

Dead Theresa was talking to him, but she wasn't real and he couldn't hear her anymore. He tried to open his eyes to see if she'd gone away. 

When he passed out backwards, Theresa managed to keep him from breaking his skull open on the floor. 

--

“I can't fucking believe this- Capon's damned dog, of all people. Where the hell is he?”

“Take a breath, Sam. Bouncers will drag him over. Security is on cams trying to trace it.”

“At Bar Mongrel of all fucking places? If word gets out that-”

“It won't. If it does, I'll hire PR to say it was a rumor. What's he got?”

“Just Intent on his thumbs, it looks like.”

“That'll work. Hold his hand down for me. If he's not as out as he looks then this will sting.”

“I'm going to kick Capon's peacock ass so hard he'll be-”

“Ease up, puppy.”

“God, he could hear you.”

“He's not with us yet. Look at his eyes flutter. I give it at least five more minutes until Solvent kicks in.”

--

His head felt like he'd stuck it under the grinder. He could feel his heart beating in his brain, and for a few minutes that was all he could bear to feel. Slowly it started to fade, not completely but enough that he wasn't overwhelmed by the pain.

Henry slowly let his eyes blink open into a room lit only by dim light. He was flat on his back on some sort of soft couch.

“There he is,” said a soft voice Henry didn't recognize.

“About time,” muttered Sam. “Cover your damn face.”

There was a mechanical whir, an uncomfortable noise to hear while your body was still sorting itself out. Henry opened his mouth and found it tasted miserable. He winced.

“Go easy,” said the kinder voice. A wet, cold towel was draped over his forehead and it felt incredible. 

He tried to speak again after a series of long breaths, shifting. “What-?”

Sam leaned over into his field of view, looking entirely unimpressed. “You got yourself drugged, idiot.”

“Samuel.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Come, Henry, let's sit you up.” His grip was rough but Henry desperately wanted to be sitting and the two up them managed to get him upright. 

Henry pressed his hands to his face and took a deep breath. “What do you mean?” he asked, voice rough. 

“Did you take something from anybody?”

Henry looked up at the unknown speaker and recognized him as the man across the entire bar. He'd turned off the LEDs on his clothing but still had a faint glow to him; dark metal links over his hands and fingers that were underlit by golden light, yet another tech Henry had never encountered in real life before. The same sort of dark metal covered the entirety of his neck all the way to his chin in thin plates that moved when he did- like a lizard, Henry thought dizzily. Over his face was opaque glass, and Henry stared at where he assumed a man's eyes would be.

“I was supposed to find you,” he said faintly.

The man pointed at himself. 

Henry nodded.

“Why?” asked Sam, stepping into Henry's still fuzzy field of vision.

“I have no idea,” Henry answered honestly.

“Who-”

Sam was interrupted by a knock on the door. It was opened by a young woman who looked extremely irritated, her mood explained when Hans pushed her aside and strolled into the room. He'd lost his corset completely, absolutely shirtless, and his hair was a rumpled mess.

“God, you're higher than he is!” Sam complained, gesturing at Hans and turning to the other man as if proving a point.

“Oh, Johnny's here!” Hans exclaimed. “Now it's a real party!”

“Please, Capon. It's a bit of a serious matter.”

Hans waved him off. He stepped to the couch and sat down so heavily that it shot lightning pain through Henry's head. “My Henry,” he said, placing his fire-hot hands to Henry's face. His pupils were wide and his face flushed. “What did you get into?”

“Uh, well, I guess I was…” It was incredibly distracting in an unpleasant way- Hans’ manic stare.

“I told you not to take anything from anybody.” Hans slid his hands slowly down Henry's face until they rested on his neck, and that was distracting in an entirely different way.

“You didn't say that,” Henry countered, pushing Hans’ from his scent glands.

Hans simply adjusted so that he was holding Henry's hands captive instead, hovering between them. “I did. Absolutely. I said ‘be safe’ and I said ‘have fun’ and you don't look like you're doing any of those things, Henry, don't frown so much. You've crinkled all your beautiful eyeliner. Crows eyes, Henry.” He pulled Henry's hands closer to his chest and leaned in to shove his face in Henry's neck. “You smell like you've been having fun.”

Henry did not feel well enough for this overwhelming conversation. He bent backwards and tugged his hands free. 

Sam intervened for him, suddenly pushing Hans backwards even as the Alpha continued to follow Henry. Hans fought him, of course, teeth clicking and the barest, almost-there hint of a growl, but Sam made a sharp, high pitched noise in the back of his throat that froze Henry and Hans both as if they'd been electrocuted.

Henry's heart raced. He stared at Sam.

Hans recovered more quickly. “That was unfair,” he pouted, shifting further onto the opposite side of the couch. “If Commands are illegal, that should be too.”

“That sounds like something a creep who'd drug strangers would say,” Sam pointed out coldly.

“Arguing is counter-productive.” Johnny moved to stand before Henry on the couch and knelt down to meet his eye. It was disorienting, trying to look at him through glass and seeing mostly a reflection of his own pale face. Johnny touched the edge of his helmet and the bottom half flit away like shifting water; strange, still, but being able to see his mouth was more humanizing. “Henry,” he asked, “do you remember anything at all?”

Henry tried to recall, but it was like grasping at live wires. He squeezed his eyes closed. “There was a man. In white. He did give me- oh, I. A Drink.” Was he making sense? Because it didn’t make sense in his head. He pressed one wide palm deep into the fabric of the couch, trying to ground himself. “Marks on his body that disappeared,” Henry whispered.

Johnny tilted his head to think. “That helps.”

“It doesn’t,” Sam grumbled. 

Hans melted dramatically backwards over the arm of the couch. “Kobyla is going to murder me,” he whined.

“It could,” Johnny told Sam, both of them ignoring Hans. “What else, Henry?”

What else. What else. What happened next? He remembered feelings more than anything else: the blinding blur of shifting lights, the way the music felt like part of him, rhythm taking over the pulse in his veins. The scent of lemon, tongue on his. “We kissed some,” he admitted. 

Johnny’s lips tightened, displeased. “Okay.”

And green. “I saw- There was-” He gagged loudly and somebody was quick enough on their feet to shove a trash can between his knees. Johnny stood and moved out of the way and Henry threw up, violently, painfully ill. He felt every spasm wrack his body and just trigger more. Sharp pain forced his eyes shut, grip around the trash can desperate. “I saw her,” he whispered raggedly, lips wet. “She wasn’t there. Dead. She’s dead and I’m dead.” His stomach tightened and he hovered over the can, breathing, afraid to make a mess over their floor.

Johnny paced back and forth, his heavy boots thick on the carpeted floor. “That's enough, Henry. Hallucinogens, Sam?”

“Maybe. Hard to keep track of what’s going the rounds. This bitch probably knows more than I do,” he added, indicating Hans behind him.

“Bitch yourself,” Hans mumbled, half-limp and hanging with his head upside down. “I don’t need date rape drugs.”

“One might have thought you of all people would have some sympathy here, Capon."

"You promised not to-"

"Enough, both of you. You're allowing his scent to get to your heads," Johnny said.

Henry felt cold against his forehead and flinched, forcing his eyes open again to see Sam had the wet towel and was wiping his brow with a touch much gentler than the furious expression on his face. Henry swallowed hard and closed his eyes again, begging for the room to stop spinning. He thought that if he spoke again, he’d keep vomiting, bile and foam never-ending.

“John, you have something for his…?”

“Here.”

Somebody took the trash from him; Henry let it go reluctantly. He felt like curling up until everything else went away. Exhaustion flooded in all the places adrenaline left open and raw. He realized dimly that there were tears on his face only when Sam started rubbing at his cheeks with a make-up cleanser.

His saving grace was the scent in the air. Sam’s, sweet like honeyed wine, comforting and easy. The thicker it got, the more he felt his muscles ease and relax. Henry couldn’t help but lean towards him and couldn’t stop his head from falling against Sam’s shoulder. His lips parted and he breathed deep through his clenched teeth.

“My wrist burns,” Henry mumbled after a moment.

“Sorry,” Johnny apologized genuinely. “I gave you something to reverse the drug. You can ice it later; might swell worse than normal, your implants look new.”

Henry sighed.

“Capon, you should take the same,” Johnny suggested.

The couch moved as Hans sat back up. “Fuck no. That shit gives me migraines for days.”

“Because you go on benders for weeks,” Sam muttered just loud enough for Henry to hear. 

Hans stood; Henry only watched with drooping, tired eyes. “Look, he’s fine. I’ll order a car. He can leave. Shuffle him out the back. Out the basement. Easy, easy, easy.”

Johnny grabbed Hans’ arm and yanked him across the room. “Don’t think you’re dodging this, Capon. Take responsibility.”

“He’s a grown man, Johnny. Let go of my hand or I’ll start thinking you have other intentions.” Hans’ laugh fell on very deaf ears.

Johnny lowered his voice. “I know where he’s from. I know who he is. You just dragged him in here and ditched him? What were you thinking?”

“Ooh, you really do know everything.”

“Take him home yourself or I’ll ban you from all of my clubs, Capon. I’m serious.”

Hans growled. “And how much of your business would you lose when I show up somewhere else?”

“Less than your ego thinks, I’m sure.”

“Fuck you.”

Johnny lowered the rest of his helmet once again. “Order your car, Capon.”

--

The ride home was miserable. Henry was very slowly starting to physically feel better, but he was so tired. He curled into a corner and watched the streets go by, because thinking about anything else felt dangerous. Whenever he turned to look at Hans, he met Hans’ blue eyes; a dangerous, flat stare.

He hadn’t known people in the City did this sort of thing to each other. He felt embarrassed, hot across his chest, like he should have somehow known. He was used to the same dingy bar filled with the same people he’d spent a twelve hour shift with, the same people he grew up with, the same people he’d die with. And maybe part of him thought he was immune to these sort of things, as an Alpha.

For a moment he wondered where he’d be if things had gone just a little bit differently, but then he started thinking about Theresa calling out to him and anxiety hit his chest like a truck, the sort of terror that woke a person from nightmares. He shoved his wrist to his mouth and bit down over his own scent gland until his mind went intentionally blank again.

--

Hans didn’t speak to him in the elevator and he didn’t speak to him when they split in the entrance. Henry numbly watched him go upstairs before retreating to his own room. His body felt more like his now and he forced himself into the shower until he felt sufficiently rinsed of the evening. While drying, he brushed his teeth twice, staring at the fucking bandage on his shoulder. 

Maybe tomorrow he’d ask Radzig if he was actually allowed to take time off for himself. He was used to one personal half-day a week; would it be pushing it to ask for the same again? The City was making him feel claustrophobic, trapped in some fantastical castle among the clouds. He needed to put his feet on real dirt again.

The urge to pace around his room was strong, but Henry forced himself to melt into bed. 

If he was going to hallucinate people who had died, he wished it had been somebody whose memory he was terrified of losing. Bianca’s teasing grin. Ma’s warm smile, no matter how exhausted she was. Pa’s genuine praise when he caught a line just perfectly.

Henry pulled a pillow to his face and gave in to the exhaustion.

Hours later, when it was probably closer to morning than night, he woke to the sound of his door closing. He knew who it was immediately, and wondered tiredly if he’d forgotten to lock it or if Hans had just gotten a key to the new lock. If he didn’t say anything; if he pretended to still be asleep, would he just go away?

The silence lingered heavily for a long few moments.

At some point, Henry felt the mattress shift as Hans carefully climbed into bed with him. Henry stayed still, barely breathing, facing towards the other wall. He waited and it wasn’t long before he felt trembling fingers reach out and touch his back. His palm was almost cold, pressed against Henry’s spine. Henry didn’t move and after a minute, Hans pulled away and turned himself over, shifting away until Henry could no longer sense his heat.

Henry pressed his hands to his mouth to cover his stuttered breathing and stared into the darkness. His pulse was thunder in his ears, but it wasn’t enough to cover the terrible sound of Hans’ crying across the mattress. 

Chapter Text

For whatever reason, the after effects of the drug, or its reversal, or yet another day of utter exhaustion, Henry falls back asleep quickly and deeply. In the depths of blackness, he dreams of scattered memories.

Bianca sits on his parked bike, impatiently waiting for him to finish locking up the tools for the evening. When he finally leaves the garage, he's surprised to see her.

“What's wrong?” he asks, wondering if their recent good streak was about to come to an abrupt end again.

“We're on the lists for a house now,” she tells him.

It isn't a question. It isn’t a proposal. Like Bianca herself, it's just a statement of fact and a promise for the future.

He's young and frustrated, because everything is new and everything new never comes to him easily. He doesn't understand how you're meant to do anything in straight lines if you're not allowed to look at it.

“Aim before you put your faceplate down,” Pa says unhelpfully. “The arclight is only a guide.”

He tries again. It's better, but nowhere near passing for novice. His gums ache where his teeth are growing and it's hot in the welding shed and when he gets frustrated he really gets frustrated.

“Let me show you something else,” Pa says, taking the torch from him. Henry doesn't want to see anything else, but Pa coerces him around back where an unimpressive, mangled mess of steel lays crumpled. It looks like how Henry feels- not much of anything.

“I won it at auction. If you can rebuild her someday, she'll be yours."

A badly done turn tore a thick hole through his bike's seat, but Stibor promised he'd trade an entire sheet of red leather that wasn't the right color for an order if Henry gives him his bar credits for the entire next month. 

He's not expecting Theresa to turn up instead of her brother and almost startles when she enters the garage.

“I hate when he makes me do his errands,” she grumbles, dragging in the rolled leather. “Are you doing something fun with this, Hal?”

“Repairs,” he tells her, picking the heavy piece up and thunking it onto a table. When he turns around, she's standing very close to him. Too close. He gently takes her shoulders and tries to step around her but she crowds into his space.

Is this what really happened?

Her hands are on his chest. She steps between his feet and he does nothing while she nuzzles against his neck. 

Theresa would have never-

When she leans up on her tiptoes to finally kiss him, Henry 

Wakes up. 

He woke up confused, disoriented, feeling like he was still trapped in shifting dreams. In the dizzying moment between realities he realized somebody was kissing him and his first instinct was to swing out and jerk away.

“Motherfucking-”

Henry nearly threw himself off the bed in his rush to move away, clinging to the mattress while he focused on getting his breath back.  In the disorienting darkness, he pulled himself back up and turned to look at Hans’ tangled in the blankets next to him.

“You hit me,” Hans pouted, one hand against his cheek.

“You- why did you-” The club. The headache. A man with tattoos that moved. Sam's scent. It was frightening the way he found himself unable to remember it all, seeing only fractured bits and pieces, picturing himself in different places as if he had teleported. He was so thirsty, his mouth dry as he sucked in air through open fangs.

“Why did I what?” Hans asked, sliding closer.

“Why were you kissing me?” Henry hissed.

The anger in his voice stopped Hans from coming nearer. “Well, you were… I mean, I thought it'd be nice.”

“Nice?”

“Yes. Nice, Henry.” He sounded truly offended and that felt unfair.

Henry rolled back into his spot and found his pillow again. He laid back against it limp, the rush of adrenaline making him feel like all the energy'd been zapped from his body at once. Grumbling quietly, he pressed his palms over his eyes to try and sort his thoughts out. 

Henry didn't recall why Hans was in this bed with him. Would his piecemeal memory come back if he concentrated correctly, or was he better off not trying to force it? His body seemed to remember better than he did.

“Hans,” he began, once his pulse slowed enough that it no longer felt like it was choking him. “I'm sorry I smacked you.”

Hans made a noncommittal noise.

Henry let the moment sit brewing between them for a while before he decided to admit, in a quieter voice, “You scared me.”

Slowly, Hans tried to get closer to him again. Henry allowed it; he even shocked himself by holding out his arm so that there was more room for Hans to settle against his side. Hans’ hand slid up his bare chest and came to rest gently over the bandaged bite; he lay his head against Henry's other shoulder.

Hans crying. That was something Henry remembered now. He had hid from it in the suffocating darkness. 

Henry wrapped his arm around Hans’ side. They were doing it again, that desperate comfort-seeking that only happened with the lights off. Part of him was still angry in a way that he wouldn't be able to process for a while. The rest of him clung tighter, because in that moment, Hans was still all he had. 

He had to keep believing that despite continued attempts to prove to everybody otherwise, Hans was capable of caring about other people. That Hans could be capable of caring about him.

Pack animals.  He knew that he wouldn’t survive if he was left all by himself.

“Hans,” Henry breathed.

“Mmh?”

“Does it get easier?”

Hans shifted, moving over Henry’s chest until he could stare down into his terrified expression. Blue eyes traced the tears that Henry wasn’t able to prevent and then he shook his head slowly. “No,” Hans swallowed thickly. “It just gets different.”

He should have told Hans to lie to him. 

Henry reached up and pulled Hans down to kiss him. It was slow at first, almost sweet as Hans settled heavy overtop his chest. Henry slid his arms up and around his back, fingers tracing the silver patterns and faintly scarred skin. If Hans were to let him, he thought he could eventually memorize it.

“Are they all the same?”

Hans stared down at him, not understanding.

“The implants.”

“Are all spines the same?” He shook his head. “All bodies?”

Something hit Henry then, a realization. He had been asking because he'd been idly entertaining a dangerous train of thought, an idea born from his possessive Alpha heart; that this cyberware he spread his palms over might be his alone to know.

That could not have been further from the truth.

He kissed Hans harder, moving his hands to twist in blond hair instead. He licked inside Hans’ mouth, heedless of their teeth, desperate for something intense enough to knock all thoughts from his brain. No more dreams, no more memories, no more impossible ideas creeping at the edges of his mind.

Hans answered him just as Henry trusted that he would; with more of the same rough intensity. He moved to cover Henry more completely, settling between his legs and grinding against him, seeking friction while his hands wandered over Henry’s chest, his waist, his burning skin.

“Hans,” Henry gasped, lungs forced to work harder under Hans’ perfect weight. “I need more.”

Hans kissed his way to Henry's neck and Henry let his head fall to the side, baring his scent and skin for him. Hans’ tongue felt like fire, his metal-capped teeth like ice, and Henry groaned under his touch so sincerely that Hans lit up.

“You're so sensitive, Henry,” he teased, tilting to nip at Henry's ear. “Just one kiss and you scent so desperately.”

“Hans.”

“Are you wet for me, Henry?” Hans lined up his fangs over Henry’s gland and bit down gently, breathing over his skin and enjoying the way Henry squirmed below him. He slowly slid one hand lower, dipping into Henry's boxers to grab his hard length, thumbing at his slit where pre-cum dripped. 

“Your cock is so big, dog,” he whispered against Henry's ear. He stroked him slowly, clearly enjoying himself. “I'd take you in my mouth but I remember how you barely fit. If you knotted me there you'd break my jaw.”

Henry stared at him with wide eyes. “You're filthy,” he managed, as if he weren't the one desperately trying to thrust upwards into Hans’ fist. His hands wandered, clinging to Hans’ shoulders, his arms.

“Me? I'm not the one losing his mind over just my hand.” He squeezed Henry’s cock for emphasis, drawing another noise from deep within Henry's chest. “If I hadn't seen it for myself, I'd think you'd never stuck it anywhere before.” Hans took a moment to kiss him again before moving back just enough to meet his eyes with a pleased grin. 

“Please,” Henry breathed.

Hans’ eyebrows raised. “Please? Please what?” He brought his other hand to rest over Henry’s throat, just a little bit of pressure. “You can cum if you want. I won't let you bite me.”

No, not yet. He closed his eyes, just feeling; the hand on his cock, the pleasurable tension holding his body captive. His throat bobbed under Hans’ firm palm. It was frustrating how composed Hans seemed to be while Henry felt like a mess. His only comfort was feeling Hans hard against his thigh and knowing that he was at least a little bit affected. “I want…” Henry had no idea. He'd take whatever he was given at that point and consider it a gift. 

Hans looked at him for a thoughtful moment. “Have you done it before, with another Alpha?”

Henry shook his head. “Just you.”

Hans’ mouth twisted momentarily into a half-frown and the briefest look of almost-disappointment curled a whimper from Henry’s throat. They stared at each other for a second and then Hans kindly made the decision not to comment on the embarrassing sound. Instead, Hans told him, “You can't top me if you've never done it before. Especially not acting like a desperate hound,” he added, turning Henry’s face back and forth with the grip on his neck.

Fucking Hans was not something Henry had yet considered and it struck him dumb.

“Yeah, not with a look like that.” Hans kissed him again, sucked on his bottom lip before pulling it between his teeth teasingly. His fingers around Henry’s throat tightened slightly and he kissed him slowly until, light-headed, Henry nudged him away. Hans moved again to his scent gland and tongued at the oils there, stroking him faster with a hand soaked in dribbling pre-cum. 

Henry writhed underneath him, panting to catch his breath. His own scent was so heavy in the air that he knew they'd both be soaked in it and the idea just made him feel hotter. He could feel his knot swell, his cock throbbing in Hans’ grip. When he shut his eyes he pictured them reversed, Hans struggling beneath him instead, that frustrating composure gone like the night he'd been bit. The noise that spilled from Henry’s chest was part growl, part groan- all heavy pleasure.

To his incredible dismay, Hans let go of his cock, sliding his wet hand up to his hip instead. He stared at Hans, begging words on the tip of his tongue, and was struck silent by the intense look that Hans was giving him. 

“Henry,” Hans began slowly, “if you want to- it's early still- I would gladly fuck you.”

Henry breathed in the waiting quiet, still lost in his almost-orgasm.

“I won't hurt you,’ Hans promised over Henry’s silence. “It might be… it can be a little intense. We might need to..  you might have to fight instinct a little, for a minute, if you can do that…” 

He was talking himself out of it without any input at all, Henry realized. “I trust you,” Henry told him quickly. He felt a little bit like he might agree to anything, but he wasn’t lying.

Hans’ fingers fluttered against his throat and Hans looked away, lips pursed. “You trust me?” he echoed, not meeting Henry's eyes. “After last night?”

Henry reached and took the hand that rested on his hip, holding it in his own. It was the wrong move, because Hans gently pried it out of Henry's grasp and settled it on his chest instead, but it got Hans to look at him again. 

“You didn't put anything in my drink,” Henry answered. He was mad, yes- when it came down to it, he was angry at Hans for abandoning him. But he was not about to lay any more blame on Hans’ weighted shoulders and anger was an emotion he could let simmer to feel later. Maybe a little bit of revenge could be this- using Hans for sex as an intentional distraction. He suspected Hans wouldn't mind.

Hans was still hesitant.

Henry was still violently horny. He had always been terrible at dirty talk, but desperation could make a person creative. “Hans,” he said, “please teach me how to take your fat Alpha cock.”

Hans blinked, a startled smile flashing across his lips for just a second. “When you put it like that…” he murmured. He sat up, sliding away, and Henry leaned after him, reaching out to grab his arm because that wasn't part of the plan. “I have to grab a few things,” Hans told him. “Lube, muzzles, other stuff.”

They'd have to just sleep in Hans’ room for next time then, Henry thought. He let go. “Hurry.”

Hans pulled him in for a sudden, sloppy kiss before getting up. “Shower fast. Brush your teeth.” He eyed Henry with a slow grin and added, “Don’t you dare cum without me here.”

--

“I swear I plan to fit you for a real muzzle, Henry, I just keep forgetting.”

“Or maybe you really like that bruise.”

Hans gave him a blank look and tightened the leather strap. “How's that feel?”

Henry shook his head and didn’t feel any loose spots in the leather. “This is fine. Much better than what I used to use.”

“Eugh. Hard to picture that.” Hans looped his fingers through the bars and tugged, judging the fit for himself. “You are going to look incredible drooling in this.”

“Hans.”

“What?” Hans drew his eyes from the muzzle and met Henry’s shocked expression. “Does it make you feel anxious? I can stop.”

It made him fucking horny, is what it did. “No, it… I'm not used to that.”

“Unfortunately for you, that makes it quite a bit more enjoyable for me. Did you finish without me or were you a good boy?”

Henry could feel the blush burning across his face. “I didn't.” 

Hans leered. “Which means?”

He couldn't say it. Things felt different with the room lights on. He'd been so eager, rushing through his ordered shower without touching himself at all (a difficult feat) but now that they were sitting together on the bed so casually, music playing softly in the background, Henry felt very… seen. He crossed his arms over his chest, vaguely embarrassed.

“Henry,” Hans said after a moment of no answer, “this is just for fun. Which means if you aren't having fun, then we stop.”

Henry did not want to stop. Stopping meant he’d be left to face the reality of daytime. He wanted to sit there with Hans where neither of them needed to address anything outside of that moment of frozen time. “Maybe if we turn the lights off,” he suggested. 

Hans easily plunged them into darkness again with his phone. 

“And if we scentshare.”

“Ah. Hmm.”

The hesitation made Henry almost regret asking for the lights to be off. “What?”

“Well, it's just that it might be easier for you if I don't smell like an Alpha. I could get a nice Omega scent…?” The room lit up a little bit as he reached for his phone to go through his options.

Henry put his hand over the screen. “Don't fake something.”

“I’ll use mine.” Hans nudged Henry’s hand away and turned on a variant of his chosen scent.

“Earlier,” Henry asked, “why didn't you?”

Hans was quiet for so long that Henry was sure he was going to be lied to, but when Hans finally said, “I kicked my phone under the bed last night and couldn't find it,” that sounded true. 

“Is that why you weren't into it?”

Hans tossed his phone aside and they were in darkness again. “What do you mean?”

“You seemed… very focused just on me.”

“Oh.” Hans chuckled. He moved, pushing at Henry until he went backwards and Hans could climb on top of him again. “I have a lot of sex, Henry. Usually not while this sober. Forgive me for not turning into a slobbering beast every time.” Manhandling the muzzle again, Hans turned Henry's head until he could fit against his face into his neck. 

Henry rested his hands over Hans back, content to lay back for a moment and experience the way their scents mingled. He had missed it earlier, noticing quickly the lack of Hans’ scent, but he had known better than to question it at the time. “You don't have to use it, if you don't want to.”

“I want to,” Hans said immediately and firmly. “It's my scent. And now I want to focus on what we're doing, not that.”

“Please.”

Henry wished they could kiss. He wasn't usually bothered by the idea of a muzzle except for that unfortunate side-effect. It felt amazing, what Hans was doing to his neck, the way his hands groped at Henry's chest, but he always felt a little lonely. He was considering asking if they could take it off just for a minute when Hans pet through his hair and spoke again.

“You're going to look incredible underneath me, Henry. Look at these arms. Your stomach. You're all fucking muscle.” Hans slid downward, taking his time touching Henry, kissing his skin, dragging teeth over his sensitive nipples.

It made Henry squirm, the attention; made his chest tight and his cock twitch. Hans scent was going straight to his head and it was taking focus not to move at all, to let Hans do what he liked. 

What Hans liked to do was torture him, apparently, ignoring his cock entirely. Hans pressed Henry's knees wider apart and ran his fingers down his inner thigh, pausing to bend down and kiss the sensitive flesh. “Your scent gland's here, Henry. If you were an Omega.” 

Hans looked up at him to make sure he was paying attention- Henry had never paid attention to anything more in his life. With a sly smile, Hans popped his own muzzle out of his mouth. “You're not an Omega, but I'm going to take you like one.” He bit down hard and Henry made a strangled noise, arching his back. He instinctively tried to squeeze his knees together but Hans held them open, licking at the spot his teeth had just been. 

He moved to the other leg and Henry flinched at his touch, causing Hans to pause and look up the length of his body at him. “I won't break skin,” Hans promised. “Alright?”

Henry felt like he was about to be eaten alive. He pushed himself up onto his elbows.

Hans fit the muzzle back into the roof of his mouth. He settled more comfortably, meeting Henry's wide stare as he wrapped his hand around Henry’s swelling knot and slowly took the tip into his mouth. 

How many people, Henry thought wildly and not for the first time, would kill to be in his position? He stared wide-eyed, caught in Hans’ intense blue-eyed gaze, unable to look away as Hans carefully took him deeper. Wet, warm; Hans’ tongue slowly pressed against the base of his cock.

“Fuck,” Henry whispered reverently. “I want to touch you.”

Hans intentionally swallowed around him before waving a hand as if to say, ‘feel free’. 

Henry reached for him, cupping Hans’ face in one hand gently, stroking the line of his cheek with his thumb.

Hans gagged and pulled back, swallowing with a deep breath. He stared up at Henry with parted lips, blinking. “What was that?”

Henry didn't know what to say. “You said I could touch you.”

“That… was not what I expected you to do.”

“What was I supposed to do?”

Hans brushed back his hair and shifted, resetting himself. He stroked Henry once, twice with his hand before settling it over the knot again, something to stop against. “Like this,” he said, taking him into his mouth again. Hans' other hand grabbed Henry’s wrist. He placed it roughly over his head and covered Henry’s with his own, pressing down, taking his cock deeper.

Henry sucked in a breath. Once offered, he took advantage, forcing Hans to take him further, watching incredulously. It was incredible, amazing; Hans smirked at him and Henry felt a sweeping heat across his chest. 

“Hans,” Henry breathed, “I'm so close.”

Hans squeezed his knot for one unbearably overwhelming second before letting go and pulling away. He ignored Henry’s pitiful whimpering complaint and wiped his mouth against Henry's thigh.

Henry reached to touch himself. 

“Stop,” Hans Commanded.

He froze and then slowly pulled his hand back. Hans watched him, waiting, but Henry didn't know what to say.

“You cum when I'm inside you,” Hans told him. Henry’s cock twitched against his stomach and Hans’ lips twitched into a smile as he pushed against Henry's chest, directing him back into the mattress. Hans climbed up the bed to meet him, leaning over him to look down at his face.

“Commands okay?” Hans finally asked. 

“That one was,” Henry decided.

“No more, then.” Hans shifted hair from Henry’s face. “Handling you is novel, Henry. Is everybody in the Yards just doing the most boring sex possible?”

“Uh.” Henry floundered a bit. Had they all talked about sex? Sure. Had they gone into intricate details? Not particularly; especially because the population of the Yards was relatively stagnant and it wasn’t as if they were gossiping about strangers they wouldn’t have to look at the next week. “I don't think so?”

Hans took a moment to kiss Henry’s neck again. He slid his hand over Henry’s chest, idly petting through the hair there. “I was expecting to see the Henry who fucked the brains out of that Omega slut.”

Henry almost choked. “That was different.”

“Not how you took your Omegas at home?”

Fuck- he so badly wanted to kiss that dirty mouth. Distracting. “He was my first.” He'd gotten a little carried away, and he wasn't sure yet that it'd end up a good memory. The details were a little bit hazy to him anyway. It had felt akin to Rut sex almost; that strange out of body disconnect. In a way, he thought uneasily, it was somehow comparable to the way he’d felt last night. 

They were doing this so that he didn’t have to think about that. He needed to get back on track. “She was a Beta, Hans. I want to cum.”

Hans' wandering hand slipped over Henry’s stomach. He tugged at the muzzle idly. “You have a cute little Beta girlfriend, Henry?” he asked, teasing again.

Henry pressed his tongue between his teeth. “Had a Beta… something. Yes. Girlfriend.”

We're on the lists for a house now.

She was haunting him. Revenge from beyond the grave, maybe; if there was a way to do that, she'd be the woman to find it.

“Oh,” Hans murmured.

Henry nudged him out of the way so that he could sit up. “Give me just a second,” Henry said quietly. 

“You'd think I would know better.”

“Hans.”

Hans looked away sharply, clenching his jaw.

Henry pressed his hands to the sides of his face and took a breath; leather from the muzzle, the thick deepness of his smoke scent, Hans’ spiced manufactured aroma. 

Bianca had thought Capon the same as everybody else, a ridiculous playboy, except worse- because he was also part of the company who kept the Yards just barely floating above poverty. He was the nepo-baby king who crashed self-driving cars while she debated trading food rations for clothing without stains.

But Henry also thought that if they'd ever met, truly met for more than a minute, (and probably while Hans was sober), they'd have gotten along. Tortured him together.

He didn't know why it mattered. Why he was thinking about this at all.

The meaning of life felt a little bit different when everybody you'd loved was dead.

“Hans,” Henry said, looking towards him.

Hans glanced at him. 

“Can you just fuck me or do we have to keep talking about nothing?”

Hans opened his mouth. Paused. Closed it again. He nodded once carefully and then again with more resolve. “Come here.”

He was handsy, touching Henry all over while he directed him onto his side. Hans shifted behind him, sitting against him, manhandling him until he'd decided he was ready. “Tell me if you want to stop,” Hans told him seriously, leaning over his shoulder to meet his eyes. “Use human words if you can.”

A smile twitched at Henry's lips. “I liked it better when you were talking filthy.”

Hans raised an eyebrow and then leaned back to smack Henry’s ass hard, hard enough to push the breath from his lungs and draw a startled, pained noise from him. Henry reacted; he recovered quick and turned with a snarl to grab at Hans, but Hans was ready.

“Stop .”

If Henry had really wanted to hurt him, that wouldn't have been enough, but by the time Henry had worked past the Command he had gotten himself together. 

Hans leaned over him and yanked on the muzzle until he was sure Henry was looking at him. “Pay attention. I'm going to make you feel so incredible that you think of me anytime somebody else even pictures touching you. But I need you to be serious for one minute first.”

Henry nodded dumbly then remembered what Hans had said before. “Yes.”

“You're the one who wanted these scents in here-”

“I wanted your scent.”

Hans stuttered for one brief second. “Right. Just. Communicate with me.”

“I'll do whatever you want.”

“Bold. Turn like this.”

Hans stretched him slowly, kissing across his neck, sucking what would surely be irritating tiny bruises in a few hours into his skin. It was almost uncomfortable, a strange new sensation, but when he tensed Hans quietly told him to touch himself, and Henry found that focusing on stroking his mostly-hard length felt good enough to breathe through it.

The lube was wet between his thighs and it was a strange thing to consider, like artificial slick.

Maybe it was artificial slick. Henry made a pleased noise, a low groan deep in his throat. He fisted his cock, jerking himself off faster with Hans fingers deep inside- until Hans pulled them out slowly and put his warm hand on Henry's, stopping him.

“Not until I'm inside you,” Hans murmured. “And fuck, I wanna be inside you so bad.”

He could feel Hans' hot breath panting against his neck; he'd been near drooling over Henry’s scent glands for the last five minutes. “Please, Hans,” Henry mumbled. He felt like he'd been edged all morning, tense and desperate to cum, grateful every time Hans touched him but greedy for more.

“On your stomach. There you go.” Hans climbed over him, straddling his thighs. “The muscles in your back, Henry. I'm going to arrange you an exercise routine; the world can't afford to lose these.”

Henry's heart raced. He felt every touch like fire as Hans too slowly slid to lay across his back. His own cock pressed between him and the sheets, not enough pressure, not enough if anything at all. “Hans, ” he begged again, more insistent.

“I'm right here.” Hans adjusted himself and finally Henry felt him, the head of his cock at his entrance. “Don't hold your breath.” Henry took a breath; Hans pressed himself inside, and fuck- it was like nothing else he'd felt before. Unexplainable. 

Definitely enough to keep him from overthinking, though it felt like hours since he'd made that request. 

“Breathe, Henry,” Hans said again, his voice tight.

Henry trembled. Hans was thicker than his fingers, could go so much deeper. He went slow and it was agonizing, filling him in a way that was utterly satisfying, stretching him with an unavoidable sting. Henry swore he could feel Hans’ pulse just as strongly as his own.

Hans grabbed at his muzzle. “Easy,” he said, and it was only then that Henry realized that he was growling, a dark noise vibrating in the depth of his chest. Hans shifted, rolled his hips. Henry groaned, bared his teeth, moved one hand underneath himself almost as if to push himself up.

Hans sounded as breathless as he felt. “Good dog,” he panted, laying himself flat and heavy across Henry's back to keep him still. “My guard dog.” 

Henry felt the ache of his teeth grinding together. Hans thrust deeper inside of him (how was it even possible to fit more?) and Henry snarled, a full body reaction. 

Hans mouthed against his scent gland with one hand still holding Henry’s muzzle tight, just in case. “Sweet boy,” he murmured, nuzzling into his neck. “My pet. Relax.” He sucked in a breath. “Henry?”

It was difficult to unclench his jaw. Henry closed his eyes, remembering that it was only Hans touching him. “Yes,” he answered, strained.

“That’s better.” Hans let go of the muzzle and pet slowly through Henry’s sweaty hair. “You feel incredible.”

It did feel incredible. Hans rocked slow against him, stretching him gently, almost too gently. “Hans,” he managed, mindfully willing his strained muscles to relax. “More. And- pet. I liked pet.”

Hans growled an absolutely wrecked noise of his own and finally started to fuck him for real. Henry hadn't known what he was asking for; it took the breath from him when Hans thrust hard, fast, deep enough that Henry could feel his knot with a single rush of terror.

“Yes, fuck,” Hans whimpered thickly. He moved his hands to Henry's waist, shifting to get a better angle now that he wasn't worried about having to pin him down. “Let me have you, pet. You belong to me.” His teeth scraped Henry’s shoulders and he whined with frustration when his muzzle wouldn't let them catch. “Tell me,” he ordered. “Tell -” Hans grunted and stopped himself. “Tell me, pet.”

Henry felt almost limp beneath him, dizzy and breathless. Hans’ voice was almost nothing but background noise to the appetite inside him. His cock was swollen, pooling almost as much liquid as the drool that wet the mattress below his muzzle.

It was a flash of unbelievable suffering when Hans stilled, buried inside but unmoving. Henry tried to push back against him; Hans squeezed his hips so tightly that the pain startled Henry into hesitating. 

“Pay attention to me,” Hans begged against his neck. 

“Please,” Henry whined.

Hans took a deep breath and then pulled out slowly. Henry turned like whiplash to look at him, more frantic than he would admit later. “Hans.”

“Turn,” Hans ordered him, pressing against Henry's shoulder, grabbing at his arm. He shoved until he could push Henry onto his back and then hovered over him. “Let me fuck you like this.”

“I just need you to keep fucking me,” Henry confessed. His cock hung red and heavy and he wanted to touch it so badly but knew that if he did, he'd cum. 

Hans pushed at Henry's legs, making him yell a little when it turned out he wasn't quite that flexible; adjusted properly to get his cock inside again as quickly as he could. The sound of it was erotically depraved and Henry groaned to be filled again.

Bent over him, fucking him rough, Hans yanked on his muzzle to look at him better, dragging his face. “Are you mine?” he asked, beautiful teeth bared dangerously. 

Henry risked reaching up to cling to Hans’ arm with one hand, the other forced to hold his torso up while Hans controlled his face. Henry met his stare with blown-out eyes. “Yes.”

“My pet? A good hound?”

“Yes.”

“Who do you belong to?” Hans repeated viciously.

“I'm yours,” Henry moaned.

“Will you let me cum inside you?”

“Please,” Henry answered, because what else could he say?

Hans finally touched him then, took his cock in hand and stroked him hard, in time with his thrusts, and it was really only moments before Henry cried out and came, spilling into Hans’ warm fist, over his own belly. He felt wrecked, limp, grateful when Hans let go of his muzzle and let him melt back against the bed. Hans took longer, focusing on not actually knotting Henry, but he finished soon with a hand squeezing his knot.

It felt like ages before the room stopped spinning. Hans carefully unstrapped the muzzle for him. Henry panted on his back, nudging Hans to pull out when it became uncomfortable. The emptiness was a different kind of discomfort, but he could ignore that. 

What he couldn't ignore was Hans moving away from him, trying to slip off the bed. Henry reached for him with a split-second snarl, physically dragging him back and slinging an arm around him possessively.

Hans allowed it, tense against Henry’s side for a moment before Henry felt him relax.  “Fuck, alright,” Hans laughed quietly. “Alright.”

Chapter Text

When he next opened his eyes, Henry was unsurprised to find himself alone. He shifted, groaned gently, stretched; he felt tense, like he’d finished a too-long day of heavy labor. It wasn’t a bad feeling, not by any means, but it made him very aware of his body every time he moved. For a long moment, he simply laid there resting, breathing, enjoying the relative quiet of his space, the quiet in his mind, the unique feeling of being freshly fucked.

It was hunger that ultimately forced him to sit up, a grumbling stomach and a desperate thirst. His skin felt itchy and he knew he’d need to shower again. Rubbing his face, Henry blindly reached for his phone. He didn’t want to see whatever Katherine had to report from the last twenty-four hours and he cleared all his email notifications, promising he’d catch up later.  She’d forgive him for that, considering the events of last night.

Fuck, was it already almost noon? He’d have to-

Henry froze, his finger hovering over a text icon that he’d assumed was from Radzig, because nobody else ever messaged him. It wasn’t, and he felt violently light-headed as he read it over and over again.

Theresa:
-Hope you made it home safe last night Henry. Staff promised they’d find your friends. Please let me know so that I don’t worry. (Hopefully this is still your number.)

He dropped his phone on the nightstand like it burnt him; stood up, stared at it, picked it up just to reread the message once again. Theresa? She hadn’t been a hallucination? Why would she have- why had she been there ? 

Henry snatched the phone back up in trembling hands and called her. 

She answered on the third ring. “Henry?”

“I have to see you.” He swallowed, eyes fluttering shut. Her voice. Her voice. “Where are you staying?”

“Oh, uh, I’m staying with my Uncle. I can send you the address. Are you alright?”

“More than,” he promised. It had been a long time since he’d felt the sort of elation that could take your breath away. He knew he was promising away time that he didn’t technically own. It didn’t matter. He wasn’t alone anymore. “I’ll be there in a couple hours. Okay?”

Theresa sounded fondly amused. “Yes, but it’s going to rain today.”

“I don’t care about that.”

She laughed. “Of course, Hal. We all thought we’d lost you.”

“Just a couple hours,” Henry repeated. He ended the call and then realized what she’d said. We. We . Had he woken up in a different reality? He’d been a coward, not seeking anybody out on his own. Wasted days. Fuck. He dialed Hans’ number.

“Are you calling me from your damn room? Did I fuck you so hard your legs don’t work?”

Henry didn’t have time for that. His mind raced, focused only on getting back home. “I need to leave for a while. Do you have a screwdriver? Wait, do you have a soldering kit?”

“Uh, I can get you one. I guess. Where could you possibly need to go?”

“Out,” Henry told him, already climbing into the shower. “Just a few hours.”

“Is that allowed?”

He had no idea. He didn’t particularly care. “I’m sure you’re just working from the apartment again.”

“Presumptuous. Are you showering? I was looking forward to making you sit around still full of my-”

Henry ended the call. 

He washed quickly and threw on something casual. He didn’t want to walk back into the Yards wearing anything fancy enough to get him mugged- he left the gun, but sheathed the knife on his belt.

Hans was lounging in the living room, a trio of tablets surrounding him on various tables. He had a keyboard loosely in his lap and his feet thrown up next to one of the tablets. The new wall screen was showing an ancient recording or replication video of an old world forest, and Henry was struck by it for a second when he came out of his room. Birds, insects, some kind of brown prey animal and so much green.

No, there wasn’t time to get distracted by that. “Do you have tools?” he asked again.

Hans tilted his head back to peer at him. “I don’t own tools, Henry,” he scoffed. “But I told staff what you wanted, so it’ll show up at some point.”

Henry felt grateful but was only about to ask for more. “Is there a limit to how much food I can take?”

“Probably.” Hans shrugged. “Where the fuck are you going?”

Henry moved into the kitchen and started going through the options on the panel. It was mostly prepared meals and he cursed the uselessness of Hans’ magazine kitchen yet again. He’d wanted to show up with fruit and breads and cheese, sturdy options that’d travel well and be appreciated in the Yards, but he eventually settled on a variety of simple sandwiches that he could figure out how to wrap.

“Are you in psychosis or something?” Hans asked, leaning against the door with his arms crossed over his chest. His gaze lingered on the stack of sandwiches Henry was rolling into reusable plastic cling. “Are your breakdowns going to be an every-other-day sort of thing?”

“Sure,” Henry answered, unbothered. “Yesterday was your turn, today is mine.”

“Touché.”

Henry shoved everything into the duffle bag his clothes had been originally delivered in and threw it over his back. He felt electric. “I’ll be back before you’re even done with your work.”

Hans moved out of the way when Henry rushed out of the kitchen but trailed after him, frowning. “Are you upset?”

“What?” Henry paused in the entrance way, stymied by the lack of toolkit. He turned back to actually look at Hans for the first time. “Upset why?”

“Because you believe I ditched you last night.”

“You did ditch me.” Henry rolled his eyes and adjusted the strap over his uninjured shoulder. “Ditched me again this morning after you finished railing me. Don’t think I didn’t notice that one.”

“Uh-huh. You’re a big boy. Do you need babysitting?”

“Seems to me that I’m your babysitter.”

The doorbell finally rang and Hans triggered the door opening so that Henry could take an uncomfortably brand new toolbox from a delivery girl. Henry thanked her and then stood in the open doorway, giving Hans a dry look. “Not everything is about you, Hans. Just keep the doors locked and don’t let anybody in. I’ll let you know when I’m on the way back.”

“Whatever,” Hans snapped, turning away to head back into his contrived workspace.

Henry was pretty sure Hans would only be mad for all of five minutes before he got distracted by something else and forgot that he’d been pissy in the first place. The doors clicked and Henry stepped outside to let them close tight and lock behind him. He took the elevator and pulled up the garage app while he descended, calling for his personal vehicle.

She was waiting for him when he stepped into the parking garage and she was beautiful. Silver metal, red leather. He ran his fingers over the stitching, something he’d painstakingly done himself. He’d built this bike slowly, bit by bit, pulling something functional out of the wreck that had been gifted to him. He’d been making something of himself at the same time he was making something out of her, and seeing her again almost took his breath away. His motorcycle had always been his truest freedom.

He set his things on the ground and picked a screwdriver from the kit. Radzig had clearly thought they were improving the bike for him, and Henry had to admit that he did appreciate the physical repair work. He pried the thick face plate from her instrument displays. The mess of wiring inside had been neatened and tied, organized professionally. Henry traced them, searching for the ones he wanted. He paused to find the soldering kit and took the wire cutters to his bike. 

Manual driving wasn’t legal, in the City or otherwise, but little attention was paid in the Yards. He had worried that they might have removed more of her kit, making the transition out of self-driving too difficult to do without more work, but they’d left her handle controls intact (probably out of simplicity’s sake). Rearranging her insides was as easy as re-routing circuits and making sure he had a dead end attached to the self-driving sensors inside. 

Once finished, moved the toolkit near the doorway where somebody would find it, took up the duffle bag again, and put one leg over the bike. She was the one surviving part of home that he had left. Henry unhooked the black helmet from her side and slid it over his head before he could get overwhelmed thinking about it. It’d be a long drive out of the City and he’d have to be careful to make it appear as if the bike was driving itself. She started with a quiet electric purr and Henry pulled out of the garage. 

Over an hour to the Yards and Henry’s heart beat fast the entire way. He was trying to temper his excitement, forcing himself not to play the guessing game of who ‘we’ could turn out to be. It could end up only meaning Theresa and her Uncle, and that would be enough, because that would still be somebody left who could understand him. Living with Hans was like having to learn a brand-new language in record time; it would be a relief to speak his native tongue again.

There was one sick moment when he almost wondered if Bianca had made it, but he had seen her go into the heart of it, and she’d never be as afraid to reach out as he was. 

Anybody would be enough, he repeated to himself. The multi-colored lights of the Cityscape faded slowly away and the noise of the garage Yards grew. He kept himself to the east side, subconsciously not ready to see the irradiated wreckage of his home yet. Theresa’s Uncle had a small house near the edges, somewhat outside of the industrial heart. Henry hadn’t ever met him, but he knew the miles surrounding his home like they were traced on his heart with ink. He pulled up outside and parked in the middle of the dirt street, looking up and down the rows of boxed homes like it’d been years since he was last there, not weeks.

The air tasted familiar, dirt, sweat, iron. He swung his leg over the bike and stretched, arms high over his head. His body still felt sore, he ached in places he rarely felt, particularly uncomfortable so after putting it through an hour of travel, but he was mostly delaying the moment. He hadn’t hallucinated her. She was real. She’d be behind that door when he worked up the nerve to knock. Henry stored his helmet on the bike and ruffled through his hair.

He put his fist against the cracked wooden door and knocked. The latch clicked and there she was, smiling at him, wearing a simple, patched dress with her hair tied up. Henry was struck dumb for a moment until she took a step and then he fell into her arms, clinging to her, choking himself on her familiar scent.

--

They sat outside at a makeshift table underneath the warm sun. Theresa was trying not to talk with her mouth full- as if that would bother him. 

“Next time I’ll bring alcohol,” Henry promised. “I should have thought of it before I left.” Hans would never notice him borrowing from the extensive stash. It’d keep better than food products and she’d be able to trade it for whatever she might need at the moment. He would transfer her every credit in his slowly growing account if it wouldn’t ultimately cause more problems than not.

“You don’t have to bring anything at all, Hal.” Theresa assured him, wiping her hands on her dress. “Where was I? Matt, Fritz. Matthias is undergoing treatment for radiation poisoning.” She glanced to the side for a moment, uncomfortable. “You could probably visit him if you’re nearby. Soon.”

Soon meant it wasn’t going well. Henry rubbed his face. “Okay.”

“Jo comes around sometimes,” Theresa continued, leaning against her hand, elbow on the table. “She’s got herself involved with a million projects. I think she can’t bear to sit still yet.”

“Sounds just like her.”

“And Adam.”

Henry looked up at her sharply, trying to read her expression.

She met his eyes and gave a small shake of her head. “Just Adam.”

He pulled one leg up onto the bench and wrapped an arm around it, nodding. ‘Not Bianca,’ she was telling him, and he was incredibly grateful that she could finally answer it for him in a way where they didn’t have to actually address it.

“Maybe a few others, here and there,” Theresa finished. “It was… well, we still aren’t allowed back into the area due to the radiation levels. But what about you? Are you really living in the City? You aren’t begging, are you? There’s work here, Henry.”

“Well,” he began, not quite sure how to explain it other than the most simple truth, “I’m currently employed as Capon’s personal bodyguard.” It sounded ridiculous when he said it like that, bare-faced under the sun and kicking his feet in the dirt. “Live with him, follow him everywhere.”

Her jaw dropped. “You’re not.”

He shrugged loosely. “It’s complicated.” (And getting more complicated by the day.)

“That’s why you were at that bar last night?” Theresa’s eyes sparkled and she leaned close. “Was he at the bar?”

“Why were you there?” Henry countered.

She groaned, shaking her head. “My Uncle… got himself involved in something that he won’t really tell me about. I hope I never have to go again; I felt terribly out of place.”

“I don’t understand any of it,” Henry agreed.

They shared a quiet moment before she asked again, “Capon, really?”

He chuckled under his breath. “Mhm.”

“I would have liked to see him in person. Is he as terrible as they say?”

Henry wondered what she would say if he showed her the bite on his shoulder. Call him irresponsible, surely. Ask if he was safe. Henry couldn’t deny that Hans was probably every terrible thing ‘they’ said he was, but underneath that, he was more. Henry himself was still trying to reconcile the man who had scented him in the alley with the same one who threw him to the wolves- who would seek him desperately at night and snap at him during the day. “He can be pretty miserable,” Henry finally said, “but I’m getting used to him.”

“Are any of the crazy rumors true?”

“Probably.” Henry snorted. “Which ones?”

“Bianca’s favorite-” Theresa winced slightly but thankfully did not stop talking, “-she was convinced that he was secretly born a Beta and his parents were so mad about it that they made him get fake teeth and all to pretend to be an Alpha.”

“Yeah, that sounds like something she would say.” 

Theresa leaned back. Her hair fluttered in the faint breeze. “Well? Do you think that’s true?”

Henry shook his head. “Definitely not.” He wondered if Hans had heard that one before; he suspected Hans had to be more or less up to date on what people said about him. 

“Some of those fake scents are very convincing, Hal.” She was clearly teasing him, grinning. “Maybe you just haven’t been around him long enough to discover his secrets.”

Henry knew plenty of Hans’ secrets. More than he knew what to do with, frankly. The size of Han’s very real Alpha knot was unlikely to be much of a secret at all and was something Henry was all too familiar with. “Unfortunately for Bee, I can promise that one doesn’t hold up.”

The moment shifted, a quiet comfort shared between them. Henry slid his hand across the table, palm up, and Theresa shifted to rest her own hand over his. He hoped her scent would linger on his skin. She’d always had a strong scent, for an Omega, more earthy than sugared. Part of him wanted to take her other hand too- an insistent part of him was urging him to hop over the table and take her into his arms, neck to neck, and scent her until she only smelled like him.

He pulled his hand away quickly and breathed, unaware he’d been holding air in his lungs. 

He knew his dreams had been twisted by Hans’ inability to keep his hands to himself, but there was something harrowing about going to visit a woman he’d recently been imagining kissing.

“I’ll come visit again soon,” he promised, pushing himself up from the table.

Theresa was looking at him oddly, but eventually smiled. “You’re always welcome. I have something I could use your help with, anyway.”

“I can deal with it now.”

“It might not be long until the rain, Hal.”

He shrugged. “Sky’s are clear so far.”

--

They stood outside of a locked shed. Theresa worked on entering the keypad code. “I don’t really know what to do with him,” she told him. “Nobody’s seen him yet, but I’m sure somebody will need this storage soon.”

Henry eyed the doors warily. “How did you even get it in there?”

“Threw some food and shut the doors before he turned around. I think he was injured, but he’s healing very quickly.”

“How are you feeding it?”

She glanced around just to make sure nobody was nearby; during work hours, the home streets were almost always empty. “I didn’t report Sam’s death yet,” she confessed. “I’m still getting double rations.”

He grimaced. “Reese- if somebody catches you doing that-”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m well aware. What was I supposed to do, let him starve?”

Henry ran his fingers over the knife at his belt and then shook his head. “Be easier. I’ll need to get an axe or something.”

“No, Hal.” She put a hand on his arm. “You can’t kill him!”

He looked at her like she’d gone crazy. “It’s a dog.”

“Yeah, but… I don’t even know why he’s out this way, but there were some men that came around and he helped me chase them off. I was by myself.”

Henry stared at her and then closed his eyes, thinking. He took one handle of the shed’s double door and carefully turned it, inching the door open just enough to peek inside. It was pitch black without windows, but a thin ray of light from the door fell over a hulking shape and he saw the green of five reflective pupils looking back at him before he shoved the door shut again. 

“I’d have to get it all the way out to the Edge.” 

“If you don’t have time…” Theresa bunched the fabric of her dress in her hands, looking at him with wide eyes. 

Hans was going to throw an absolute tantrum over this. Henry sighed. “I can do it. Find me a chain and… I suppose one of those sandwiches.”

It was a stupid idea. Absolute nonsense. Dogs were beasts that did not belong anywhere near human habitation; they were dangerous and unpredictable and typically irradiated. One bite could be fatal, immediately or over time. Policy was, smartly, ‘shoot on sight’. But it had saved Theresa, apparently, and so Henry was going to make an attempt to send it home. 

(Just one attempt, though. He strapped an axe to the side of his bike and neither of them mentioned it.)

“When I signal, push open the door and get the chain around its neck.” 

Theresa nodded. She held one end of a long, thick chain, looped around itself with a hook. The other was attached to Henry’s bike. If it were almost anybody else, he might not trust them to help with this. She was quick, though, tough, and if things went bad, Henry was confident he could intervene fast enough to protect her. 

He started his motorcycle, double-checked the battery (it’d been replaced with a new, better one), and put his helmet on. Okay. He turned and gave her a thumbs up, tensing and ready. The door swung open and she hovered, ready to surprise it. 

After a moment, the dog slunk to the doorway. It was big, taller than his bike. It had four eyes- five, Henry remembered, and he noticed two eyes squashed into the same orbital hole. Patches of brown fur covered its mostly hairless body, and he could see what she meant about it looking injured. There were extensive burn marks across its mottled skin, but they were puckered and pink, fresh healing skin. The dog snuffled, stepping towards the sandwich they’d planted at bait.

Theresa dodged forward to swing the chain around its neck and-

It mostly just looked over at her, two of its four ears tilting her way.

Henry hit the gas and the chain tightened. The dog made a pitiful noise as it was initially choked but it figured the game out quickly and turned to follow. 

This was the stupidest thing he’d ever done. Henry laughed loudly, turning down familiar streets to reach the empty road that’d take them to the Edge.

--

The dog kept up easily, sometimes even threatening to outpace the bike and forcing Henry to pick up speed. Its legs were all sinewy muscle, chest wide. He was made for running. Henry had no plans to stop for rest on the way; if the dog had made it all the way to civilization, it could survive the trip back. He turned to look at it and felt an exciting jolt of adrenaline watching the way its tooth-filled maw hung open, almost grinning, black tongue loose in the wind.

For ninety minutes Henry drove, and there was catharsis in the journey. Peace in the sound of his bike, a quiet rhythm in the heavy beat of the dog's spotted paws.

Once upon a time, Henry had taken this trip before, when he had been young and dumb and bored, willing to waste his free half-day just to see what was at the edge of the world. He remembered parking his bike and simply standing, looking out at the orange terrain, feeling somehow large and small both at the same time. There's nothing out there for us, his Pa had told him as a pup, but Henry looked behind him again at the dog and thought that for somebody, that nothing was everything. 

Here he was again now, stuck not at the precipice between pup and adult but instead torn between places. He had thought there was nothing left for him in the Yards but memory. His heart lay buried under radioactive rubble and he was content to let it continue resting there.

‘There’s work here,’ Theresa had assured him. It would be the same kind of hard manual labor that built who he was before and who he wanted to be. His hands were shaped by aging machinery and he could be content to rust along with it. He would find somebody to stay with, find somebody to marry someday. 

It would be a different future than he had imagined a month ago, but it would still be familiar.

He could allow himself to try and heal.

He wondered if his contract with Radzig had a time requirement before he could break it. Perhaps his lack of skill might be enough to let him out of it; or maybe an unwilling guard would never be suitable anyway. 

He slowed his bike as they approached the signs marking the end of the road and glanced back to see that the dog had finally started to tire. Warily, Henry braked. The two of them came to a stop, chain scraping against the road. 

It hurt when he got off the bike and he rested against her seat for a while, until his muscles no longer felt like spasming each time he tried to stand up straight. The beast waited for him, panting. Henry watched him cautiously. 

“I suggest not riding a motorbike for hours after sex,” he told it. 

Once he felt more like himself, Henry pulled the axe from his bike. It felt weighty in his hands, wood well-worn and smooth against his palms.

Theresa would never know if he killed the dog. He thought he could do it quick enough, with one or two brutal blows. Maybe it would be a kindness; there were spots in the dog's burnt skin that had started bleeding again, mixing with dust in the road. Life past the Edge could not be easy, not even for predators with teeth that grew so fast that they bunched together in its mouth, ugly and ragged. Henry took one step closer and then another when the dog didn't move.

“Why did you come out to the Yards? Did something chase you?”

Five eyes were three too many. They focused upwards on Henry's helmet and never once looked down at the weapon in his hands. 

“We aren't supposed to let dogs who come so close live, you ugly mutt. You're lucky you ran into the one girl who'd save you. Fuck.”

She had saved him too, the night before. 

“Maybe I owe her,” Henry said, standing close enough now that the dog could reach him faster than he could respond, if it wanted to. “Maybe she owes you.”

He couldn't stand there all day deciding. The rain was coming and he had a long way to go back. Henry tightened his grip on the axe.

“Do you have a home out there? Or will you come running back where you don't belong?”

Somebody told him once that humans created dogs. Why, he had asked, wide eyes staring at the fresh corpse that would soon be moved to the pile for disposal- their meat was too toxic even for the Yards.

‘The story goes,’ had said the woman next to him, ‘that a long time ago, we loved them too much. They learned to love us twice that.’

‘When we couldn't stop fighting amongst ourselves,’ Pa had continued, ‘we forgot them. We lost them.’

Henry remembered thinking it sounded like another stupid ‘just because you feel angry, doesn't mean you have to pick a fight’ Alpha lesson- he and his friends had been victim to reminders like that almost constantly around that time. He forgot about the dog, too. 

Like this one, like the other two he had seen shot, it had probably just been searching for food. 

Henry carefully turned the axe around in his hands. He reached out with it and slowly, never taking his eyes away, looped the end through a chain link and pulled it from the beast's neck. He stepped back, correcting his grip and preparing to defend himself.

The dog shook himself out, drool flying. It sniffed at the limp chain at his feet and then looked at him again.

“You pick,” Henry told it. When it simply continued panting, blinking against the sun, he got frustrated.  “Well, go on, mutt! I don't have all day for you! Are you going to free yourself or do you just want to die?”

For whatever reason, possibly the climbing anger in Henry's voice, the dog finally moved. It walked slowly, stepping around him. Henry shuffled to keep facing it and just before it finally crossed the line marking the Edge it paused one final time to look over its shoulder at him.

“Go,” Henry whispered. “I hope there's family waiting for you.”

--

Hans called him twenty minutes into the ride back and Henry almost didn't answer him. He was feeling particularly… he didn't know enough words to define it exactly, but something settled heavily in his chest. Speaking to another person felt like a monumental task.

In the end, once Hans called for the second time, Henry let it be patched through to his helmet.

“Do you know what fucking time it is, Henry?” Hans began immediately. “Did you not say ‘oh, I'll only be a couple hours on my very urgent and secret mysterious mission’?”

“Hello, Hans.”

“Come back right now.”

“Is something wrong?”

He could audibly hear Hans’ pout. “Yes! I'm bored out of my skull and I want to leave this shitty hole.”

Henry checked the time. “It’s barely past dinner. Did you eat?”

“What are you, my damn mother?”

Henry laughed and heard Hans cuss at him for it. “Can you do me a favor, Hans?”

“No fuckin’ chance.”

“Will you look up what time the rain is supposed to start?”

“You have a damn phone; I'm talking to you on it.”

“I'm driving.”

Hans scoffed. “You don't know how to drive.”

“How would you know?”

“You're just- you're-”

“A boy from the garages?” Henry cut in dryly. “I don't want to stop to look it up.”

Hans grumbled for a moment. “Maybe an hour.”

Henry hummed. “Well. Shit.” His bike could go faster than he’d gone with the dog attached, but not fast enough to get him out of the streets before the rain hit and he wasn’t dressed for that. With his forearms and hands exposed, he’d risk severe burns. The fake leather on the bike might also be damaged, and to Henry, that would be even worse.

“Where are you?” Hans asked him. “What do you mean, shit?”

He debated how much exactly he actually wanted to tell Hans. Details on the dog would probably stay private. It felt a little bit too… maybe a bit too important to have Hans pitching a fit about. He doubted Hans would understand. “The Yards,” Henry told him. He could make it there before the weather came down. He was sure Theresa would put him up, because that’s just what you did in the Yards. Worst case, he’d rest in the shed where the dog had been. “I'll stay there.”

“Until when?”

“I'm not sure,” Henry told him. He hoped the rain wouldn't last long, but it could be entirely unpredictable. It was possible that he could end up out all night.

Hans was silent.

“I have a friend who can put me up,” Henry added.

The call dropped. Henry checked his phone, glancing at its mount in the bike's display. He had assumed it was a service issue, but Hans had ended the call himself. 

Henry rolled his eyes and after a bit of mental back and forth, called him back. 

Predictably, Hans did answer. “What is it, Yardsboy?”

“Just invite some people over,” Henry suggested. “That you know enough to be safe.”

Hans let out an exasperated breath. “I'm sending a car to pick you up.”

“Don't,” Henry said quickly. He could not imagine the scandal of having one of those cars show up to Theresa’s home. It wouldn't solve the problem of getting his bike back either, because he couldn’t just set an address and tell her to go anymore; he needed to drive her himself. He could wait it out. Worst case he'd be back in the morning, and if there was a problem, he'd talk it out with Radzig. And if Radzig was mad enough to fire him, then he’d just-

It was funny, Henry realized- funny how the idea of being forced back to the Yards filled his chest with dread. Had he not just been daydreaming about his future working machinery in the dirt? Maybe he could always go back, but his home was gone. It couldn't just be built over and replaced. Staying in the Yards would not bring his family back. It'd see him worn down at 45 for nothing but corporate profits, and maybe he could find happiness in that again, but-

Maybe that was what he'd been meant for, but he would choose something else. 

Henry wasn't going to make himself choose the axe.

He wouldn't run from something new just because it was so different, he would learn it just like he'd learned everything else; slowly and with missteps.

(Hopefully no more missteps resulting in him being the victim of a sex crime.)

And Hans was… Hans needed him.

“Are you still there?” Henry asked.

Hans hung up on him again. 

Chapter Text

Rain continued until late into the night. Theresa let him sleep on her floor and he sprawled across a thin blanket in the dark, listening to the familiar sounds of machinery grinding in the next block and the steady fall of rain. He was almost afraid to close his eyes, because it’d be so easy to lay still and pretend that the last few weeks had been one long, terrible dream, pretend that he was safe and secure and when the alarm sounded in the morning he’d simply get up and go to work.

Henry turned and shifted onto his back, folding one arm behind his head. It wasn’t comfortable, which was fine. He hadn’t expected comfortable and he shouldn’t be used to comfortable, but his bed in the City was big and exactly soft enough. One week shouldn’t be enough to get used to that, but with his shoulders against the hard floor, Henry felt spoiled. It was a creeping, guilty feeling. There was no reason he should be the one spending nights in an air conditioned room with constantly running hot water. Spoiled, like a-

He bit his tongue and turned onto his side. 

Theresa shifted across the room, sounding just as restless *as  him in her nest- a bed covered in an assortment of fabrics arranged in a very particular way that Henry had no chance of ever understanding. 

“Henry,” she whispered into the dark. “Are you awake?”

He took a breath and rolled once again onto his back. “Yeah.”

Theresa didn't bother whispering anymore, but her voice was still quiet. “Your scent is strange,” she told him. “Have you noticed?”

“Yeah. Something happened to it, I suppose. I'm still getting used to it.”

“That's too bad. It was quite nice, actually.”

He laughed under his breath. “Was it? Thanks.”

“Not that it's bad now, mind you… Just, uh. Strong.”

Someday he’d practice keeping it under control. It’d probably involve pulling up educational videos meant for pups just barely hitting puprut, but he figured he’d have plenty of time to practice now that his job was less physical labor and more staring at the back of Hans’ head. Henry wiped the sides of his neck on the thinning blanket. “Is it keeping you awake?”

“No, not you.” She moved around again, fabric rustling. “Everything still feels so new and unfamiliar. It's often hard for me to settle.”

“Your nest? You must have had to start over completely.”

“And so much of it is irreplaceable now…” Theresa took a deep breath and sat up to lean against the wall. “Leave me something of yours before you go, will you?”

“I don't think I have anything extra to leave.” Henry hadn’t brought anything more than the clothes he was wearing, this slumber party unplanned. He tugged the blanket over his chest. “This blanket will catch my scent plenty.”

“This whole room is catching your scent.”

“Sorry.”

“It's fine, Hal. It'll air out.”

An unsettled quiet lingered between them. It felt almost physical, smothering; two people a world away from each other in the same room, each of them unable to sleep and nearly unwilling to try. 

He wondered briefly what Hans was doing and hoped it wasn't something entirely stupid. If he pulled out his phone and tracked the cars he could check, he thought, but short of calling Hans and telling him to go back home, there wasn't anything Henry could do if he'd gone out on his own. Perhaps Henry would wake to a notice that his whole dilemma had been solved for him and he might as well stay in the Yards. 

That was bitter thinking. He might as well go stand in the rain- it’d do him just as much good.

Theresa broke the silence finally, whispering once more just in case he'd somehow managed to fall asleep. “Will you come up here?”

“Into your-?” Henry thought he must have misheard her.

“Yes.”

It was technically breaking almost every taboo he had ever been taught, but maybe rules didn’t necessarily matter for two people who'd lost everything together. Still he approached carefully, picking up his single blanket and moving to the edge of her bed. He could barely make out shapes in the darkness and didn’t want to unsettle anything if she had it in any kind of order; how to best fit in next to her was a puzzle he wasn’t biologically equipped for.

Theresa grabbed his arm and pulled, tired of his hesitation. “You won’t upset me,” she assured him, but he still felt warily like she could change her mind and toss him back onto the floor if he made any wrong moves. She pushed him to lay back, fussing quietly, tucking things here and there before she finally settled down next to him with a soft sigh. Omegas were allocated slightly larger beds, but there was no escaping the way their legs pressed together. Henry politely tried to inch closer to the edge and made little progress before Theresa simply flipped onto her side to face him. 

“Are you comfortable?” she asked.

“Much better than the floor.” He was feeling some kind of way about being fully dressed in her bed, his pants covered in road dust while she wore nothing but a casual white slip of a nightdress. He was a bit nervous about being there at all, really, afraid to accidentally move in a way that'd upset her. He had never known Theresa to be particular, but he had never known her like this, two inches away and within her most private space.

She slid her hand over his chest, palm hot across his beating heart. Henry took it without thinking, simply resting his over hers. “You're alright, Hal,” she murmured, and he wondered how terribly he must have looked that afternoon for her to comfort him like this. He squeezed her hand gently, choosing not to answer.

Her scent was soothing. He let his eyes shut and focused breathing deeply, slowly, allowing himself to be entranced by it. It was so easy to just give in- like Hans pressing him against the brick wall.

--

Thunder rolled overhead and woke him in the dead of night. He listened to it ripple with his eyes shut, caught in a moment of half-asleep peace. Theresa lay almost on top of him, curled closely against his chest. He shifted carefully to move an arm around her and watched her loose hair flutter with each slow breath. Perhaps he nudged her from sleep because she sleepily moved, drawing closer to him, eyes still shut and expression peaceful. One hand wandered up his chest to gently touch his face, his neck.

Softly, like thunder compressed, he felt more than heard a sound that spilled from deep within her chest. It wasn't something he had ever heard before; not in real life, never. Henry pulled her against him tightly and let the rumble of her Omega purring lull him easily back to sleep.

--

Dim light crept in through the edges of the thin curtains and the sound of rain had finally eased. It had been an almost dreamless sleep; something Henry hadn't ever thought to wish for until the last few weeks. At some point he had rolled onto his side during the night and Theresa tucked within his arms, against his chest, her hair tousled between them and his face pressed into her neck. 

A moment of panic flushed his cheeks warm. Would she be upset to wake up and find them so entangled? Her breath was slow and steady, heavily asleep, and her scent had softened overnight. He breathed deeply against her shoulder, almost dizzy with it. She smelled warm and sweet and he couldn't help but pull her even closer, body to body, curling around her. She’d be safe with him, he thought vaguely, mouth brushing against her neck. He’d coat this shabby nest with his smell and nobody would touch her.

Instinct. It was an overwhelming pull, hard to view clearly from within its grasp. This was Theresa, this was one of his oldest, kindest friends; one of the only he had left, who trusted him enough to share her bed and scent him to sleep. But she was also an Omega, and her body was created to sing for him. The pull felt irresistible with her so close, like flames erupting over his skin. He wanted her terribly and he thought that she would let him have her, twisted together like this, deep within her fragile nest.

It was an idea that made him feel ill and exhilarated at the same time. 

“Reese,” he said against her neck, his voice rough.

She made a soft noise and stirred against him. He could feel her tense before relaxing leisurely into his chest. Theresa turned her head to see him watching her intently, blinking up at him slow and measured. Her eyes looked beautiful in the morning light. “Are you scenting me?” she asked him, her voice gentle and sleep-warm.

He hummed. She let him pull his arm free and he palmed her body over the thin sleep linen she wore, learning the shape of her curves while he kissed the edge of her neck, open-mouth, sloppy, points of his teeth dragging red trails over her sensitive skin.

“Oh. Henry.” Her head fell limp against her pillow once more. Loosely she stretched an arm over her shoulder to pet through his hair. “What are you doing?”

A low, visceral noise was his only answer. His hand trailed up to cup her soft breast and the way she arched against him, a quiet sound escaping her lips, was too encouraging. He squeezed, curling over her, desperate to cover her in his scent and his body both. “Theresa,” Henry murmured into her skin, “Omega.”

He felt nearly light-headed, heartbeat pounding heavy in his chest. She’d be his, in their nest. He tested his teeth against her scent gland, dizzy.

Theresa’s hand slid from his hair and pushed his face backwards. “Careful,” she warned him, sounding just as breathless as he felt. 

He nuzzled against her palm. “I want you,” he near-growled.

“Yeah, I- I can tell.”

He needed to touch every inch of her. His hand moved lower, pressing over her belly and further. There was wetness on the edge of her gown and he felt lust spill down his spine. “I’ll mate you,” he promised, speaking through the fingers still calmly pushing his face from her neck. He rut loosely against her, grinding, the fabric of her clothing bunched in his hand as he distantly wondered if it would tear. “Breed you, pup you.”

“Uh. Hal. Henry. That’s a little much.” Theresa took a breath and pulled away from him carefully, sliding herself to the other side of the small mattress. When she sat up, straightening her clothing, she was still so close that their knees knocked together. “Henry,” she repeated, making sure she had his attention, “I think you should go get some air.”

Henry stared at her with wide eyes.

“Go on.” She gestured towards the door.

It was difficult to leave, but Henry hauled himself backwards. He slipped from the bed, bare feet cold on the floor. His teeth ground together so intensely that he could hear them. Leaving flooded him with such a strong feeling of rejection that it choked him, made it impossible to pull air into his lungs. His fingers shook on the door handle as he tugged it open and forced himself out into the early sunrise.

For a long while Henry sat on the steps with his head in his hands, grasping at his own hair tightly. Fuck. He felt an intense rush of shame and half of that was damn instinct too, a reaction to having been kicked from a nest. She’d trusted him and he’d acted like an animal, unrecognizable. Embarrassing. The damn City was a bad influence- he should never have put himself in a position like that at all. Shouldn’t have put her in that position. 

After fifteen minutes or so, the door opened behind him and Theresa, fully dressed, took a seat on the other side of the stairs. He tensed, afraid of what she’d think of him now. They sat together in silence for a moment before she broke it, trying to meet his eyes. “That was unlike you.”

He laughed dryly, embarrassed, and let his hands fall to rest on his knees. “I’m so sorry.”

“Well, it was… a little bit flattering, to be honest,” she admitted, chuckling. “I supposed I invited that by asking you in the nest with me.”

“No, no, please. I will take all the blame for that,” Henry insisted. “I wasn’t thinking straight.”

Theresa folded her hands into her lap thoughtfully. “I won’t presume to have a lot of experience here,” she began slowly, “but you’re not, uh. Close to Rut, are you? It sort of felt like…?” She trailed off, looking at him carefully.

Henry shook his head. “No. I should be almost two months out.” He’d no idea what kind of arrangements would have to be made when the date came closer, but he had plenty of time left to continue not worrying about it. 

“Good. Then I don’t have to actually be mad about it.”

“Theresa, I would never-”

“I know, I know. I’ve known you for a long time.” She shuffled closer to him. “Must just be the normal kind of scrambled Alpha brain,” she teased, nudging him with her elbow. 

It felt better to joke about it. Henry managed to smile at her. “Must be,” he agreed. You could probably title this entire new chapter of his life ‘scrambled Alpha brain’. 

“Have to stop letting that Capon rub off on you, Henry.”

If only she knew. He could never, ever tell her. And thinking of which… Henry sighed. “I should probably be on my way.”

“I have to report at first alarm anyway.” Theresa stood and climbed down the steps before offering him a hand. 

He took it, standing and pulling her into a hug. “I’ll see you soon. Please let me know if there’s anything you need. Anything.”

“Don’t fuss, Hal. I can handle myself.”

“Of course, but-”

“Go,” she told him. “Drive safe.”

--

Henry couldn't send his bike off with the app anymore, so he found a spot close to the entrance and parked her himself. She had done exceptionally well for her first journey out and he patted her fondly, hooking the helmet to her side. “Hopefully it won't be too long before we go out again,” he told her. 

He needed a shower and a change of clothes desperately. And breakfast. Definitely breakfast. Taking food from Theresa was never something he would consider, whether she was still getting extra rations or not; not when he could just go without for a little longer and eat almost anything he pleased. Henry took a breath, idly picturing his breakfast options, and set his palm to the security panel. 

The doors slid open and then locked again behind him. The lights were gently dimmed in the apartment but the music was still playing, which probably meant that Hans was awake.

Henry caught the flash of movement in the corner of his eye and ducked fast- a thrown glass shattered against the doorframe and showered into pieces over the floor. Henry stared at the wreckage before spinning around just in time for Hans to step up and deck him in the face.

Pain bloomed across his cheek; Henry staggered, shocked. He caught Hans’ next swing and grabbed his arm, yanking him too close to get any momentum. Hans growled, Henry snarled in answer. 

They fought quick and dirty, teeth flashing. Henry shoved his hand into Hans’ mouth and felt molars crush his fingers with an audible crunch. He kicked out and knocked them both heavily to the hard floor. Henry was thicker, his muscles built by a life of labor, used to quick brawls between friends in the Yards; Hans was professionally trained, moved more quickly. Angrier, maybe, for whatever damn reason. 

Henry fought to stay on top, slipping on the tiled floor. His teeth tore Hans’ shirt, barely missing skin. Hans hissed and yanked at Henry's hair. They were getting sloppy, grabbing messily at each other. Henry twisted and slammed his elbow hard into Hans’ ribs, a deep snarl choking out a breathlessly painful grunt. He snagged his two second advantage to grab Hans’ arm, twisting it violently backwards until finally, panting, Hans stilled.

Henry centered his grip and sat pinning Hans’ legs, refusing to let go of his arm. Hans grimaced and looked back at him darkly. He took a long moment to catch his breath and assess himself- his cheek already felt swollen and his head ached. Blood dozed from his hand, mutilated by Hans’ violent teeth. Henry wanted to lean in and bite down on Hans’ flinching hand in return, just to make them even, but he settled for pulling on his arm until Hans gasped instead.

Capon’s hands were worth more than Henry could afford to pay.

“Why?” Henry finally asked. 

Hans glared at him. “Why did you fucking come back?” he spat. 

Henry felt himself growl low. “I live here.”

“Do you?"

“Don't I?”

Hans looked at the floor, tensing. “Where were you?”

Henry was not inclined to share too many details after that sort of greeting. “With a friend,” he said simply, the same thing he’d told Hans on the phone.

“The Omega that's all over you now?”

“Yes. And?”

Hans swallowed and let his forehead press against the cold tile. “Since when do you have friends?”

Henry grunted and twisted Hans’ arm the wrong way until Hans writhed and begged him, “Stop.”

It felt incredibly satisfying. 

“It rained all night,” Henry reminded him, ultimately ignoring the comment. “I told you I can't ride my bike in the rain.”

Hans grunted. At least he was listening.

“Are you angry that you couldn’t go out again?”

Hans clenched his teeth and continued not answering. 

“Are you angry that- you thought I wasn't coming back?” Henry realized suddenly. He could read in the wavering tension of Hans’ body underneath his that this was closer to the mark. It was unsettling. “I will always come back,” he promised, despite hours spent yesterday debating just that question. “Hans.”

“Go fuck yourself,” Hans snapped. He spit blood onto the floor- Henry's blood. 

“I'll come back, Hans,” Henry repeated. He thought about the people in Hans’ life who hadn't come back and felt that he understood just a little bit more about the Alpha heir. “Hans. This last week. I needed you.”

Hans growled and turned his face away.

Henry put pressure to the arm again until Hans looked at him with teeth bared. It was a cruel tactic, maybe, but effective. 

“I needed you,” Henry insisted. “And you were kind to me. I'll come back home.”

Hans moved suddenly, surging to try and get up. Henry maintained his grip but still Hans fought him, his face gone pale from the pain.

“I'll break your arm,” Henry warned him.

“Break it, then!” Hans pulled so hard that Henry worried he actually might. “Break my fucking arm; I don't give a shit!” Hans whined, whimpered shamelessly; Henry saw his fingers spasm and let go quickly, never truly intending to hurt him in any way that mattered.

Hans shoved him off and scrambled frantically to his feet. He clutched his arm against his chest and stormed away, headed towards the stairs.

Henry sat back and let him go, shocked. 

Hans was a puzzle, the kind where you could feel you'd made progress only to turn it around in your hands and realize how badly that one move had screwed up your work on the other side. Henry would figure it out. He held more pieces than anybody had managed to put together in a long time. 

He got to his feet. There was blood, sweat and spit on the floor; shreds of Hans’ shirt. The bite wound felt agitated under the bandage and that was just another thing to deal with. Henry snatched up his abandoned empty duffle and headed back into his room. Food could wait- he felt more nauseous than anything else. 

He almost expected Hans to have ransacked his room, but it remained untouched. The gun sat on his nightstand: Henry unhooked his knife's sheath and set it gently next to it before he headed into the bathroom.

He would have a black eye for sure, he thought, leaning against the sink and peering into the mirror. A bruise to match the one still blooming on Hans’ collarbone. Henry took his shirt off and peeled the bandage off. The bite was wet, healing well but irritated again. He ran one finger along the edge and teased pain from the re-swelling edges.

Fucking Capon. What had Theresa asked? Was he as terrible as everybody said?

He was. Aggressive and mean and miserable. Sad. Miserable. Desperate and so, so lonely. 

What had he done last night? Sat there and convinced himself Henry had run at the first chance? That Henry couldn't even stand him for an entire week? Yeah, Henry could picture it. The same man who believed without a doubt that he'd been too much for his father to live with would absolutely have no trouble thinking Henry wouldn't like him either. 

Fuck. 

Henry couldn't fix him. But what Henry had said earlier remained true; if he was to survive here, Henry needed him. 

He shut his eyes, both hands heavy on the edges on the sink. These thoughts were too big and too complicated. All he wanted to do was talk to his mother. She had an answer for everything. Everybody loved her. Henry sucked in a rattled breath, grimacing. He just wanted to curl himself in her lap like he was six years old and didn't understand why the riveter's son threw rocks at their door. 

Her scent was the only one he wanted. Her voice. She would tell him what to do and it would be the right answer.

Henry pressed his palms against his eyes until he was sure he wasn't going to cry. “Fuck,” he said again.

He wondered if Hans could replicate that scent. 

And then he felt ill again.

Henry turned away from himself in the mirror and turned the shower on. He finished undressing and climbed under the water. It was hot; hot enough to ease his abused muscles, wash hundreds of miles from his skin. He turned his face into the flow for a while, just breathing and feeling the pressure of the stream.

When he heard the bathroom door open and close, he didn’t turn around. “You're early,” he said sullenly. His voice echoed off the glass. “I didn’t expect you to slink around until after sundown.”

Hans didn't answer. He stepped into the shower and Henry found that he wasn't entirely surprised. Hans moved close to him, warm against his back. Henry felt his forehead lean against the back of his bitten shoulder, Hans’ skin like ice compared to the scalding water.

“Henry,” Hans said, his voice rough and uneven. “I know it's stupid and- and fucked up, but-”

Henry started to turn around, but Hans put one hand on his shoulder and refused to let him. 

“I think I might need you too.”

Chapter Text

Henry laid across one of the couches with an ice pack slowly melting across his face. He was enjoying the fleeting moment of peace, passively watching a series of environmental nature scenes slowly cycle through on the giant screen. They were fascinating to him. Ten minutes each of non-looping footage surrounding him with places that no longer exist and that he’d rarely dared to imagine beyond the confines of a school tablet. Snow, water, forest, field. Henry could have been content to stay there all night, drifting in and out, listening to Hans pace back and forth across the balcony taking his myriad of nonsense phone calls.

“...not sacrifice efficiency for mobility…then simply rework the budget; we aren’t hemorrhaging credits here…”

Buzzwords and corporate jargon, Henry thought. He shifted to push the ice further over his eye and rest his chew-toy hand over it for a moment until it became too cold. Exhaustion clung to his every muscle; he felt so tired lately, almost all the time. Perhaps it could simply be attributed to the complete disruption of the routine schedule he’d kept for more than fifteen years, or maybe it was more specifically the fact that every night seemed to last long into the early hours.

A pretty white creature covered in feathers sang gentle notes through the speakers and Henry let himself fall asleep. 

He woke sometime later to Hans shaking him. Henry limply slapped at him, grunting. Hans snorted. “Come out of hibernation. I finished all my shit while you lazed around.”

Henry pulled the warmed ice from his eye and sat up blinking. “Wh’ time’s it?”

“Time to quit wasting the day.” Hans stood with his hands on his hips looking down at him. “What do you want to do?”

“I’m to decide?” Because his answer would be to continue doing more of the- relaxing within the comfort of their extremely expensive dream penthouse. 

“No, of course not,” Hans laughed. “I only wanted to see what you'd come up with. We're going out, obviously.”

“Do you ever stay in?” Henry asked, exasperated.

Hans' laughter faded. He stared down at Henry with a challenging expression. “I stayed in last night. And actually, my night before that was cut short, too. Damn, now that I'm really thinking about it-”

“Alright, alright. I hear you.” 

It would be pointless to attempt to pass blame onto the man who literally drugged him or the fact that his whole family just died - Hans’ view of the world involved the square feet he stood within at any one time. Sometimes Henry was tucked inside that space, for better or worse.

Earlier he had been thinking ‘better’. Now, looking up into Hans’ impatient expression, he was somewhat leaning the other way.

“I don't want to go back to Mongrel,” Henry said, prepared to put his foot down on at least one thing. 

“Fuck, obviously not. I've been getting messages non-stop asking what happened.” He sat down suddenly next to Henry on the couch and pulled his phone out. It was difficult not to look over at the screen; Hans made no move to hide anything as he unlocked it with his thumb augment. The homescreen was just the Rattay logo, he only had two or three icons on the display, and his notification list was simply a repeating series of ‘99+’ across the top of the screen (just the concept of those numbers made Henry feel faintly ill). 

Henry pushed himself to his feet. He was starving again, ravenous almost. “Don’t you ever go to any normal bars?” 

“I have no idea what people like you would consider ‘normal’, Henry,” Hans answered without looking up from the screen, fingers sliding across it. “If you mean a dirt floor, cheap swill, and standing room for twelve people, then no.”

Henry paused at the entrance to the kitchen ready to interject, but actually- no, that sounded about right. It sounded nice, too. A quiet space, people you knew, and drinks you could trust. 

“I've been trying to break you in easy,” Hans said.  “We haven't gone anywhere crazy yet.”

“A dirty sex club and a noisy bar are easy?”

Hans looked at him over his shoulder. “It wasn't dirty. That was a high-quality establishment, Henry. Johnny would be ashamed to hear you say that.”

Henry threw his hands up. 

“And yes,” Hans continued, “easy. VIP at Mongrel has an occupancy limit. There's room to move around. You don't know what real partying is like until you're smashed in against five sexy strangers, blitzed out of your mind, shoes slipping on slick and vodka…” He trailed off almost dreamily and turned back towards his phone, throwing one leg up over the other knee casually.

“That sounds absolutely horrific,” Henry said. Just the thought of it made his skin itch.

“I'll make you a believer yet, Henry.”

“I doubt that.” Henry finally turned into the kitchen to figure out lunch. 

He was unsurprised when Hans showed up five minutes later to sit on the counter and continue talking at him while he tried to eat a sandwich. “I know where we'll go tonight,” Hans announced. “I'll take you somewhere so boring that tomorrow you'll beg to go out clubbing.”

“I'm sure.”

“There’s a dedication event at the Arboretum that I was invited to. Sounded miserable so I was going to skip. Just a bunch of the most boring elite from this part of the City having a mixer and pretending to tolerate each other.”

“What's an arbor…?”

“Arboretum. Where they keep the trees, Henry, keep up.”

He thought about the forests living only inside the confines of the wall screen. “Real trees? Alive trees?”

“Are you about to tell me another sad story about how you've never seen a leaf? Did your school not take you?”

“What use are trees to garage pups, Hans?” Henry asked. “I want to go.”

Hans barked a laugh. “Oh, he wants to go somewhere now!”

“It's the first time you've offered to take me to the actual interesting parts of the City. So far you've only shown me where the delinquents hang out.”

Hans reached over to steal the final quarter of Henry's sandwich, ignoring the vicious glare he earned. “You're going to have to dress up and you're going to be disgusted by everyone there,” Hans warned. 

“Are they food thieves as well?”

“Damn, eat it then.” Hans took a single bite and tossed the last bit back onto Henry's plate. He hopped from the counter. “Starving hound.”

--

Henry was assigned to clean up, shave, and dress in the best outfit Radzig had bought for him. Hans insisted they would not let him in with weapons and to not even bother because it would be embarrassing at security. Dressing had seemed like an easy task until he realized he did not recognize half of the things provided. Socks were easy; black slacks, a white undershirt, a black jacket. He had no idea what all the straps were for or the limp black ties and gave up trying to figure them out very quickly. He thought he looked fine in the mirror after taking a second to sort out his hair. 

Hans disagreed. “You look like you slept in that, you've crumpled it so much.”

Henry looked him up and down; he hadn’t finished dressing by the time Henry casually walked into his closet and was walking around just wearing underwear and sheer black socks. There was a gorgeous bruise sprawling across his ribs, courtesy of Henry's knee. “Oh,” Henry said, looking at the straps around his calves. “That's what those are for.”

Hans gave him another dirty look. “You didn't put garters on? If your shirt comes untucked you're going to look stupid as fuck.”

How terrible. “I'll survive.”

“Just hold on. Let me finish and I'll fix you.” Hans carefully stepped into a pair of nearly skintight black pants, slipping a silver-edged black belt around his waist. He went without an undershirt and pulled a crimson jacket over his shoulders; it was almost completely backless, just a sleek cutout that centers his implant perfectly. Not really a jacket at all once it was settled against his skin properly, too tight. He adjusted the sleeves and buttoned it at the waist before turning around to observe himself in the mirror. After a thorough look he paused to spray glitter over his back and then his cyberware truly glittered in the vanity lights.

“You're always advertising,” Henry remarked.

Hans stared at him. “Is there a follow-up to that comment?” he asked after a moment.

Henry shook his head. “Nope.”

“Are you sure? Second chance.”

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing.”

Hans opened a different drawer in the closet and deliberated shortly before pulling out a length of black leather. He stepped in front of Henry. “The correct answer involves complimenting me,” he said, cupping Henry's jaw in one palm. Hans leaned down to kiss him hard and at the same time wrapped the collar around Henry’s neck, audibly snapping it shut before Henry realized what was happening. 

“What the fuck-” Henry tugged on it with his hands. It felt smothering and heavy, something he’d never tried wearing before.

“Leave it,” Hans insisted, knocking Henry's hands away. 

“I'm not wearing this.” Henry swallowed down a growl that still showed teeth. “That was a mean trick.”

“And I'm not having a guard who can't stop scenting the whole damn room.” Hans ran his fingers over the leather. He pressed his thumb against Henry's throat. “It’s normal at fancy events for guests to wear collars, Henry. They're like… jewelry. Scenting is considered rude in high society.”

Henry scowled, pushing Hans’ fingers away from his neck. “So why aren't you wearing one then?”

“Because I'm a respectable young gentleman with perfect control over his scenting,” Hans said dryly.

“Oh. Right.” Because it was controlled strictly by machine. 

“And I can't cover my neck because I am… what'd you say, a walking advertisement?”

“Damn. Sorry.”

Hans couldn't keep his hands from the collar. “I have others if you don't like this one. Studded. Jeweled. A few with rings for tugging…” 

Henry felt a shiver creep up his spine. He shook his head, tilting back from Hans’ grip. “I'll settle.” 

“We could just try them.” Hans was looking at him very intently. It was a look that Henry was becoming familiar with.

“Is this a sex thing?”

“It could be.” Hans sighed when Henry simply stared at him. “You're no fun, Henry.” He straightened Henry's jacket before moving to his shirt. Henry felt like he was being mothered; Hans tugged at his undershirt, tucked it in properly for him and even kneeled carefully to fix the hem of his pants. “That’s tolerable,” Hans finally decided, standing back up. “Nobody will be looking at you anyway. Let's cover that horrible black eye and then we can go.”

--

Henry stepped out of the car first, his eyes wide as he took in the amount of activity hovering in the street. Drones flit back and forth, handheld cameras flashed, and obvious paparazzi flocked behind metal stanchions. It was incredibly elaborate and a startling reminder that the often irritating man he lived with was the pinnacle of obsession for so many in the City. Who else would be in attendance? Henry wished he had thought to ask, but it was still only just beginning to dawn on him how serious his position might be.

Hans smacked his leg to get him to step out of the way and attention focused on them immediately- on Hans specifically as he unfolded himself from the car and nudged Henry aside. “Walk behind me,” Hans told him. “Not so close.”

Absolutely, Henry thought, hanging back a good few feet and letting Hans take every second of attention. They shouted at him, shooting pictures, videos from every angle; he spoke to nobody but smiled at them all, teeth shining in the bright lights, spine absolutely glowing. If somebody took this moment to target them, Henry genuinely knew that he would be unable to do anything about it, and the thought was bone chilling. He picked up his pace and tried not to stray too far from Hans. 

Once they got inside, the doors shut behind them with a quiet finality. The separation from the performance outside was a relief. Henry unclenched his teeth. 

“That was practice, Henry,” Hans said dryly, readjusting his sleeves again. “Once we get through security, we'll be surrounded by sharks.”

“By what?”

Hans looked at him for a moment and then shook his head. “Nevermind. Don't talk to anybody who doesn't speak to you first. Try not to look too lost. I can handle myself but don't wander too far or you'll get questioned.”

Henry nodded. He felt stiff in his gaudy outfit and resisted the temptation to tug at the fabric. “I'll behave.”

“I know,” Hans said, lips twitching into a momentary smile. He turned to move on.

Henry felt suddenly warm under the collar. Suffocating. He swallowed and was entirely too aware of the leather locked magnetically around his throat. He stared at Hans’ naked back; the implant glittered like stars under the room's low yellow lights. 

Security was quick and easy. They passed through a scanner and were let through without fuss. One of the guards greeted Hans by name and scanned his palm. Henry followed suit and then they were through into the main antechamber.

It was overwhelming. 

Hans had said there would be trees; there were trees. Wide trees of varying shapes lined the room, trunks arching high with leaves spread wide across the domed ceiling and shivering under an artificial wind. It smelled in that large room like nothing Henry had ever experienced, scents he couldn’t even begin to describe. His knees felt weak and looking upwards he felt suddenly so small, so unimportant, dwarfed by the last remnants of nature.

Hans kicked his ankle hard. “Move out of the entrance,” he hissed.

“Sorry,” Henry muttered quietly.

“You can gawk in a minute.”

And Henry would keep gawking, using every ounce of control to keep his expression as neutral  as possible while he continued trailing Hans. Not one person here seemed to care that they were surrounded by greenery. They all moved in little groups, back and forth, never once looking up at the miracle above them. And most of them dressed in clothing so elaborately ridiculous that Henry felt embarrassed on their behalf. It was a stark juxtaposition. Hans almost seemed underdressed for once (and not in the naked kind of way that he often preferred).

Hans paused. He was being subtle about it, but Henry watched him slowly scan the room. A faint smile flickered over his face and he turned with purpose to head towards a couple in blue. They seemed happy to see him approach and Henry eyed them curiously. 

The woman was draped in deep sunset blue, silk fabric pooling around her feet, the dress split at her hips to show both of her long, beautiful legs. Her brunette hair waterfalled nearly to her waist and even when she glanced at Henry was her smile warm.

Hans reached out his hand and she took it, holding his wrist just a moment past professionally before letting him go. “Did you sneak yourself in,” Hans asked, “or was somebody brave enough to invite you?”

“A woman never tells, Capon.” She turned towards Henry, hiding behind Hans’ shoulder, and surprised him by addressing him by name. “Henry, my little problem child. I heard about your incident; are you feeling better?”

Henry gaped at her. Did she mean-? At the bar? 

The third man put a white-gloved hand on the woman's elbow. “I'm sure he'd be happy to pretend that had never happened, Katherine.”

Henry recognized that voice from the club and looked at him, startled. He wasn't wearing a full mask this time and wore a dated blue tuxedo, something so out of style even Bianca would have questioned it. Johnny wore white gloves on his hands and a wide white collar tight against his neck; it was overall such a contrasting look from his style at the club that Henry almost doubted it could possibly be him, handsome face uncovered- until Johnny winked at him, and then there was no denying it.

And Katherine, too; Hans’ PR agent and the woman who sent him daily emails that he was starting to ignore.

“I'm feeling quite well, thank you,” Henry eventually managed. 

“Ah, he's been through worse, I'm sure,” Hans said, leaning over to snag a cocktail from a woman passing with a tray. “What's the vibe here tonight?”

Katherine and John shared a look.

“Hans,” Katherine began, “did you not RSVP ‘no’ to this event three months ago?”

Hans tossed back the alcohol in one drink. “You'd know better than I would, Kat.”

“Mmmmhm.”

John laughed gently. “The vibes, Capon, are increasingly likely to become quite dour.”

“Great. Why?”

Katherine reached over and took the empty, fragile glass from Hans’ hand, and then said, “Your mother is here.”

Hans stared at her for a second, clearly waiting for a punchline. It didn't come. “Well.” He cleared his throat. “And I was on such a good streak of pretending that she'd died.”

“I'm sure we could stage some sort of dramatic event requiring your swift exit,” John suggested.

“No, the bitch would know. If I turn around, will I see her?”

Katherine quickly surveyed the guests. “I believe she stepped into the Aviary Gardens.”

“Great. Come on, Henry. I need another drink and I better make sure I’m seen by people before she comes to ruin it.” Hans spun on his heel and turned away.

Henry caught the edge of Hans’ lip twitching with a snarl before he composed himself. “Are you alright?” Henry asked him quietly.

Hans stopped short and turned to him. He was clearly very tense and spoke harshly under his breath.  “We are in public. Don't ever ask shit like that around other people again.”

Henry read between the lines. Hans’ scent was steady and serene- a perfect public facing lie. Henry nodded. “Yes, sir,” he answered, because it rather felt like the ‘bodyguard persona’ correct response.

It seemed to almost surprise Hans, though, who frowned at him again before taking a breath. “Go look at the trees or whatever,” Hans told him, waving towards the vegetation. “I need to have a few boring conversations. Just don't leave this main atrium and try to stay within sight.”

Henry nodded again, somewhat unwilling to leave his side but also not about to give up his chance to get closer to a living tree. It wasn't as if he was armed, anyway. The true security team here would handle anything faster than he'd be able to. They stood unobtrusively in the shadows near the walls, watching. 

Henry turned to go, but felt Hans touch his arm carefully and paused.

“I'm alright,” Hans promised quietly. “I swore to stop letting her ruin my mood ages ago.” He worried the edge of his lip between his fangs for a moment. “Sometimes it's easier said than done.”

It felt like a crime that they were forced to have this conversation so subtly, like a little secret. Henry found he had quite a few things he'd like to say and no way to express them. “Okay,” was what he settled on. “I'll be nearby- if you need me.”

Hans blinked and then nodded before warning him, “Don't forget that you're being watched.”

--

A tree. Henry had no idea if he was allowed to touch it, but there was no fencing between him and its brown trunk (and he may not have let that stop him anyway). He leaned in and pressed his palm to it. Whatever he had expected, maybe something steady like a pulse or warmth like body heat, he felt nothing but a rough texture. He looked up into its stretching boughs and wished a leaf might fall so that he could touch that too- soft like silk, or slick like plastic? 

There was a sign posted and he paused to read it slowly. 

Black walnut. Some words he thought weren't English. Used for construction lumber, dyes, and a food product. Extinct circa 2060: fungal disease.

Henry stepped back, wondering if anybody from the Yards had ever seen something like this. He pulled out his phone and took a picture, hesitating only briefly; you could probably find a thousand old pictures of trees on the web, but they wouldn't be this one at this moment. He considered sending it to Theresa but wondered if it wouldn’t just make her sad, jealous. Maybe they could bring her here later, someday. 

He turned to keep track of Hans and was surprised to see Hans watching him. Hans was in a small group of people and had managed to find more alcohol; when Henry caught his gaze, he turned away quickly. 

Henry rolled his eyes and looked back at the tree, only to realize somebody else had joined him. There was a large blond man standing quietly near him dressed almost just like Henry was in his suit, but in a version of stark white and with an elaborate amount of embroidered filigree. He wore a collar of deep red edged in gold metal with a singular matching metal ring.

Henry waited for him to say something, eyes tracing the golden lines of cyberware over his cheeks, and then realized maybe this other man had been told the same as him; don't speak first. 

“Hey,” he said, “I'm Henry.” He held out his hand.

The other man blinked at him, one eye clearly an implant, red on a sea of mechanical black. He seemed to glance over Henry’s shoulders before answering him, taking his wrist in a firm grip for a polite moment. “Erik,” he said, and every one of his daunting teeth was covered in titanium, not just his Alpha fangs.

As their hands slid apart, Henry swore he felt the ripple of scar tissue on Erik's wrist.

“Nice to meet you,” Henry said, because his mother had taught him manners once upon a time. “Am I in your way?”

Erik shook his head no.

“I hadn't seen plantlife before,” Henry went on, a little unnerved by Erik's silence and his intimidating presence. “I come from the Yards.”

Erik raised his eyebrows and looked at him more intently. “Me, too.”

“Do you? Where at?”

“Northside,” Erik answered. “A long time ago.”

“Oh. I'm South. Was South.”

“Industrial Rattay?”

“Mostly.” The Yards north of the City worked mostly in fabrics and replication as far as Henry knew. He had never personally been. 

They stood quietly looking at the trees for a while. Henry shifted and moved around Erik to see the next tree in the line of plant life, a more slender thing with white, cracking skin. He felt compelled to keep speaking, as if he didn’t want to lose this connection to somebody like himself.

“The air in here is very strange,” Henry commented.

Erik grunted. “They breathe it in with their leaves.”

Henry looked upwards. “Are you sure? It doesn't look to be breathing at all.”

“Istvan told me so.” He said it very simply, as if this made it fact. 

“Istvan?”

Erik gave him a look that clearly said Henry should have easily recognized that name. “Toth,” he elaborated shortly. 

“I'm very new to the City.”

“There,” Erik said, pointing. 

Henry turned to look. “In the black?”

“It’s violet,” Erik clarified, and his very stoic expression broke for just a moment as if he, too, thought the difference was miniscule. “Technically.”

Tree-expert Istvan Toth stood casually at the edge of a group of people, a half-filled glass of wine held absently in one gloved hand. The contrast of white and black (violet) was striking, but even more so was the excess of expensive dark fabric draped around his shoulders all the way to his feet. Even he wore a collar, engraved with a metal that glinted when the light hit it just so.

His gaze turned their way as if he realized he was being watched. He looked at Erik, then Henry; back and forth with a lingering frown before he turned back to his group and put the wine to his lips.

“Is everybody bored at these events?” Henry asked.

“Oh, no,” Erik corrected, shaking his head. “He’s having an incredible time.”

Henry eyed the pensive frown on Istvan's face. “Doesn't look it.”

“Well.” Erik shrugged. “I can tell. We're Bonded.”

That was startling to hear. Henry found himself looking at their collars in a different light; Hans had insisted people would be wearing them for scent coverage, but these two at least were politely covering Bondmark scars. 

(Henry considered the other collar he'd noted that evening, worn by Johnny with the Beta teeth, who surely did not need any assistance with his scent, and wondered-)

He had been assuming that Erik was like him, another guard dog whose purpose at this sort of event was to be seen and not heard. That couldn't possibly be true if he was Bonded to one of the rich peacocks. Honestly, looking at what he wore and the tech used for his eye and face- Henry felt a little silly assuming they held similar rank. Who would dress their guard up so elaborately?

“Henry,” Hans hissed, appearing suddenly and slinging an arm around his shoulders. “Didn't I tell you to keep an eye out for my mother?”

“No,” Henry said, startled. He'd gotten a little lost in thought there. Hans smelled like alcohol and leaned on him heavily, pink just starting to crest over his cheeks. Henry gently pulled away from him, slipping out from underneath his arm. “I also have no idea what she looks like,” he pointed out

“Well, like me, obviously. Come on. We're going to another room.” 

Hans started tugging on his arm but Henry held his ground. He turned an apologetic smile towards Erik, who was eyeing Hans with an unamused expression. “It was a pleasure to meet somebody else who wasn't born in the City. Hopefully I'll find occasions to run into you again.”

“Your phone,” Erik said, holding out one hand. “You can take my number.”

Henry handed it over, only following Hans once it'd been returned and was safely in his pocket again.

Hans pushed him through a side door- the rush of air pressure as they entered a staging hallway was one of the strangest things Henry had ever felt. “What was that?” Hans asked him, pausing them before entering the next environmentally sealed room.

Henry felt a little proud of himself. “I'm mingling.”

“With Toth's pet?”

“You know him?”

“Toth? Ugh.” Hans rolled his eyes. “One of the most pretentious fuckers I've-”

“No, Erik.”

“If Toth's there, he's there, but he doesn't say shit to anybody. I've known him since I was a pup and used to think he couldn't speak at all."

Henry could see that. Erik was a very intimidating, classic style of Alpha. He wondered why Erik had approached him at all- or if Henry, too distracted by the trees, had been the one to invade his space first. Thinking about trees again, Henry asked, “Do trees breathe?”

“What?” Hans frowned, not expecting a subject change. “I- not like us,” he answered, “but there is a gas exchange occurring within stomata on their leaves, so… sort of? A process called- no, actually I'm not explaining all that.” He waved the thought away.

“Huh,” Henry said, thinking. “Then they do breathe through their leaves.”

“Uh, yes. Did he give you his number?”

It was unlikely that Henry would ever feel compelled to text him, but it was nice to continue building his list of ‘living contacts’ in his phone. He raised an eyebrow at Hans. “Am I not allowed to make friends?”

Hans put one hand on his shoulder and told him seriously, “Nobody here is worth making friends with, Henry. Now come on; if you liked the boring trees then you'll love this room.”

Hans almost pushed him through the next door and had to keep shoving at him when Henry froze in the new room, yet again overwhelmed. 

Colors everywhere. Flowers- living ones, not replicas carved from reusable metals. Reds, blues, yellows. They bloomed around the room in a living rainbow that was far more impressive than the attempts at extravagance dressing the guests scattered among the bushes. The walls were covered in vines and leaves; it felt like he had stepped into a living storybook, like the world was moving and breathing around him.

Henry slowly approached a plant that was intertwined over a wooden trellis taller than he was and covered with pink-petaled blossoms. ‘New Dawn Climbing Roses’, the sign said helpfully. 

“Don’t touch them,” Hans said, and Henry pulled his reaching hand back. “I mean, I don't give a fuck, but they have cameras.” Hans gestured further upwards and Henry followed to see a little blue feathered beast perched up near the ceiling.

It moved, head tilting, and hopped closer to them. Henry stared. “Is that…?”

“Machines. Built to act like old world birds for amusement but are absolutely watching our every move.” 

Birds. Henry had forgotten the word for them. The little thing fluttered and soared across the ceiling to sit on a bush across the aisle. If he looked closely, he could see more of them scattered around the garden room, watching the few people lingering in clumps among the flowers. Unsettling. Henry turned back to the flowers themselves.

“Lean closer,” Hans suggested, watching him intently. “Smell them.”

Henry stepped as close as he dared and lowered his head towards a beautiful, hundred petal bloom. It smelled sweet, vibrant. There was something oddly familiar about the aroma, almost soothing. 

“They still use floral as a descriptor for some Omega scents,” Hans said, “even though most people don't ever actually experience flowers anymore. I'm trying to nix the term from our marketing, but I'm fighting with old fashioned bitches.”

Henry wasn't really listening; he'd already moved on to the next blue flowers and found they had an entirely different smell. The yellow bush next to them was completely distinct as well. There were hundreds of different plants in that large room and all of them unique. Was this how the world used to be? He felt a sharp pain in his chest, like he was suddenly losing something he'd never known he should have had.

“Do the-” Henry looked up and realized how far he'd walked away. Hans hadn't followed and was simply watching him, leaning against a signpost. Henry wandered back to him, trying not to feel embarrassed over his excitement.

“I have to go back and talk to frauds for a while, but come here-” Hans reached out and looped two fingers tightly through his collar, tugging him close enough to kiss roughly. He forced his tongue inside, nearly fucking Henry's mouth with it, licking over his teeth. It was hot and desperate and over too soon. Hans pulled back, lips wet, but leaned in just to growl quietly, “When we're done here I'm gonna fuck your throat so deep this collar won't even fit anymore.”

Henry gawked stupidly at him.

Hans grinned and spun around, leaving him standing there struck dumb.

He did not understand the rules of whatever game they were playing now, and that felt very, very dangerous.

Chapter Text

Henry was trying to read through a complicated sign explaining something called pollination when he was approached again, this time by a woman with a low, warm voice. 

“Refreshing to see somebody stop to read the infographics. I suspect the whimsy has worn off for most of us.”

Henry turned with a faint smile on his face that froze when he recognized her. Or not her, exactly, but he was intimately familiar with those cheekbones and the tilt of her jaw. Hans' mother was shorter than he’d expected her to be but she held herself proudly, eyeing him sharply with vivid green eyes. She wore a gown of beautiful, glittering gold, and having spent enough time observing the trends of the City, Henry suspected the back of it likely draped low enough to keep her spine on full display, just like her son.  Her hair was pulled back into perfect ash-blonde curls that left her neck bare enough to see the same Rattay implants curling around her neck that Hans wore, but she’d had custom work done of a different flavor; on her left side, the metal embedded in her skin shaped a clear heart around her scent gland.

He saw the same on the wrist gland she held out to him. “Apologies. You may call me Vika.”

Henry took her hand. She had long nails painted the color of her own green eyes. “Mrs. Capon?”

Her lips curved, amused. “If you like, love.” Her teeth looked unnaturally long even for an Alpha, and he wondered if the titanium coating might be made to create that look or if she simply had wicked fangs (he wondered too what sort of headache that must create during rut; if she’d even be able to close her mouth without puncturing her own lip).

“Henry,” he said, pulling free of her wrist finally.

“Are you enjoying yourself here? My husband funded most of this room.”

Hans hadn’t mentioned that. “It’s very beautiful.”

“I’d been hoping to meet you, Henry,” she told him earnestly, confirming that she must know exactly who he was. “Are you doing well?”

“Well? I- yes, I’m doing fine.” He was surprised by her concern; he was surprised by her in general. Perhaps he’d been building some image of her in his head based off of what little hints he’d had to go on- maybe he needed to pause and reassess. “It’s been a large transition, but I’m getting used to City life.”

Vika leaned close to put her hand gently on his arm. “I thought it terribly cruel, when I heard what they’d done; to pull somebody from our Yards who’d lost everything and force them to work with no other options.”

That… yeah. That was what they’d done, for the most part. Henry couldn’t exactly argue, but he felt compelled to try and stick up for Radzig at least a little bit. He could have ended up homeless and unassigned in the Yards.  “I’m glad to have a place to sleep and regular meals,” Henry told her, and he did mean that.

“The bare minimum, I’d think. Are you paid as well?”

“A small stipend.”

“If you’d like to discuss market rates, Henry, or anything else at all, please reach out to my team. I would feel remiss if I didn’t make sure you had options.” She tucked a little metal card into his inner coat pocket. “For whenever you’ve had enough of him.”

“Oh, no, I’m-”

She looked up over his shoulder and he watched her kind expression fade into stillness. Henry wasn’t surprised when Hans yanked on his arm and jerked him backwards.

“Every fucking time I turn around, Henry,” Hans growled, tugging on him, “you’re talking to the worst possible choice.”

“Hans,” Henry muttered, freeing himself from Hans’ grip. It felt a little embarrassing to be pulled around like a pup.

“Hello, sweetheart,” Vika said calmly. “I’d offer to scentgreet you, but we both know there’d be no point in that.”

“Choke on it, bitch,” Hans snapped. 

Henry stared between them both. The absolutely serene scents they put off through their implants confused his senses; he could almost feel the energy between them but instinct insisted everybody was calm. 

“Slurs in such polite company. I can’t wait for the media circus to get bored with your act and quit inviting you.”

“My act? That's fucking rich coming from the queen of whores.”

“Queen of whores?” Vika reached out and snatched Hans’ arm, her grip tight. “And that'd make you the little lord of whores, huh? Sounds more accurate to me.”

“Henry, walk off,” Hans growled. 

Henry, tense and staring hard at her fingers digging into the fabric of Hans’ sleeve, looked up at Hans’ order.

“Go on,” Hans repeated without meeting his eyes, staring only at his mother. 

“If you come with me,” Henry insisted.

“Go with him, pup,” Vika said. “I can't stand looking at you.”

“Hans.”

“Fucking- alright.” Hans tried to reclaim his arm but she suddenly pulled him even closer, leaning into him to speak more privately, just barely loud enough for Henry to hear at all. He ended up wishing he hadn’t.

“I don't know who's bold enough to try and kill you,” Vika hissed against Hans’ ear, “but I hope they succeed and I hope you suffer.” She shoved him away from her. “Turn around and keep walking,” she Commanded casually.

Henry could see the conflict in Hans’ face; the urge to fight the Command just to spite her versus his desperation to escape her presence. Henry didn't want to yank him around like she had and just had to hope Hans would follow if he left. “Let’s go,” Henry said, turning to the exit.

It took a moment of hesitation, but Hans did follow his lead.

“Henry,” Vika said sweetly. He paused and she continued, “Please don't forget what we discussed.”

He certainly wouldn't be forgetting any part of that conversation, but he didn't feel inclined to tell her so. Henry kept walking, leaving her among the flowers as he opened the door to the vestibule for Hans and followed him through. 

Hans stopped in the small space to compose himself. He looked clearly frustrated, clenching his jaw so hard it seemed painful. 

Henry wasn't sure what to say and so said nothing at all. He felt somewhat shell-shocked himself after that brief exchange and it hadn't even been targeted at him. Hans’ own mother- it was almost unbelievable. Unfathomable. How could she? And then to turn around again and speak to Henry like he'd be inclined to answer?

Well. If she truly thought so poorly of her only son, it'd only make sense that she believed Henry wouldn't be able to stand him for very long either.

“I'm calling the damn car,” Hans grumbled, rubbing his temples.

“Okay.” Henry wanted to ask if he was alright, but wasn't sure if the vestibule between environments was ‘in public’ or not. Besides, it seemed pretty obvious that Hans was not alright. They could talk in the car, away from cameras and prying eyes.

Hans finally collected himself enough to move on, even if his face seemed pale. He pushed through the next door and headed towards the exit, blatantly ignoring Katherine calling for him. Henry offered her a single wave before keeping up with Hans, fully convinced that if he lingered too long behind, Hans would leave without him. 

The front of the building had cleared out some, but a few nosy media folk still hung around waiting to catch videos of people leaving. Hans ignored them, too, no longer willing to play his friendly celebrity act. 

“Will you be returning?” one security guard asked as they passed. 

Henry stopped to answer him. “I don't expect so. Thank you.”

The signature yellow car was already waiting and Hans jerked the door open. He paused, frowning, and looked behind him towards the Arboretum again. Having made some sort of decision, he shook his head and slammed the door shut without getting in, instead turning around.

“If that bitch-”

The car exploded.

It went up like a fireball with a thunderous noise, shrapnel cracking the building’s windows. Paparazzi screamed. Smoke blossomed and Henry bolted into the mess, heart racing and ears ringing, momentarily deafened. 

“Hans-”

There, underneath the remnants of the car's door, Hans struggled, pale and stunned. Henry ran to him, his feet crunching on piles of shattered glass. He pushed the twisted metal off; the heat singed his palms.

“Are you hurt?” he asked frantically, kneeling in the shards next to Hans. 

Hans tried to sit up, wincing. Blood trickled down his face and his voice was raspy. “Fuck, I need to-”

“Don't move,” Henry told him, grabbing his arm and attempting to keep him still; visions of industrial accidents flashed violently in his memory. “Stay still.”

Hans snarled at him and Henry let go. Hans pulled his phone out of his pocket with trembling hands and blanched at the cracked screen, but it still turned on at his touch. One-handed, Hans adjusted his scent and limply shoved the phone into Henry's lap. Henry tucked it into his own jacket.

Sirens started. People flooded from the building. Henry hovered over Hans, uselessly attempting to shield him from cameras. They would have been in that car. If circumstances had been different- if Hans hadn't decided for whatever pissed-off reason to turn around-

The scent wasn't helping his anxious thoughts. Hans smelled of distress, of pain, and logically Henry knew it was all fake, all just a front to keep up Hans’ never-ending act, but it was still immensely triggering. He ran his hands over Hans’ chest, hunched over him. Hans leaned against Henry's thighs, focused on taking slow, shaky breaths and Henry pet through his hair. 

When the first paramedic arrived, kneeling down to check on Hans, Henry growled at them. It was an effort to lean back and let a stranger put their hands on him. 

He felt a hand touch his shoulder and flinched, but it was only Katherine at his side.

“What happened?” she asked quietly, bending down carefully in her dress.

“I don't know,” Henry answered, upset. “The car just blew up.”

“Terrifying. I'm glad you're both okay.”

“I think that was his favorite car.”

“Henry,” Hans barked a short laugh, wincing. “I don't care about the car.”

“We can stand you up,” the paramedic decided. “Careful of the glass.”

Hans was helped up to his feet, just a little wobbly. Henry trailed after them as he was led to the mobile med unit, feeling largely useless. Somebody had worked on setting up a privacy perimeter (he suspected they'd have Katherine to thank) and the rest of the guests were being slowly evacuated. A fire team arrived at some point and smothered the final flames smoking within the wreckage.

Henry paced, reluctant to go too far even though the medics had already gotten after him for hovering once. How would somebody have gotten to the car? Did it go back to the garage, or did it wait somewhere nearby while they were at events? He'd have to find out. Hans would know.

He circled back around to find Hans sitting on the med unit's bench with a silver shock blanket wrapped loosely around his shoulders. There was a small cut over his forehead but otherwise Henry couldn't see any injuries. Being lucky twice just made him more nervous.

“Come here,” Hans called.

“What's wrong?” 

“Tell me if my implant's damaged, Henry. These idiots won't say shit; say they don't work on cyberware.” Hans shifted the blanket and twisted.

Henry leaned in to look. Under Hans’ stressed scent he was hit with a wave of calm- artificial scent from the blanket. He ran his hand slowly over Hans’ spine, thinking once more about memorizing it. “It feels fine,” he decided, somewhat unsure.

Hans seemed to relax all at once and expelled a heavy breath. Henry handed Hans his phone and was relieved to see Hans reset his own scent again.

“They're going to want to ask a hundred questions.” Hans pulled the blanket closer, breathing in the calming scent. “I'll throw a fit and get us out of there as soon as I can.” 

“In another car?”

“I'm sure the EOD unit on scene can verify safety for us.”

Henry didn't know what that meant, but he nodded. It was only then, with Hans’ distressed scent fading, that he was able to focus. “I'm glad you're alright.”

Hans chuckled distantly. “You'd really be out of a job, otherwise.”

“Hans.”

Hans looked at him. “Henry.”

“I mean it.”

“Come here,” Hans said quietly. He snagged Henry's wrist and pulled him in closer. After glancing around to see that they'd been largely left alone once Hans was deemed safe, he shifted to reach into his pocket and pull out something that he shoved into Henry's hand. “Don't let anybody see.”

It was a flower, deep red and only slightly crumpled, even after everything. Hans pressed Henry's fingers closed over the blossom, hiding it away.

--

The ride home in a new car was tense. Henry felt an incredible urge to talk, jumbled words building in his chest, but Hans sat silently across the car, head in his hands and eyes closed. Unavailable. 

Another accident Henry had no control over; could not have possibly prevented. Luck and chance had saved Hans yet again while Henry stood uselessly aside. He hadn’t even moved to defend Hans from his mother.

Henry felt guilty and shifted in his seat. 

The flower. 

Henry suspected Hans had no idea what he was doing, presenting Henry with something like that. It couldn’t have been intentional. Henry… needed it to not be intentional. Things were complicated enough already. Henry pressed his hand against his jacket over the pocket where he’d carefully tucked the flower so that nobody would see what Hans had stolen. When things settled down (if they ever settled down), he’d address it. 

What sort of sick irony was it that he found himself wishing he could ask Bianca about it?

He had to think about something else. Anything. Henry fumbled with his phone.

Henry;
-I hope you and your mate are alright after the explosion.

It took a solid five minutes for him to receive an answer; five minutes for Henry to wonder if he was pushing things or if the number had been given simply out of obligation. The eventual response didn’t help to clear his concerns.

Erik;

-i can only text between the hours of 10 and 4
-at night. dont send during the day
-we are fine

Henry typed out a reply before second-guessing himself and deleting it. He understood working hours, but no texts at all while the sun was up?

Fuck. That was just going to be another thing for Henry to think about.

--

“Upstairs, Henry.”

Henry looked from Hans towards the kitchen. “Should you eat something?”

Hans ignored him and started up the stairs, pausing at the top to lean over the railing. “Hurry up.”

Henry wasn’t stupid; he knew what Hans wanted, what would happen if he went upstairs. He followed anyway. As soon as he started towards the stairs, Hans turned and continued down the balcony into his room.

Henry found him in the closet shirtless, red jacket rumpled and on the floor. Hans turned in front of his mirrors, eyeing his back and making sure his spine was truly undamaged. Henry shook his head fondly and started undressing on his own. He’d only finished carefully folding his own jacket over the back of the desk’s chair when Hans grabbed him, pulling at his buttoned undershirt.

“Hold on, hold on,” Henry mumbled, rushing to get his shirt off before Hans started snapping buttons. “We’re home, it’s alright.”

Hans kissed him rough. “Less talking,” he growled against Henry’s lips.

(Henry actually thought there should be more talking, but felt he was liable to get bit if he said so.)

Hans’ hands were hot against his skin, his chest, sliding up around his neck. The collar felt tight and tighter still when Hans put his teeth against it. He bit down hard, titanium to leather, and Henry could feel the vibration of a low, lingering growl against his neck. It made his hair stand on end, a boiling heat in his lungs.

Henry pushed him towards the bed, stumbling to get closer. Hans sat down heavy on the mattress but when Henry went to follow, Hans stopped him with a firm hand on his chest.

“Knees,” Hans said, and Henry vividly remembered the kiss in the garden of flowers. He dropped to his knees and started wrestling with Hans’ belt until Hans, frustrated, pushed Henry’s hands away and undid his pants on his own. He pulled himself out and stroked himself twice before leaning back and staring impatiently at Henry with a weighted look.

The bed was tall; Henry had to kneel uncomfortably to reach and didn’t give a fuck about the way his knees started to burn almost immediately. He grabbed Hans’ cock and took him into his mouth, tilting his head up to meet Hans’ sharp blue gaze. 

Hans blinked at him slowly, lips curling dangerously. 

Henry took him deeper, adjusting his grip. He was too aware of his own teeth and pressed his tongue over his bottom canines, brain gone static trying to remember exactly how Hans had swallowed him before. A lot of hand had been involved, he thought; Henry stroked him slow against his drooling lips, palm growing slick with spit.

Hans was unafraid of fangs. He ran his hand through Henry’s hair for one almost gentle moment and then pressed him down further. Henry briefly choked, still learning how to breathe with his mouth full, but Hans did not let up. He simply paused for a moment to give Henry the smallest break before he leaned over him, both hands deep in Henry’s hair, and forced Henry to take him deeper, swallow until he gagged.

Henry tried not to struggle against him, tried to widen his aching jaw and survive Hans’ cock thick against his throat. Never did he truly think Hans could realistically fuck the collar off him, but it was tight enough already to make him lightheaded- that or the way he could barely breathe.

“Good,” Hans murmured, finally allowing Henry to come up for air but only barely. “You learn fast. You trust me?”

An extremely daunting question from somebody like him, in a position like that. Henry focused on catching his breath.

“Nod, pet.”

Henry flushed and suddenly couldn’t meet his eyes. He almost wished Hans had forgotten the word entirely, but part of him was clearly eager to hear it more often. Spit pooled against his tongue. Henry finally nodded, swirling his wet tongue against Hans’ cock and swallowing.

“Fuck.” Hans pulled Henry’s hands to rest against his thighs, out of his way. He cupped Henry’s chin, tracing his thumb over Henry’s lips and across his canines for one sweet moment before he shifted and went back to forcing himself down Henry’s throat. 

Henry wasn’t exactly prepared; Hans didn’t care. He thrust into Henry’s mouth until he gagged again and Henry instinctively fought against him, heart racing, nothing between his fangs and Hans’ swelling knot but whatever trust he’d sworn away.

“Relax, pet,” Hans told him softly. His voice was gentle but his firm grasp was absolutely not. 

Henry’s hands scrabbled against Hans’ legs, clinging to the tight fabric of his pants. It was almost grounding, something to focus on instead of fixating on the long moments when he couldn’t breathe. He adjusted his sweaty grip and pulled himself closer, sliding his palms over Hans’ hips, his bare skin, grabbing at him desperately.

Hans gasped, a whimper slipping from his throat, and they both froze.

Henry looked up through wet eyes and remembered the giant bruise over Hans’ lower ribs from where he’d shoved his knee the other violent morning. He slid his grip downward, mentally apologizing. 

Hans grabbed Henry’s hand and put it right back over the injury. “Do it again,” he ordered breathlessly.

Henry stared at him, confused.

Hans forced Henry’s fingers into the bruise again and groaned lowly. “Like this.”

Henry… nodded. Slowly. In that moment he thought he might do anything Hans asked of him. It was the kind of thought he could only survive thinking while he was already in the middle of doing just that, senses obliterated beyond the man in his arms, in his mouth. He could not protect Hans outside of that room, but he could do this much. Henry pet softly over Hans’ trembling side before pressing against the meat of his ribs.

Hans curled around him, fingers painfully twisting in his hair. Henry let himself be used, face wet, listening to Hans groan, whine, wreck himself inside Henry’s throat. Could your throat bruise? Henry thought his might. Hans was so fucking hard, thick, impossible to breathe around. Henry felt his vision blur and dug his knuckles into Hans’ bruise, forcing him to draw back just long enough for Henry to suck in air before shoving deep inside again. His knot was almost a saving grace, warm against Henry’s fangs, and a memory of the words ‘break your jaw on it’ had Henry reminding himself that he did trust Hans. 

“You’ll swallow, pet,” Hans told him in a ragged gasp, and that was all the warning Henry had before Hans came. Hot, thick, straight down his throat until he gagged, cheeks wet with tears. Henry tried to pull away but was forced to finish swallowing before finally Hans let him go.

Henry laid his wet face against Hans’ thigh while he caught his breath. Hans smoothed out his hair with unsteady hands before reaching to undo the collar’s magnetic latch. Henry’s scent filled the space and the rush of air against his oil-slicked neck felt incredible. Henry shut his eyes and thought he could stay like that for hours despite the way his knees ached, if only Hans would let him.

And too quickly, Hans did pull away. He moved Henry’s arms off of his body and moved backwards on the bed to lay back against his pillows. Henry considered clinging to him like a desperate fool but wasn’t fast enough to make a decision. Left alone at the end of the bed, he pushed himself up on wobbly legs and wiped his face against his arm. His pants were uncomfortably wet though he hadn’t cum.

“Henry,” Hans called softly, one arm thrown over his face, “you can go downstairs.”

“What’s downstairs?”

Hans' chest rose and fell with a deep breath. “Your bed?”

Henry stared at him. It wasn’t like he cared that much, but he hadn’t even finished, and also he’d- they were- what? “Leave?”

“Yes. Go.”

Henry felt cold, almost embarrassed standing there alone at the foot of the bed. In that moment he could imagine nothing worse than slinking downstairs by himself with Hans’ taste still thick in his mouth. That- no. Fuck that. He kicked his pants off because they were uncomfortable and then stalked around to the side of the bed, climbing onto the mattress.

Hans uncovered his face and looked at him, frowning. “If you want to cum, then-”

“I don’t care about getting off,” Henry cut him off (lying mostly). He tried to slip next to Hans but Hans sat up, moving away. Henry grabbed his arm and Hans bared teeth at him, jerking himself free. Henry stared at him, genuinely hurt. “What’s wrong with you?”

Hans flinched. He looked away. “I don’t want to fucking cuddle.”

“Too damn bad,” Henry snapped.

It seemed to shock Hans; he turned back to stare at Henry. “What’d you say?”

Henry grabbed him again, throwing himself against Hans’ chest to try and pin him to the bed. It was an effort- Hans fought back valiantly, but Henry meant it. 

“Get off, brute,” Hans complained.

Henry readjusted to wrap his arms around him tighter. He pressed his head to Hans’ chest and listened to his angry pulse. “No,” he answered. “You don’t get to do that to me.” You don’t get to give me a damn Courting gift and then push me out of bed, Henry thought, frustrated.

Hans turned his head away, clearly irritated, but he quit fighting to get free and sighed so heavily that Henry felt it move him. “I’m not scenting,” he grumbled after a minute.

Henry shifted to get more comfortable and nuzzled against him. “Just shut up, Hans."

Chapter Text

“...Henry?”

There is fire at the edges of his vision. It burns from within. He looks down to see a blood colored bloom cupped between his hands. 

He offers it to her. “Will you take this?”

“Not this week,” Bianca tells him, looking at him strangely. “Not next week. And not the week after that.”

It was unlike her to decline a Gift, even at her angriest. He looks into his hands again. The flower has burnt to ash in his fingers.

“Henry. Are you…?”

His world explodes and he sits underground. Thick feet of concrete bury him there and yet still he hears the screaming. No amount of cowering mutes the noise.

Screams and the laughter of birds. They hop around him on clawed feet, their eyes too big and too bright. The colors are overwhelming. He cannot close his eyes. They’ve already seen him; witnesses in the garden. If they peck at his feet until he bleeds, he still will not move.

The second explosion rattles the walls of his bunker. Cracks run through the impenetrable concrete and from those cracks grow vines of leafy thorned green.

“Shhh, pet. Shhh.”

He is going to be crushed. The walls shake and shudder and he folds his arms over his head. He will die alone in the dark; penance for leaving them behind. They are screaming above him. He-

Henry woke suddenly, heart racing. Darkness still surrounded him and panic flooded his lungs. His throat felt raw, his face wet. That predictable, sickening nightmare scent of his felt thick, suffocating. He reached out with one trembling hand, and Hans took it.

“Are you awake now?” Hans asked, almost wary.

Henry clung to Hans’ arm, tucking it close to his chest. “Am I?”

“Well, you're not shouting anymore.”

“Sorry,” Henry rasped, swallowing harshly. He pulled Hans’ wrist to his face, desperately seeking comfort. Omega. “Scenting me?”

Hans shifted closer and Henry could smell it more strongly, safety, home, that same comforting scent that had been pushed on him outside the club. “You were thrashing all over the damn bed.”

The nightmares still clung to him like so much tar. He let go of Hans’ arm and sought him out whole instead, like a terrified pup in the middle of the night. Henry pressed himself right up into that scent and maybe it was fake, but the warmth of Hans’ skin and his rhythmic pulse were entirely too genuine.

Hans grunted, uncomfortable. He threw one hand limp over Henry’s back and tugged the blanket loosely over their hips. “You smell rancid,” he muttered, turning his face away.

“I told you,” Henry whispered, exhausted and afraid, “I told you I have nightmares.”

None before were quite like these; none before had left him reduced so close to nothing. Later, he might think about one explosion compared to another, and he might wonder how much one man could survive before their brain gave up protecting them- but in that darkness he could only picture fragmented memories of terror and loss and loneliness. 

“Sounded like more than just a nightmare.” Hans sighed, shifted to unpin his other arm from underneath Henry. “Are you going to go back to sleep?”

Henry adjusted himself as well now that the scent had started working, luring his tense muscles into relaxing. He spread one palm over Hans’ chest, gently tracing the edges of the disappearing marks on his collarbone. “I don't know.” If he fell asleep again, he'd end up trapped in the nuclear bunker. If he fell asleep, Hans would retreat back to his own side of the bed. But if Henry fell asleep, he might see Bianca again.

“Fuck, are you crying?”

Was he? “I miss them,” Henry whispered.

He felt Hans swallow, cheek against his throat. “Well,” Hans began, but he came up with nothing and let it fall away into silence. There was simply nothing else to be said.

Henry grit his teeth. Thick pressure filled his chest near to bursting and he fought to keep it inside. He wasn't ready for this to break him yet. Not yet. Not in front of somebody else, not in Hans’ bed; Hans who had just endured yet another near-death experience and who shouldn't be forced to deal with Henry's emotions too. 

Hans touched his shoulder carefully- a silent invitation.

He had already crossed a line. This would be another night that wouldn't be spoken about in the daylight. Whatever he said might be safe, spilled into the City's hidden starlight and forgotten. 

He missed his parents and he would give anything to squeeze himself like a toddling pup into the familiar corner sheets of his mother's nest where she used to put him to sleep. It hurt to think of them. It was painful, an unbearable ache he carried unwillingly. 

Bianca, though- 

A man grew more distant from his parents as he aged and that was normal. They watched you grow and you watched them die; a man buried his own parents. Henry was forced to confront all the “never agains” too soon, too violently, and he might never recover from that, but he'd long ago stopped spending most nights at home.

‘We're on the lists for a house now.’

 His future was shaped by her. 

Or it should have been. 

“I miss her,” Henry confessed, as if that was some secret that couldn't be guessed. It felt different to speak it aloud; she might hear him admit she was dead.

He knew that Hans' quiet was time spent questioning whether he wanted to participate in the moment at all. Henry would allow him to pretend to be asleep. It would be a trade in return for false scenting.

But Hans did speak eventually, tentatively guessing, “Bianca?”

Henry frowned.

Hans answered his unvoiced question. “That's the name you were calling. In your nightmare.”

“Bianca. My girl.” His girl since they were young, stupid teenagers with the whole world in front of them- or so it had felt, even trapped in the dead-end Yards. Almost a decade spent at her side and every second gone in one flash of fire. He hoped it had been fast. He hoped it had been fast for all of them.

He should have been there. He should have followed when she had snapped at him. He should have stayed with his father, injured by fallen machinery. 

The bunker had only been a grave of a different kind, a delayed death.

Henry wept.

It was loud and painful and messy and he would overthink it later, but there wasn't any stopping it once he finally allowed it to happen. He clung to Hans, gasping desperately into his shoulder and pressing close, pulling Hans against him, chest to chest. Hans slipped an arm around him and let it simply happen, palm warm against his spine. 

Hans would surely look at him differently in the morning, after all this.

Perhaps it'd be similar to how Henry saw Hans now, the ghost of a haunted childhood looming over his shoulder at every step.

Eventually there were no more tears. Henry felt utterly raw, exhausted beyond measure, and so damn alone. The artificial Omega scent wasn't helping anymore; it wasn't real and it wasn't reachable. He pulled away from it and looked at Hans’ shadowed face in the dark.

“Give me a real scent,” Henry begged, voice hoarse. “Please.”

Hans stretched his arm backwards across the bed to grab his phone. He unlocked its cracked screen and opened the correct app before nudging Henry's hand with it. “Just pick one.”

Henry took it, blinking blurred tears from his vision. There was a lengthy list. He scrolled through it, skipping most of the options and trying not to get lost within the elaborate sorting methods.

• ...
• OmegaNestSweet
• OmegaNestFloral
• OmegaLustSweet
• OmegaLustFloral
• OmegaHomeFloral
• OmegaFearSweet
• OmegaFearFloral
• OmegaAngerFloral
• BetaNeutral
• BetaLust
• ...

“Don't get creative,” Hans mumbled, eyes softly closed. “Hurry up.”

“It’s too many options.”

Hans leaned closer to see the screen. “Scroll down further. Mine are custom.”

• *CaponFear
• *CaponEnjoymentSexual
• *CaponEnjoymentGeneric
• *CaponDistressSexual
• *CaponDistressGeneric
• *CaponContentment
• ...

Henry finally settled on one and tried to select it, but the app gave him an identity error. He slipped it back into Hans’ palm and pointed. 

*CaponGuardian

Hans hummed and tapped it, setting the time for four hours before shoving the phone back underneath his pillow. Henry pressed his face once more against Hans’ neck, still wet with Henry's tears. The shift from one scent to another was almost immediate, from Omega to Alpha with the click of a button. 

He closed his eyes and let it smear across his skin. Shelter. Refuge. Just like Henry had done the night of that fatal party, waiting in the kitchen; if ‘Guardian’ was the official name for that type of scent, Henry hadn't known it then. He had only known that he would do anything to keep them all safe, to keep Hans safe. He still would, even if he continued to prove himself utterly useless at it. 

For tonight, though, he would sink himself into this scent and pretend the reverse might be true; that he could whimper in Hans’ arms and be protected.

“Do you want something to help you sleep?” Hans whispered.

Henry remembered that drink at the bar and also considered what it might be like to be stuck in a dream unwaking. He shivered. “No.”

“Suit yourself.” 

--

At some point Hans woke, or gave up pretending to sleep. Henry felt him shift and pull away and let him go without complaining; he'd already asked too much of him. Hans slipped from the bed entirely and retreated to the bathroom. Light shadowed the room from the edges of the doorway.

Henry got out of bed to grab his own cell phone from his jacket, still folded over the chair. His fingers brushed the velvet petals and he lingered there for a moment before the open emptiness of the room unnerved him and he retreated back to the warmth of bed and the safety of Hans’ scent. He felt vaguely numb, hollowed out.

2:00am. 

He glanced towards the bathroom door and then sent a text to the one person he thought might answer in the middle of the night. 

H: are you not allowed to text me

E: it is easier to do it this way

H: did I wake you

E: i often do not sleep while istvan does

E: you would understand if you were Bonded 

If he were Bonded, Henry thought wearily, the sort of despair he'd be feeling would by far eclipse that which had already overwhelmed him. It had never been an option they'd discussed beyond casual teasing, she and him, and Henry could only feel grateful in a way that turned his stomach over.

H: have you been Bonded long

E: yes

H: i always assumed City couples didn't do that

E: they dont. too cowardly. it requires true commitment 

H: no regrets?

Henry worried he might have offended his new friend after a full minute went by with no answer, but finally a new message appeared.

E: he should have let me do it sooner

Hans returned, plunging the room into near-darkness once more as he turned the bathroom light off behind him. Henry lit his space with his phone, almost afraid to be without light again, unsettled. The bed shifted when Hans got back into it and Henry migrated towards his body heat naturally, tucking himself against Hans’ side. Hans hadn't yet turned his scent off and his skin still felt a refuge.

Hans yawned and dragged the blankets over them. “Are you texting? Who do you even have to text?”

“Erik.”

“Dogs barking at dogs,” Hans muttered.

Henry shoved his phone away, letting the screen go dim. “He seems alright.”

Hans pulled him closer, turning towards him. “Hal,” he said, cupping Henry's cheek fondly, “you're a bad judge of character.” 

And then Hans kissed him, warm and slow, and Henry thought about the flower again, and about Bianca, and the heat of Hans’ tongue on his- he considered all these things and felt himself tremble.

--

“Well, Henry,” Hans announced, shoving the kitchen door open, “we are officially on lockdown today, so I hope you have plans to be entertaining. It was supposed to be my morning at the range.”

Henry looked up from his oatmeal. He felt like he'd spent all night running, his whole body exhausted, sapped of all energy. Fear clung to his shadow like a constant threat, an unsettling reminder that he might give in to panic at any point. It would be a long day and he was almost glad to hear they'd be stuck inside. “What does lockdown mean for us?”

Hans ordered his usual mandated breakfast drink and pulled himself up onto the counter. “We can't leave and nobody comes in without going through a checkpoint. A team is going through every vehicle in the garage.”

“Oh.” Henry hesitated. “All of them?”

“Your illegally tampered-with motorbike is safe,” Hans said with an exaggerated eyeroll. He pulled one leg up with him onto the island and leaned against it. “Highly suspicious activity, by the way. Bernard had to personally vouch for you; said if you wanted me dead, you'd have had ample opportunity by now.”

True, and also another visceral reminder that the security team was actively watching everything they did. It might be difficult to look Bernard in the eyes next time they met in person. Henry let his spoon sink into his oats and leaned back in his chair. Eating was just another tiring activity sometimes, even when he was starving.

He had worried it might be difficult to speak to Hans now that it was morning. There was certainly something in the way Hans’ gaze lingered over him, but it was hard to pinpoint exactly what. They'd managed to fall asleep again and Henry had woken alone, unsurprised; he'd retreated back to his assigned room to shower the night from his skin and dress and skim through unpleasant emails.

(Was it better that reports about the car seemed to overshadow the gossip discussing the appearance of mother and son in the same building?)

“I'll have to take interviews in my office,” Hans informed him. “They’ve also requested access to you, by the way.”

Henry gestured towards himself, surprised. “Me?”

“The man who heroically dragged me from a burning pile of scrap metal and growled at anybody who came near… or so they're reporting anyway.” Hans smirked.

“I don't want to speak to press.”

“No, obviously not. Guard dogs don't speak.” Hans balanced his half-gone drink against his knee and looked at him with raised eyebrows. “I should have made that more clear yesterday, apparently.”

Did he mean his mother or Erik? Henry wasn't going to ever admit he was wrong to speak to Erik. He would, however, gladly regret the interaction with Mrs. Vika Capon. “She caught me by surprise.”

“Probably plotting to do exactly that from the moment we walked in. Motherfucking pompous bitch.”

“Was she always like that?”

Hans eyed him; it was an expression that warned Henry he was too close to a conversation that was meant to be had at night and promptly forgotten as soon as the sun rose. “No. I was an inconvenience for her.” He looked away, finger tapping the side of his drink. “Dad would tease about having had to beg for me. But she wasn't cruel, before.”

Motherfucking pompous bitch, Henry thought dryly. She'd been so sweet to him but had felt no fear about immediately turning on Hans while he stood there. Henry had initially toyed with her as a suspect, but ironically it was her own death threat that was convincing him otherwise- if she wanted to kill her son herself, it'd be done in a much more personal way than a sniper or a bomb trap.

What she’d done to ensure Hans was so convinced he was responsible for his father was much more painful than a bullet would be.

What would Hans do if Henry just up and told him otherwise, in the middle of the kitchen- it wasn't your fault? Get up and leave, most likely. Shout at him on the way out.

Well, the other conversation Henry needed to have with him would likely have the same result. Henry was braced for it, but knew that he couldn't put it off. 

“Hans,” Henry began. He paused. There would be one chance at expressing himself properly and he needed to get it right this time; he'd already fucked up his first chance at the Arboretum to handle it correctly. He had practiced in the shower earlier and repeated the lines again. “I appreciate what you were doing by giving me the flower, but I shouldn't- I mean, I can't take that.”

“The explosion will distract them plenty, Henry,” Hans said, waving a hand at him carelessly. “And if anybody did see it on the cameras, I'll just pay whatever fine they impose.”

Henry let out a slow breath. Okay. Take two. “Don't present me with Courting gifts, Hans. I don't think I'm in a place where I'm prepared for that.”

Hans turned to stare at him. 

“I can return the flower,” Henry added, “if you'd like it back.”

“Courting- what are you on about?”

Henry had worried that Hans hadn't realised. He debated feigning innocence and backtracking, but it was out there in the open and Hans was staring at him very intently, almost daring him to keep going. “You saw it, thought of me, gifted it to me,” Henry said quietly. “You're an Alpha; it's textbook.”

“Textbook,” Hans echoed. “As if you're ever held a textbook.” He hopped from the counter, cheeks flushing red and teeth loosely bared. “I've never Courted in my entire damn life and you- if you think I'd-” He circled the length of the kitchen, staring at Henry with narrowed eyes as he spoke with venom in his voice. “For you? Of all people? You're- that's awful fuckin’ pretentious of you, garage boy.” He paused at the doorway, looked Henry up and down. “Imagine,” Hans spat. He slammed the door shut behind him.

Henry stared at his oatmeal. He had genuinely expected a similar response, but one based more on Henry turning him down and less of a personal attack. Had he really been wrong? What other explanation could there be? 

It wasn't as if Hans was incorrect, either- who was Henry to presume that somebody like Hans would stoop low enough to Court him?

Except, well. Henry knew what Hans truly thought of himself behind all the ego. 

It didn't matter either way. Hans’ anger would pass soon enough and he would appear again as if they'd never had the conversation at all, bored and expecting Henry to do something about it.  

Henry tossed his bowl in the sink and left the kitchen. He was just in time to see his pants from the evening tossed over the balcony; they landed over the back of an armchair.

Hans glared down at him from upstairs, Henry's suit jacket crumpled in his hand. “You kept her fucking card?” he asked, angrily holding it up.

“It’s… it was metal,” Henry explained weakly. “I was going to recycle it.” He was forced to dodge when it came flying at his face. “Hans.”

“What?”

“Maybe I overstepped,” he said. “Maybe it wasn't a Courting gift and we can pretend I never mentioned it.”

“It wasn't,” Hans snapped. He shoved his hand into the jacket again and pulled out the flower. Henry watched him squeeze it tightly in his fist and winced. “It wasn't,” Hans repeated, slowly unfurling his fingers. He looked down at the wilting red rose and let the jacket fall limp to the floor.

So much distance between them. Henry could only look up helplessly, waiting for tattered petals to come raining over his head.

Hans pulled away from the balcony and stormed back into his room. The door slammed; he had taken the flower with him. 

--

Henry spent the afternoon watching educational documentaries after discovering how to access them on the big screen. There were thousands of hours on any subject he had never and would never need to care about, with details so explicit that he often understood less than half the terms spelled out on the screen. Still, it was captivating and more than enough to pass countless hours with. He hadn’t been left with so much free time in many years and there was something daunting about it, assassination plot notwithstanding. 

Hans was forced into press work within his office for hours and wandered downstairs only once they were thick into the afternoon. He paused to watch an elegant shark swim across the room before climbing behind the bar and pouring himself something dark. “I'm sure you could find something more thrilling than this,” he commented, settling into a stool at the bar.

“Do we still have oceans?”

“Three, technically.”

“Are they close by?” 

“No.”

Henry twisted in his chair to look at him. “Are you still angry with me?”

Hans met his eyes over the rim of his glass. “You're frustrating.”

Fair. Henry shrugged. “So are you.”

“I'm exhausted, Henry. Do you know whose fault that is?”

Henry turned back towards the ocean scene. They were both tired today. “I'm sorry for that.”

“For trapping me in bed with you or for weeping all over my shoulder?”

Henry turned once again to look at him. Hans flashed a toothy grin and lifted his drink; Henry shook his head. “Pick one.”

Hans refilled his glass before getting up and moving to stand behind Henry's chair. He leaned over it, drink held up out of the way, and reached  to slip his free hand far enough down to finger the edges of Henry's developing scar. Henry had left the bandage off after his shower that morning and Hans traced the puckered skin. 

“Or maybe you should apologize for crying your girlfriend's name in my bed,” Hans added.

“Hans,” Henry warned. That was too close to too many things that he was using ocean videos to stop thinking about. “Include that in the breakdown apology.”

Hans stood back up, but not before pressing his drink into Henry's hand and refusing to move until Henry took it. He stared down at Henry quietly and for one insane moment Henry thought Hans might casually kiss him- instead he finally said, “I've invited some people over tonight.”

“You- what about the lockdown?”

“They'll just have to be screened or whatever.” Hans shrugged. “Drink that. You look like you need it.”

“How many? A lot?”

“Three or four.”

“Have I met them?”

“I don't keep a list of the people you've met, Henry.”

“But after yesterday, you-”

“After yesterday,” Hans interrupted sharply, “I want to get laid. Sex. Drugs. Hopefully more sex than drugs.” Henry frowned, so Hans kept going. “I want a hole that wets itself and I want somebody tied to the bed and I wanna be fucked so good I don't have to think about anything else.” He leaned down once more against the chair to really meet Henry's uncomfortable expression. “Possibly all at once. And ideally without anybody staying long enough to start accusing me of Courting.”

Henry's mouth felt dry. He lifted the drink to his mouth and clanked glass against his teeth; smooth whiskey. “Have fun,” he answered weakly. He did not think Hans would appreciate him pointing out that rules usually suggested that bringing up the Courting after the gift was returned was bad form. (And anyway, half of his brain was still stuck on holes that wet themselves and Hans tied to the bed.)

“I want to put my teeth on warm flesh,” Hans continued, and Henry realised he needed to get his expression under control because Hans was reading him like an open book and enjoying the way he squirmed. “Use my tongue to make someone cry. Have you ever been slick-drunk, garage boy?” Hans’ damned hand was back inside Henry's shirt and Henry could only stare up at him. “You don't have half the imagination for the things I could do to you, pet.”

“Don't-” Henry swallowed and grabbed Hans’ wrist. He regretted ever agreeing to that stupid word. “Just go.”

Hans yanked his arm free. He scowled. “Watch your shitty ocean movies down here by yourself, then,” he snapped before heading back upstairs.

Henry sunk back into his chair, sipping whiskey. He turned the documentaries back on, further desperate for distraction. It wasn’t until he'd watched a shark swim for fifteen minutes, liquor warm in his belly, that he started to replay the conversation in his head and wonder if somewhere in there had been an attempt at an invitation.

--

Radzig called him sometime before sunset, long after the sharks had finished and while he was considering dinner, dozing off to a new show about snow on mute. 

“Henry. I meant to call earlier but time gets away from you at the office. I understand you and Hans are unharmed?”

“A few bruises, maybe a scratch or two,” Henry answered, stretching. “More surprised than anything else.”

“Terrible thing. We-”

Radzig kept talking but Henry's attention was arrested by Hans hopping down the stairs. The door shuttered open and he met three barely-dressed people in the entryway.

“Don't mind the guard-dog,” Hans told them, ushering them past Henry and back upstairs. “He's mostly just for show.”

Henry did not like that.

-unfortunate to run into Hedvika,” Radzig was saying. “Thankfully it was on camera that she approached you first. Her lawyer sent a notice about contract breach within the hour.”

“What- sorry,” Henry started over. “What contract breach?”

“Ah, Hanush arranged limited contact for the two of them some years ago. Mostly legalese you don't need to fuss about; Hans and Heidi tend to avoid each other on their own.”

Henry watched the empty balcony; music filled the entire penthouse and made it a little difficult to hear. He turned off his video and the screen naturally went back to the cityscape view. “I can see why.”

“Henry, if we add a second security detail to Hans’ team, please be assured it would be no slight against your performance.”

“What? Like somebody else to… what, live here? All the time?”

Radzig sighed. “Perhaps. Possibly rotating; unlikely to be a 24/7 addition.”

Henry did not like that at all either but couldn't seem to articulate why. Maybe he was already irritated by their current guests. It wasn't his place to complain, however. “Whatever is necessary,” he vaguely agreed.

“We may also be sending information regarding safehouses, if the need arises. Through untraceable means, of course.”

Safehouses. He was in over his head. “Are Hans’ cars tracked?”

“His cars, his phone, yes. Used to be his implants as well, but Hanush argued that it was inappropriate and won that little bit of freedom for him; that was deactivated as part of the court cases involved in transfer of guardianship.”

“Interesting,” Henry remarked, distracted. He got out of his chair and circled the living room.

“Reports from the team will- well, Henry, I don't mean to overburden you. Please leave the details to the rest of us. Your concern is strictly with Hans’ immediate safety.”

“I will,” Henry promised, pausing to look inside the dark kitchen. “Thank you.”

“As always, contact me if you need anything.” Radzig finally hung up.

Henry tucked his phone away and stared at the doorway, eyeing the blinking red light that signified it was properly locked. What was he doing? Just pacing? He wandered back through the assorted living room seating. Pacing.

He stopped at the bottom of the stairs and had a thought that made him immediately reach for his phone and drag open the calendar app. His last Rut had been early June- spent alone, as usual, in the guarded sheds. Bianca had made him barter for her bedding, item of trade being, also as usual, promises of future time dedicated solely to her.

So. Early June. He started counting days. It had been 56 days since day one, which meant he should have almost that many more to go- almost two months, just like he'd told Theresa. The warning dates were already pre-marked in his app.

It was possible to be a little thrown off, but not… not two months. Right? 

Henry put his phone away and started counting symptoms on his fingers. 

Pacing and door-checking. Likely just a side-effect of his wrung-out nervous system after yesterday and last night.

Exhaustion. Also caused by late-nights and stress.

Increased hunger. Was this even true beyond the last few days? Was the food just better?

The… uh. Theresa incident. He wasn't sure what to make of that one. It was still embarrassing to think about, actually. Henry ultimately decided he could not reliably settle it one way or another.

Increased aggression. Probably not, or at least, he didn't imagine any outbursts were unwarranted, if you considered he was responsible for keeping the most irritating man on earth alive. 

Scent change. He had no fucking idea. This was usually the most obvious symptom and he was used to Bianca being the first to tell him when to go sign up at the sheds. Henry's current scent felt different to him every time he noticed it; he'd have no idea if it shifted subtly into pre-Rut at all.

And finally, the fangs. This was the only one Henry could discount for sure, but it was also the last trigger to hit right before true Rut started.

And while he'd been musing over all this, he'd started pacing the bottom floor of the penthouse again.

Were there tests for this? If people with money could buy drugs to adjust their Rut dates, then they could also test… what, scent? blood levels? Test something to determine where they were at in their cycles? He would ask Hans, tomorrow.

Early tomorrow, he decided, halfway up the stairs. 

He wasn't going to interrupt them. Henry did not even want to know what they were doing. The music was loud enough that he could check the upstairs rooms without being heard and settle the anxious thoughts in his brain. He stared into the gym, decided it was fine. 

The office door was already open and the lights were on. Henry stepped inside to turn them off, but a green light still flickered; Hans had left one of the drones powered on and it sat sadly at his desk. He went to turn it off, surrounded by expensive screens, and was struck by the anachronistic presence of a book with real paper pages.

Modern Pheremone Foundations vol.3

Henry opened it just to feel the pages. They were impossibly thin and almost see-through, incredibly fragile. He flipped towards the center and ran his fingertips over black-printed diagrams and tiny text. The green drone light was just bright enough to read by, even if Henry understood maybe one word in five. 

There were handwritten words in every margin, every inch of spare space. Henry leaned in to try and decipher the notes and realized almost immediately that he should absolutely not be touching the text at all.

Most of it appeared to be comments on the work itself.

Author suggests thigh gland degradation becomes severe in A&B pups by age five. First pupscent changes often noted at this point.

Some of it was only tangentially related to the subject and read more like stream of consciousness note making.

R&D reporting no success with trials G34.2. Donor pheromone does not maintain. Unlikely to pursue whole gland transfer trials without further supporting evidence. 

The rest of the writing was almost a diary in the notes of the textbook and made it obvious that every precise letter was hand-written by Hans’ father, including ongoing footnotes.

Heidi told me this afternoon she “would put a pup in me that works right”. Verify Rut dates¹. 

Unsure if Hans heard; already angry² after I failed to realize he was waiting to speak to me in office. 

Becomes hard to recognize either of them some days. Final pupscent near nonexistent in nest.

¹ apologized same evening. Insists my scent is off. Verify Heat dates & suppression supply.

² refused to sleep until heavily scented by both of us. becoming more common³

³research nesting behavior in adolescent alphas

Henry felt somewhat sickened by what he'd read but also a little bit comforted by the fact that even a scientist like Mr. Capon sometimes questioned cycle dates. Against his own better judgement, Henry carefully turned the page.

latest MRI shows increased scarring at T3-4 junction. Discuss with surgery team & attempt negotiations to get my hands on his skin. 

Henry closed the book gently and let it be. Too personal by far. If Hans thought he'd even touched that, there would be blood. Henry clicked off the drone and left the office.

Had it been enough to stop his anxious pacing? Henry paused at the balcony and looked over the living room before turning to stare at Hans’ bedroom door at the end of the hall. What he wanted to do was sit against that door, and that felt like a pre-Rut thought. An uncomfortable one, at that.

There might be bitter irony in the idea that his instinct was to literally guard the door of the man he'd declined Courting advances from that morning. Instinct, however, was entirely too notorious for being inconvenient and nonsensical. Henry forced himself to sit where he was, back against the railing. It felt like a compromise.

It also felt like he was in for a very long night. 

Chapter Text

He couldn't tell if he was starting to hate Hans’ music or enjoy the way it gave him something else to focus on. He knew that he wished it was louder either way; during song breaks he could hear them. His problem would be entirely solved by going back downstairs and minding his own damn business, but when he considered getting up, his body fought him. Stonewalled him.

Maybe there wouldn't be any harm in sitting for a little while longer. At some point they'd all be sent home and then Henry could… he could what? Hopefully he would be content to go back to his own room.

Henry checked the time on the phone and realised it was late enough that he could occupy himself with something else.

H: did you Court your mate

E: yes. tried to anyway. he made it difficult

H: difficult how

E: Courted me instead. very insistent.

H: how did you Bond another Alpha

E: he's not.
E: very frustrating. to be Courted by Omega
E: an exercise in restraint

Courting was an instinct as old as nesting and was long theorized to have similar purpose; to prove that you could provide for your mate and your pups. An Alpha wouldn't nest- an Omega wouldn't Court. Not without making the active decision to do so, anyway, and it would be considered very strange, even among modern standards that had warped Courting into an expensive game and nesting into something you might show off on social media.

Henry tried to picture what it'd be like to be given a Gift by an Omega. Unsatisfying at best. Dehumanizing at worst. Perhaps he just had old-fashioned tendencies from the Yards.

E: are you Courting

H: no

E: just being nosy ?

H: distracting myself sorry

E: istvan says you were in the South fires

H: yes

E: only the most strong-willed people escape Yards life

No. That hadn't been him. He'd survived on sheer cowardice alone- a survival mechanism present within all of nature, according to the documentaries he'd been watching, but not one anyone could be proud of. Henry sighed and adjusted his position before his knees fell asleep.

H: i often wish i had stayed

E: dont say things like that
E: istvan says weakness begets weakness

H: istvan seems to say a lot

E: yes. frequently too much.
E: ill-advised to comment such though

A visceral noise clashed with the speakers and set Henry's teeth on edge. He stared at the damned closed door, tense.

“Turn the- turn the fucking music up,” he heard Hans gasp, and shortly after that he could hear only the thick bass of the playlist. Henry clutched his phone tightly.

H: capon doesn't like me texting you

E: well. experience says he does not like many things besides wine and whoring
E: what capon does not know will not hurt him

H: just like istvan?

E: istvan may see what i see at any given moment
E: if he chooses not to
E: it is not my fault

H: i didnt know the Bond worked so intensely

E: obviously not. i mean the eye implant
E: the idea however did make me laugh

Henry closed his eyes and leaned his head uncomfortably against the railing. Last night felt as if it hadn't counted as sleep at all, and if he was really pre-Rut, then sleep-deprivation would just hit him harder. He was meant to be resting and eating properly, not torturing himself preemptively. It would take days to recover afterwards and he didn't have time for any of it.

Maybe it was a good thing they were planning a second security detail.

He wondered how Hans would tolerate another stranger thrust into his life so intrusively. Not well, probably- or maybe they'd be easier to get along with than Henry was. They certainly wouldn't be taking advantage of Hans’ scents in the middle of the night. (Or so Henry selfishly hoped).

At some point, Henry allowed himself to fall into an uncomfortable half-sleep, still sitting against the rail. He woke when the music grew muted, blinking at the light that spilled from the opening door. Two people paused in the doorway to stare at him, a man and a woman he did not know. They eventually crept past him, whispering to each other, and he politely moved his feet so they could get through the hall.

“You fuckers left the door open,” cursed an almost familiar feminine voice.

They'd left the door open and the lights on and Henry stared at what little bit of the desk he could see, fidgeting. He felt like he either needed to go do another lap of the first floor or go make sure Hans was alive, and the latter felt a lot more compelling. But he knew somebody else was in there with him; he could hear her talking softly even if he couldn't make out words. Henry could continue being patient and then he'd simply go tell his anxious hindbrain that Hans was alive and get back to his own bed.

She finally left the room in bare feet, a glossy pair of heels lose in her hand. She paused next to him and knelt down to meet his gaze, and Henry suddenly realised that he did know her- this was the Omega that Hans had been with at the sketchy club halfway across the City. Her hair was brown and tied back now, the blonde having been clearly a wig. What had her name been? A fake name. Bunny.

“Interesting,” she said, looking him up and down. “Capon's getting messy, I think.”

She had scars on her neck, fading marks in multiple spots. He hadn’t noticed them before, too fixated at the time on her, uh, friend. She smelled like sweat and sex and Henry found it hard to do much besides look at her with wide eyes.

“You know you're close to Rut, yes?” she commented, destroying any lingering hope he'd had that it was just nerves.

Still, he asked, “Are you sure?”

Bunny reached out and slid her fingers across his neck. She put them to her tongue and then said, “Positive.”

He had been pondering medical tests when he should have realized that all he needed was an Omega with experience. “How long?”

“You should have a good few days yet. Do you want one of my cards? Just as a favor for our Hans.”

Henry shook his head. “No, thank you.” He had no plans to Rutshare, and having an Omega with him would actually make the whole experience take longer.

“Suit yourself.” Bunny shrugged. She glanced back at the open doorway and then grabbed Henry’s chin gently to make sure he was looking at her. “I suggest you not go in there, pup, but since you are clearly about to run in, pay attention. He's going to tell you to fuck him, and you are not going to do that. Are you listening?”

She smelled incredible, wrist so close to his face. Her scent and a collection of others, ones he recognized as Hans’ included. He bit his lip and then remembered that she was speaking to him. “Yes.”

“And I said?”

“Don't fuck Hans,” Henry echoed.

“I do not get paid enough for this,” Bunny said dryly.

“Did he pay you?”

She chuckled under her breath. “No. I only make him pay at the club.” Bunny let Henry go and stood up, one hand on her hip. “Last time, Rut boy. No sex with Hans. Actually, don't fight with him either. Professionally, I'm still suggesting you don't go in at all. But since I've been kicked out for the night, and I have family to get home to, this is no longer my problem.” She ruffled his hair. “See you next time, pup.”

“Bye,” Henry said politely. He waited until she had gone downstairs and he could see the red light locking behind her before he finally pulled himself up with the railing and wandered into the bedroom. He closed the door behind him.

Hans was resting on his belly, sprawled naked on the bed. Bedding lay crumpled around him, some of it darkened by various states of damp. Hans heard the door and shifted, reaching across the mattress for his phone.

“It's just me,” Henry said, staring at him.

Hans abandoned his phone and let out a slow breath. “Go to bed, Henry,” he mumbled, eyes fluttering shut.

“What… happened to you?”

Hans' shoulders shook with silent laughter.

Henry stepped to the edge of the bed and couldn't stop looking at the brutal stripes of red and purple covering Hans’ thighs. He struggled with the view for a long moment, emotions within his chest entirely conflicting. It was clearly intentionally done, and yet he felt such hot anger towards them who had done it- towards Bunny, because he could picture her most clearly.

Hans was watching him over his shoulder, eyes half-lidded and almost glossy. “Pet.”

“Don't,” Henry snapped. He paced the edge of the bed, anxious.

Hans’ mouth tightened. “Henry,” he tried again. It somehow still sounded like the other word.

Henry forced himself to take a breath. He looked away, centering himself even as the heady scent of the room threatened to sweep him under.

There on the desk was that damned flower, tucked in the corner and still in one piece.

“Scent me,” Hans said, twisting carefully to hold out his arm.

Henry moved around the bed to make it easier for Hans to reach and took his wrist. Hans’ fingers stretched trembling over his skin and Henry held on tight. “Does that hurt?” he asked, unable to look away from the meat of Hans’ tortured thighs.

“Yes,” Hans answered quietly.

“Badly?”

Hans shook his head.

It looked like it should hurt badly, precisely layered patterns of swollen skin. Henry sat down heavily on the bed, nearly unable to tear his gaze away. He was not quite so unlearned as to be completely unaware of the concept, but there was a big difference between being vaguely aware of an idea and being confronted with it suddenly. It would take days to heal; Hans wanted this? This was nothing like teasing an accidental bruise.

“Henry,” Hans began again, pulling Henry's arm closer. “Touch me.”

“Touch you how?”

“However you like,” Hans murmured slow. “Fuck me. Knot me.”

Henry pictured himself pressed against Hans’ back. Thought about how it would feel to thrust deeper inside, the noises Hans would make. He could be gentle, he could even be careful. The scents in that bed were making him light-headed, almost dizzy. He wanted to cover Hans’ beautiful spine with his chest and scent him so strongly that nobody else would step near them. Nobody would hurt Hans again.

Bunny was right- he should not have gone in there. Henry was aware enough to realise that much. He twisted his arm out of Hans’ grip and forced himself to get up from the bed. He was a person and his instinct did not control him, he reminded himself. Being an Alpha meant practicing this; he would not blame his choices on anything but himself.

“You're leaving,” Hans accused him, leaning on an elbow to look at him better.

“You told me to go to bed.”

Hans tilted his head, baring his neck. It was such a simple, primitive summons.

Henry got back on the bed, knees on the mattress, and gathered Hans up into his arms. He shoved his head against Hans’, neck against neck, intent on scenting him deep and thoroughly. Hans pushed against him but Henry was not about to let go until he was satisfied.

“No,” Hans hissed, struggling. ‘However you like’ did not mean that kind of intimacy, apparently.

“Let me,” Henry Commanded against his ear.

Hans went limp in his arms, breathing quick and shallow breaths. He pressed his palms to Henry's clothed chest but stopped physically fighting to free himself. “Don't you want me?” Hans whispered.

“I have you,” Henry said simply, nuzzling close. He leaned back to look at Hans, meet his blue eyes. Hans gazed back almost blankly; dazed, high, drunk, something along those lines. The bruise on his collarbone had almost completely disappeared. Henry shifted Hans so that he could press his mouth over the same spot.

They'd marked him. Henry wanted to do the same. He could feel the shape of Hans’ collarbone on his tongue, the warmth of his pulse against his teeth.

Henry made himself pull back, swallowing. He surveryed Hans’ body, from his beautiful unmarked neck to the lined patterns ruining the backs of his legs. There were fragmented bites on the soft meat of his inner thighs and Henry fixated on them. He laid Hans back into the blankets and moved to settle himself between Hans’ legs.

Hans rolled slowly, reaching for his phone. He grabbed it and pulled it close to his chest, fingers on the broken screen.

One set of teeth right on the inside of Hans’ thigh- where your scent gland would be if you were an Omega, Henry remembered distantly. He ran his fingers over it and then leaned down to put his own fangs there. Henry bit down over the stranger's bite. His mouth was bigger, teeth bigger, and he felt incredibly satisfied with the salted taste of blood blooming against his tongue. He lapped at the soft white skin, content.

Hans’ leg shook; he groaned quiet and low.

Henry adjusted his grip and moved up Hans' thigh. The higher he went, the better he tasted, like slick and sweat and cum. Henry would devour him. Eat him out, lick him clean until he was convinced that no trace of anybody else existed. He bent Hans’ leg further, gripping him tight.

When Henry's palm pressed against the intentional wounds, Hans whimpered high and sharp, squirming.

Henry hesitated, looking across the expanse of Hans’ naked body to meet his eyes. Hans watched him, lips parted, gone pale. Suddenly Henry could smell him, a new pervasive scent that stopped him cold. Distress, anxiety, leave me alone.

Henry let go of his leg and backed himself off of the bed. Blood dripped onto the sheets. He wiped it from his lips.

Hans still simply watched him silently. Was that scent just meant to get Henry out of his room? Only selected because Hans knew it would work? Or was that how he actually felt, beyond the absent look in his eyes?

It ultimately didn't matter, because Henry was stumbling over his own feet to leave anyway. He shut the door behind him and plunged himself into a darkness lit only by the false City on the screen.

He needed to clear his head. He wanted to go outside- what he usually did was take his bike in open-air circles around the garages. Bianca had kicked him out on multiple occasions with instructions to do exactly that, but he didn't even know if the vehicles stored below were done being checked.

His tongue felt thick in his mouth, the taste of slick on Hans’ skin continuing to trigger his drool response.

Henry took the steps two at a time and opened the penthouse door. There was a way to get outside through the lobby hall; he had seen it on the blueprints. The door was locked but verified his single implant and opened for him, surprisingly.

He stepped out onto a narrow platform and immediately felt his stomach lurch into his throat. The wind up there was fierce and he reached to grab the railing. Even with the sun down, it was still incredibly warm, almost humid. Henry sat down and inched to the edge, one railing between his legs to make sure he didn't actually fall.

They were so high up. He leaned forward until he could see the dark, shadowed ground. That's where he was supposed to be; feet directly on the earth. He felt ungrounded here, adrift in so many ways that he would never come up with words for. The wind was like white noise, stripping his skin of scent and sweat both. He leaned against the railing, one hand gripping it loosely.

One of the security drones came by to look at him after a while. Henry watched it idly, gave it a little wave in case somebody was actually watching through it.

Nobody slept within the City. Lights stayed on 24/7, advertisements and LEDs twisted to look like old-fashioned neon. The skytrains never stopped their loud travel end to end and the roads were flush with self-driving cars. Henry turned to look southward. A hundred buildings between here and there, but beyond layers of concrete and steel lay rows of little homes meant for people who didn't belong this high up in the atmosphere. They'd be asleep, unlike the City; asleep until first alarm rang out early every morning. Henry missed that kind of routine. Reliable and safe. He understood that routine.

He drew his phone from his pocket. He couldn't bring himself to bother Erik again, and he wouldn't wake Theresa.

There was guilt there still, a lingering reluctance to contact the others even though he knew they lived. Even as he sat and longed for ten hour labor shifts, he knew that he'd also somehow done the one thing that nobody ever did- he had gotten out. It was luck. Maybe Erik thought otherwise, but the only thing strong-willed about him was his foolish insistence on putting one foot in front of the other.

Henry held his phone carefully over the drop and unlocked it. He'd been too afraid to look before, too afraid he'd break over it, but last night he'd already broken.

The tree from the Arboretum was the first image in his album. That felt like so long ago. He gently swiped to go through the rest of his images. So many familiar faces he would never see again. Pictures of his work, his tools, welds he'd done or spots that he had wanted to remember for later. Photos of his bike whenever he thought the weather was particularly suited for her shine.

Ma sneaking half a sandwich to one of the twenty-odd pups who were always underfoot. Pa sitting in the shade with his eyes shut after the break alarm.

Never-ending images of Bianca, with or without him. Photos he'd taken secretly just because he knew she'd hate it. Selfies she forced upon him whenever she decided he wasn't paying enough attention. A hundred pictures of her posing in variations of the same few pieces of clothing so that she could decide what to wear.

The wind drowned his thoughts just enough to keep him sane while he looked at her. If she was going to keep showing up in his dreams, then he wanted to make sure she'd be just as beautiful as he always thought she was.

Henry barely heard the door open behind him and only looked up when Hans’ bare feet appeared next to him. Hans stood at the railing, wearing only loose gray sweats.

“Don't jump,” he said, and his voice was raw enough that the wind almost entirely swept it away.

Henry tucked his phone away safely. Hans offered him a hand and he took it, allowing Hans to help him up. Hans’ fingers felt like ice.

They moved inside and the sudden silence was discomforting. Henry still didn't know what to say; he hadn't got far enough in his high altitude thoughts to even begin processing what had just happened. Hans did not expect him to say anything at all, but just led the way back into the penthouse property.

“Goodnight,” Henry eventually said, turning towards his own room. He paused at the door, handle in his palm, and glanced over his shoulder.

Hans was standing in the entry, just watching him blankly. If Henry stared for too long he'd notice the subtle tremor along Hans’ left leg, but Henry didn't stare, he pushed forward into his room and shut the door behind him.

He didn't lock it.

And yet somehow he still woke up alone.

--

Henry woke up sweating, having dreamt again of fire and blackness and birds. If he spoke again in his sleep, there wasn't anybody to tell him so. He let himself linger in bed for longer than he felt comfortable with before finally dragging himself into the shower.

Erik had kept texting him for a little while. Henry almost felt bad for not answering while he was allowed to answer but eventually let weird hours take the blame. He blinked at the phone screen in the water, trying to decipher a dark video. It looked like a little red bird, which initially made him think of his nightmare- it was a little red bird hopping on a table of white marble. The video was only a few seconds long.

E: one like those at the Arboretum
E: this one has eyes like mine
E: istvan says people used to keep them as pets

If all security drones were birds, Henry would need to figure out a way to fix his nightmares a lot quicker.

Katherine had no real news but included popular clips from Hans’ interview streams the day before. Henry, as usual, did not watch them. Bernard noted nothing of note found regarding the car but said investigation was still ongoing. Lockdown end scheduled tentatively for that afternoon.

Henry finally sent Theresa the image of the tree and asked how she was doing. It felt like performing the bare minimum, but she would understand.

The shower made him feel fresh again, wiping away the previous day. Free access to water was a luxury he would easily get used to.

The luxury of food was not; struck as usual with the inability to make a decision in the kitchen, Henry ordered the same warm oats as every morning. Just developing new routines, he thought, taking his usual seat. Even chaos had a few moments of familiarity.

Henry was almost startled when Hans came through the kitchen because his arrival was not heralded by music. He wore his familiar monogrammed robe and an exhausted frown and he did not look Henry's way while he poked at the tablet. Neither did he take his seat upon the countertop; he retrieved a steaming thermos from the little delivery elevator and started to leave.

“Wait,” Henry said. “I need to-”

Hans put up a hand to silence him. “Not now.”

“It's import-”

“Shut the fuck up, Henry.” Hans looked at him from the door, both of his hands tucked around the thermos. “Whatever shit you have to say can wait.”

For a little while, maybe, but not for long. Days, Bunny had said, but pushing the limit was not recommended. Hans would be irritated by this either way, no matter his mood, so Henry tried again. “But I'm-”

“Shut up,” Hans snapped. “After what you pulled last night, I'm- fuck. You're so- you are frustrating, Henry.” He pressed one hand over his eyes and took a breath. “I don't understand anything you do. You make no fucking sense. And you're just there. You're always fucking there.” Hans threw up his hand.

“Fire me then.”

“I can't,” Hans said simply. He sighed again. “And I don't want to.”

“Then I'm going to be there,” Henry pointed out.

Hans ignored him. “What are you even thinking? I know you don't understand how you fucked me over last night, but why did you…? All that shit about how you won't be Courted, for what? I offered and you waited until the fucking party was over to…?”

“Oh, it's Courting now?” Henry asked, rising to meet Hans’ aggravated mood. “Because you're the one who threw a whole damned fit when I even mentioned the word.”

“Of course it was fucking Courting!” Hans shouted, startling them both. “You know it, I know it, fucking Bernard on the cams probably knows it!”

“Oh.” Henry was shocked to hear him say so.

Hans set his drink on the counter and put his hands in his hair. “I saw how you looked at them, I stole one, I Gifted it. I didn't think about it; it's fucking Alpha instinct, alright?”

“That's what I… yes.”

“And then,” Hans went on, throwing his hands up, “you declined the whole fucking thing anyway. So it's over! Neither of us need to think about it anymore. Problem fucking solved.”

It did not sound like problem solved. Henry wasn't sure what to say. He felt (as usual) that Hans was thinking faster than he could keep up with him.

Hans picked up his drink. “Unlike you, I'm not ruled by instinct. I have control over this.”

Henry had to physically bite his tongue to keep down a laugh. He'd seen teenagers with more self-control than Hans. There were hundreds of broken glasses to attest for that.

Hans probably read those thoughts on his face anyway; he snarled and left the kitchen.

Henry would give him an hour to cool down. He looked back at his cooling oatmeal. If Hans wanted him to not be ‘there’, he'd get his wish soon enough. Henry just needed to find a moment to tell him so.

--

The music never came on. Hans reappeared dressed and still irritated about three hours later. Henry had spent that time in a 50/50 split of napping in the lounge and circling the room; once he knew Rut was inevitable, it was just easier to let the compulsions have their way; they existed for a reason, probably. And as Hans had said in the kitchen, Henry wasn't great at fighting them anyway.

Hans stormed down the stairs in boots that clicked loudly on the metal. “I need some air,” he growled, refusing to look at Henry. “I'm going out.”

Henry got up from his chair. “I think the building's still under lockdown.”

“Who gives a fuck? I'm the Capon heir; I own this stupid building and everybody in it.”

This was going to be an all day kind of mood, huh? “Wait for me to grab my things.”

“You're specifically not invited, dog.”

Hans was stuck at the door while it slowly opened and then again waiting for the elevator. Henry easily fell into place at his side while still strapping on his gun.

Hans crossed his arms and still did not look at him. The elevator's glass walls showed Henry every detail in Hans' aggravated expression, including the faint makeup he had thrown on to cover the shadows underneath his eyes.

Henry wondered idly if telling him that his sweater was a nice color would make things better or worse- it had felt like luck of the draw with Bianca some days too.

They hit the ground floor and the garage was largely emptied. The few vehicles owned by other people in the building had been temporarily impounded as well as most owned by Hans. Henry's bike was still posted up by the front, apparently too simply constructed to require more intense inspection.

“I can just- order a car,” Hans mumbled to himself, standing on the edge of a curb.

Henry rolled his eyes and shook his head, personally hoping they'd either go back inside- or maybe he would get to try a skytrain for once (Hans on public transport would be a miracle). It was only because he glanced away that he saw the movement in the garage shadows, a single flash of light.

Hans swore at him when Henry bodied him to the ground, but it wasn't quite as loud as the silenced gunshot.

Chapter Text

Hans groaned underneath him. Henry struggled to climb overtop him more thoroughly, gun in his hand and eyes struggling to see through the dark. He felt a hot wetness drench his free hand, clutching Hans’ sweater.

“Are you hurt?” he asked urgently, teeth bared.

Hans grabbed at him, trying to push him off. “That's your fucking blood, Henry!”

Was it? Then it could wait. Henry pushed Hans back down onto the concrete. “Don't move,” he growled. He thought he saw some sort of light flash and took an almost random shot in that direction. “You'll have to come closer if you want to try again!” Henry shouted. His voice echoed off of concrete.

“Oh, fuck,” Hans mumbled, letting his head rest on the curb and shutting his eyes. “We're dead this time. Dead in the fucking carport.”

“I have you, Hans.”

From the opposite direction came a deep, familiar voice. “You should've just let him take that.”

Henry twisted that way, still covering Hans. He finally felt the pain in his shoulder, numbed by adrenaline; that'd fuck up the bite mark, he thought irrationally.

Standing just in the light was Erik, dressed in steely black and leveling a wicked looking assault weapon at them.

Henry was becoming too familiar with the sinking, clawing feeling of despair. He aimed his gun upwards and tasted blood in his mouth. Could he stall long enough? Were there not supposed to be guards posted around this entire building?

Erik took a step closer and Henry pulled the trigger again. The shot went wide, ricocheting into the darkness with the sound of crumbling concrete. Henry genuinely had no idea if he had been aiming to kill or not.

“For what?” Henry asked. “Money?”

Erik shook his head. He came close enough that Henry had to twist and look up at his tall frame. “No. Move.”

Henry growled again, thick from deep within his chest, and bared his teeth. “I thought we were friends.” His voice was almost distorted by the vibrations of the noise he was making.

Erik frowned. “We are. That's why I told you to move.”

“Henry.” Hans tried to grab his arm; Henry snapped at him so sharply the sound of his teeth clicking together bounced off the walls. “Don't be this stupid.”

Henry ignored him. Nothing short of blood would move him at that point; more blood than what pooled in his shirt. “Put your gun down and fight me for real.”

Hans let out a sick laugh.

Erik almost looked like he was considering it. “You still wouldn't win. I would tear your throat out.”

Henry knew that. From Erik's fully coated teeth to his thick muscles- Erik outclassed him in every way. “It'd be a better death than a bullet,” Henry told him.

The edge of Erik's mouth curved slightly.

“Don't,” Hans begged.

Erik shot the ground in front of Hans’ face, shutting him up instantly. “The dogs are talking now.” Broken pavement smoked.

“Erik.” Henry licked blood from his teeth.

“Capon isn't worth you.”

“Is Istvan worth you?”

Hans let out a short breath. “Don't fucking mention his- oh shit, Henry. Your fangs.”

Henry didn’t pay him any attention. He felt his Rut teeth minutes ago and didn't have time to pretend to be surprised about it. Hans was only tangentially related to the situation at hand- the dogs were talking.

Erik showed his own teeth.

“Did he save you from that?” Henry asked, referring to the horrific bite marks you could barely see on Erik's mostly covered wrists, scars ruining his scent glands to the point Henry would guess they weren't even functional. No fights in the Yards ever progressed to trauma like that without guards stepping in first. Henry was making a gamble that it was the same in the North Yards. “Or he did that to you?”

Erik's gun shifted from Hans to Henry. “Watch your fucking mouth.”

Henry kept going. “If we swapped places…” He had to stop and take a breath. He was starting to feel light-headed and could only hope that his words came across as intended. “You'd bleed out for him.”

Erik stared at him pensively for an unnerving amount of time. Finally he looked towards the wall and then covered his augmented eye with one hand, weapon dropping to the floor. “Get up.”

“Henry-”

He pushed aside Hans’ arm and struggled to his feet. Erik grabbed the wrist of Henry's gunhand and shoved the barrel up against his own side, just underneath the line of his plated armor.

“Pull the trigger,” Erik told him, recording eye still covered.

Henry didn't hesitate this time. It was loud and he felt the warmth of Erik's blood almost instantly. He dropped the weapon and shook out his hand.

Erik sat down carefully. “Don't stick around.”

Henry turned to pull Hans from the floor. “Come on.”

“What- what just-”

“We speak the same language,” Henry said simply. He grit his teeth. Everything was fuzzy and he wasn't sure if that was loss of blood or the swiftly incoming Rut. Adrenaline and threat had triggered it early. “The bike.” It couldn't be tracked if it was off the auto-drive grid.

“You can't drive like this.”

“You can't drive at all.” Henry turned to him, leaning against the bike's seat. “Let me see your phone.”

Hans looked surprised but handed it over without much thought. “Who are you going to-”

Henry bit down on the already existing crack. His temporarily enhanced jaw strength let him crunch through the weakened device.

Hans gasped.

Henry snapped the bloodstained phone in half and through it across the garage before repeating it with his own. He couldn't bring himself to meet Hans’ stricken expression and shoved the helmet into his arms without looking away from his bike. “Get on behind me,” he said, climbing over it.

For a moment he thought Hans might not do it willingly and Henry didn’t know what he would do then, but eventually he felt the bike shift and then Hans’ weight settled against his back. He could feel how quickly Hans breathed.

The motor drowned out whatever thoughts he couldn't afford to have. “Can you…” Henry tested his grip. His palms were both slippery with blood, one his, one not. “Can you support my arm?”

Hans slid his left arm under Henry's, giving him something to rest against and lean on for turns. He didn't say anything.

“Okay. Hold on,” Henry said, pulling them from the garage fast. He knew he was racing his own body in multiple ways and could only hope he'd last until they got somewhere safe.

Safehouses, Radzig had said. He had no idea where he should take Hans, but he needed somewhere out of the City where he could also figure out the fucking Rut situation. Only a few places came to mind, and most of them had been destroyed.

Henry pulled onto the highway, Hans shaking behind him.

--

They had made it about twenty minutes on the highway when Henry saw the flames in his side mirrors. He did not say anything to Hans; whatever he said would get swept away by the wind at the speed he was going. For a few miles Henry watched firedrones swarm the burning penthouse and then he looked away, focused on the road and the machine between his legs.

--

Another return to the Yards. Henry stopped in front of a wide garage door and staggered off the bike. He went straight to the keypad and dug his knife into the edge of the faceplate until it hung loose. Technically, he was breaking in. It was just faster than going to the side door and knocking. He'd done something similar more than once before when technology failed.

Fuck. He had to pause for a breath. Everything felt intensified, including every painful movement of his left arm. He spat blood on the ground and continued resetting the lock back to 0000, jamming the final button to open the garage door.

Hans had ditched his helmet and stood next to the bike. His hair clung to the back of his neck with sweat. The look he turned on Henry made him almost thankful that Hans couldn't scent anymore- a stare like that would make a man in Rut want to escalate the fight.

“Inside,” Henry said, grabbing the bike's handles and rolling her inside the door before it'd finished opening. Hans followed without comment. Henry set his bike up and set the door to start closing again.

The click of a gun had them both spinning towards a small office in the garage. An older man stood in the office's partially open door with an old shotgun leveled at them. “There's nothing worth-” He lowered the gun. “That can't be goddamn Henry, aye?”

“Godwin,” Henry gasped, unsteady on his feet. “We need-” His attention was completely arrested by the appearance of a willowy woman slipping through the door behind Godwin to see what was going on.

Hans unsubtly stepped in front of Henry. “We need help,” he finished for him. “And if she's an Omega, she needs to go back inside.”

“Well.” Godwin waved her back through the door and shut it firmly. “I suppose I was just thinking it was going to be a slow afternoon. My mistake.”

Hans hates him.

….Hans wants to hate him.

No, he cannot think about that right now. One thing at a time. Step by step.

“We can't use rubber; he'll chew right through it,” Hans says dully.

“With the muzzle on?”

“Ugh. Right. They'll work. And we have to cut his clothes off anyway; I can wrap it around the rope.” Hans adjusts Henry's limp legs. He's asleep for now, sweating and shivering, but Godwin says he won't be for long. Hans isn't sure what exactly Godwin shoved down his throat and makes a mental note to find out later.

Godwin pets Henry's hair. “You don't think he'd be more comfortable lying down?”

“He won't be comfortable no matter what. At least propped up like this, he won't choke to death on his own spit.” Hans takes Henry's blade and slices his shirt off and then into sloppy straps that he wraps around old nylon rope before tying his ankles together.

Godwin laughs quietly. “That's sure one technique.”

Hans glares at him. He is so sick of this bald man. “Fuck off. It's the best knot I know how to tie and it comes out quick if we need it.” He knows he's only encouraging the rumors that he's a sex freak- but he could also point out that Godwin had recognized the bondage ties on his own. “Move so I can do his arms.”

Godwin stands and his joints creak. “The girls should be back soon from the medic.” He eyes Henry, propped awkwardly on his side against an old folded mattress. There are fucking dirty oil stains on the fabric and Hans thinks he'll be lucky if he doesn't die of tetanus or infection before his Rut's over. “You sure you're alright so close to him?” Godwin asks.

“Regular suppressants,” Hans snaps. He'd done the week's injection two days ago. It was not something he ever missed. And he had assumed that Henry had been doing the same.

Mother. Fucking. Radzig. Kobyla. Turning his pity-project son loose without basic medical care. No wonder Henry had flipped his shit so embarrassingly at the Bitchhouse. Hans should have forced him into Rut then just so they weren't dealing with this insane problem now.

Too late. He needs to focus. Breathe in and breathe out.

“I'm not at risk,” Hans insists. “Go. We don't have time to fuck around.”

Godwin shakes his head and leaves the room.

Hans climbs over Henry to try and figure out how to arrange his arms. If it wasn't for the bullet wound, they wouldn't have to do all this. The room isn't secure- it's the second story loft in the garage and has two glass windows- so they would be restraining him either way, but they have to be able to get in here and perform medical care without getting mauled.

He grabs a cloth and roughly wipes blood from Henry’s chin. Hans has only seen Rut progress this quickly once or twice before; Henry must have been close anyway for the attack to trigger it so swiftly.

Why hadn't he fucking said?

Because he didn't know, Hans realizes. How many times has Henry mentioned being a stranger to his own scent? There are few bigger catalysts than stress and Hans fucking knows he's put Henry through his paces.

“This won't happen again,” Hans promises him.

He pries Henry's mouth open to check the progression of his fangs and the color of his gums. They were able to bandage his shoulder roughly and stop the bleeding, but Hans feels like half of Henry's blood volume is staining his damn sweater. He's hoping they have transfusion patches in their medkits, but the roads are dirt. His hopes are not very high.

Henry's holding in, though. He is fucking stubborn and Hans isn't about to let him die until he can look a fully aware Henry in the face and tell him exactly what he thinks about this entire day.

Hans really fucking hates him.

Damn, that Rut smell is thick. It won't trigger his own, but it still sets Hans on edge.

He tests the position of Henry's shoulder, moving his arms like a doll, trying to decide if the front or back will be more comfortable. Eventually he settles on pinning his forearms together over his chest so that he can lay more safely and they can check circulation easier. They can chain his arms to his muzzle, too.

“This is so fucked up,” Hans mutters, tying with his cloth-wrapped rope.

A necessity, however. If his hands are loose then he will have everything else untied shortly after. Most classic muzzles only work because Rut-brained Alphas aren't thinking about them or can't undo intricate attachments behind their head.

If they were in the City, medical would just tranq the bitch (professionally) until they can stall the Rut out and fix this damn injury.

But no, Henry dragged him to fuck-all nowhere and begged him to hide out here for a while.

Hans still plans to call his Uncle as soon as he finds a spare moment and a phone.

Because his own cell is-

Focus. On something else.

Hans gets the muzzle over Henry’s face and secured. It's a terrible old thing made of leather and repurposed steel, but it is what Godwin could find on short notice and it's functional. Sighing, hooks one end of chain to the front, so that it can't rub on skin, and secures the other to Henry's arm tie.

He looks like some freak's costume party BDSM poster. Hans is almost tempted to take a picture, but-

Godwin comes back into the room carrying a large white kit. He kneels in front of Henry and sets it down. “This has got to be some kind of sin,” he mutters. He glances at Hans. “Not that I would know what kind, or anything.”

Hans rolls his eyes. “What, I'm gonna go call the tip line? It's fine.” He will just add Godwin to the shortlist of people he knew that are impossibly unsubtle about practicing banned religion. It's now a list of two, having previously just been Johnny's Sam. At least he won't be bribed into paying Godwin's bail.

Hopefully. It seems that he might actually owe the man a favor now.

He is getting lost in his head again. “Do you have anything useful in that kit?”

“We're allotted a decent supply due to the frequency of accidents,” Godwin says, eyeing him unsubtly. They had not been formally introduced, but Henry had called him Hans and, well. He isn't the most unsubtle looking man. That's usually a point in his favor, but he finds himself unable to comment. “Unwrap him,” Godwin says after letting the point sit in the air for a moment.

Hans carefully undoes the makeshift bandage. The injury is starting to clot, but some vessels spill open again. “Entry wound here on the back. Missed the major artery somehow or we'd both be dead. Unable to assess nerve damage but he definitely has some use of the arm for now. We'll see how that develops after this, I guess.”

Godwin winces and shakes his head. “Hopefully he'll still be able to work.”

Hans pauses. “He'll have work.”

“Or a fat check for saving the life of-”

“Shut up. Maybe that too. He'd rather work.”

“Aye. You've got him pegged. And you've got medical training too.”

“Obviously. Look for something to treat blood loss.” Hans shifts Henry carefully to try and look at the wounds without touching them and dirtying them further. It's so damn dark in the worker's loft. “Exit wound is brutal but I guess he's lucky the blood didn't pool in the chest cavity and had somewhere to go. I can’t do anything if the round hit bone. We can… I've got people who can fix it later.” Probably. If they could patch things enough now, it could be readdressed afterwards.

“I've one blood patch. You'll replace it for us."

Hans takes it and a handful of alcohol wipes. He grabs a handful of Henry's hair and tilts his head back until he can see the neck's major artery, just far enough from the scent glands to not usually be a risk. He traces it with his finger, cleans it, and shoves the bloodpack's needled section to it.

One of the major innovations of the 26th century, born as an offshoot of the food industry. It could match and replicate blood cells with no need to worry about blood typing or screening. Hans is a little wobbly on some historical facts, but he’s pretty sure this was an early source of profit for the West side medical Yards. This, and the quickening extinction of livestock necessitating advanced development of laboratory meat production.

None of that matters right now. He watches the bag fill and shift colors and some of the anxiety finally eases.

“We can clean it and try to staple it,” Hans says. “Or glue it, maybe.”

Godwin traces one finger over the remaining section of teethmarks that hasn't been obliterated by the bullet. “Look at that. Did his girl make it out? She'd tear this off him herself.”

“Can we fucking focus?”

“Go on, doctor.”

“I'm just going to do this the easy way. Give me that bottle and hold onto him. It’ll wake him.”

Henry groans and thrashes the second Hans dumps alcohol into the wound. His teeth snap and there would be new injuries without the muzzle. Godwin pins him still and Hans is vaguely impressed by the old man's strength.

“Sorry, pup,” Godwin tells him. “Over soon.”

“He's feral right now,” Hans states. “He can't understand you.”

Godwin looks at Henry fondly and Hans wonders how well they know each other. “I'm sure part of him hears.”

Fucking Betas.

“Okay, Alpha-whisperer, then you tell him that the more he holds still, the better looking his scars will be.”

(Hans will, of course, give Henry access to his own plastic surgeon team. It's only fair.)

It's like stapling an angry beast. Henry snarls and spits until his throat dries and he can't help but cough. Hans tries to make it quick, but the skin on his chest is so ruined that it's almost hard to stretch enough for coverage. It just has to be good enough to last a few days.

Finally he tosses the stapler and leans back. “That’s the fucking best I can do.”

Godwin is running his fingers through Henry's hair while Henry tries to bite him through the muzzle. Henry's pupils are mostly black. “It looks good,” Godwin tells Hans.

Hans looks away under the premise of catching his breath. He draws a syringe of strong, generic antibiotics and jabs it into the wound. There isn't much else they can do.

“How long until he's lucid?” Godwin asks.

“No idea.”

“You can't base it off experience?”

“What? We haven't-” He realizes Godwin is asking about his own experience, not Henry's, and he grits his teeth, irritated by his own stupidity. “It's not the fucking same for everybody,” he snaps. “And I Rutshare, so the lucidity periods are longer. You've never been with an Alpha?”

“Not my preference.” Godwin shrugs.

“We can leave him be.” Hans stands and turns to leave. “We're just aggravating him.” He pauses at the door before going down the rickety metal steps and says, without looking back at Godwin, “If you really think your God exists or gives a shit, put in a good word for Henry.”

Godwin locks the door. “For you both, I think.”

--

Hans sits on the dusty floor of the garage alone. It's been a long time since he was forced to exist by himself and he hates it. The smell of Henry's blood all over his sweater is vibrant but he can’t convince himself to take it off. He deserves to keep wearing it.

If it weren't for the rich smell of Rut, it could be anybody's blood. Any piece of clothing.

His hands shake. He twists them into cashmere until stitches start to fail. When he looks down he sees younger fingers clinging to a green polo splashed with red. He had been forced to wear that shirt for hours, shoved to the back of the room alone and helpless until his Uncle took his hand.

That was his fault. This is his fault too.

Uncle will not be saving him this time, however. He is alive only by Henry’s sheer force of… friendliness, he guesses. He doesn’t understand. He hadn’t really heard half the conversation, actually, because Henry had been smashed against his bruised legs and the pain had made it incredibly hard to focus on the potential end of his life.

He does viscerally remember Henry trying to bite him and the look in his crazed eyes. That would not be something he could forget anytime soon.

Henry… Hans hates him. But…

Blood dries on his shirt and he knows he's spiraling but he doesn't know what to do about it. He's just an invisible teenager in the corner of his dad's office. The girl's face; dad's face. Mother's hysterical shrieking as she pushes him to the floor. The blood on his shirt is his too now because he's bitten his tongue so badly it drips.

Warm hands press against his cheeks and Hans startles, flinches hard. Godwin pulls his face up and kindly but firmly says, “Why don't we stand up and change.”

Hans feels hollow and follows Godwin as if he were leashed. He's dimly surprised to see a disaster of a nest in Godwin's office and realizes the small room must double as a home for both him and the Omega who had scattered as soon as she'd seen Henry's face. Godwin pulls the sweater over his head and politely lays it on his desk. He cleans Hans’ face with a damp cloth and then redresses him in an uncomfortable long-sleeved brown shirt. Ugly.

“You should go for a walk,” Godwin says. “It's nice out. Just…” Godwin eyes his neck and Hans wonders what the people of the Yards would do if he truly walked down their streets covered in so much iconic cyberware. An awkward scarf is wrapped around his neck. “When you come back we can check on your Henry again.”

There's no way Godwin has not yet noticed his complete lack of scent and yet he's not said one word about it. It's unnerving. Hans does not think strangers in the Yards would be so subtle.

He wishes that Omega might come home to put her scent on him instead.

“Come on. Just down the street and back.” Godwin steers him to the side door and pushes him out into the sun.

“I don't have my phone,” Hans complains.

“What, for a walk? You won't need it. If you get lost just ask anybody for Godwin's office.”

Ugh. Hans turned onto the dirt road.

‘Your Henry,’ Godwin had said. Hans curses the same coiling instinct that had him Courting for being satisfied at the sound of that. ‘His Henry’ was not out of the fucking woods yet and was able to have the worst experience of his life.

Second worst, Hans amends. Maybe third if you want to count having to meet Hans in the first place.

Whatever. He has a task now, a goal- maybe a stupid one, but it is something to focus on. Step by step. Literally.

The world of the Yards is brown and gray. Hans has actually visited before, but it had been with his dad many years ago and he mostly remembers the stares. Nobody stares now; they're all too busy. People bustle back and forth, calling out to each other or on their simple phones.

He sees people sitting on benches stitching clothes in front of drying laundry and has to dodge more than one wagon hauling materials. He is looking at one of these go by when he nearly collides with a young pup of ambiguous age- Hans has not encountered children in literal years and truly could not guess if she were five or ten.

“Oops,” she says too loudly, smiling at him so wide he can see the gaps where her fangs will grow in with her second teeth. (The Rut mechanism that increased their bite required more space, more room to develop, and left empty space where baby teeth canines would otherwise go).

“Miss Daisy,” somebody calls, “I know your Papa waiting on you at home. Leave that man be.”

Little Daisy gives him a polite curtsy and a laugh before continuing her haphazard run down the street.

Hans turns to see who had yelled at her and sees a small group of people waiting in line outside of a larger building. The one who shouted holds an even younger pup in her arms.

Hans should avoid speaking to people. He wanders over anyway.

He speaks looking away from her so that she might not see his teeth. “What are you waiting for?”

She looks him up and down. He suspects these people see the same people day in and day out; he must stick out terribly, asking questions like that. Hans generally likes being noticed, but only when the situation is under his control. This is anything but that.

“Lines’ for the excess food not eaten by shift workers. Neighbor's pup spoiled their sugar rations so we're sharing.” She adjusts the baby in her arms. “Hoping to get sweetpaste we can dehydrate. You can get in line,” she adds, “but it will be a few hours yet and I'm not sure what supply's like.”

He doesn't know what sweetpaste is but he isn't about to keep asking stupid questions. Hans just nods.

“Here, hold him for a second,” she says, and Hans steps back with his hands up before he thinks about what he’s doing. She’s initially surprised by his reluctance but he sees the exact moment her eyes track his palms. “What… who are you?” she asks, drawing the pup against her chest.

Hans simply turns and leaves, tucking his hands into his pockets. His fingers brush the wilting rose. He doesn’t know why he’d grabbed it that morning. Maybe he just wanted to officially get rid of it; he can’t leave it here, in any case.

These streets are where Henry is supposed to be, not him. It feels like everybody is watching him, and maybe they are; maybe gossip spreads faster than he can walk or maybe he’s just a grown man who isn’t performing the correct role in this insular little society.

There’s guilt laced within his steps, too. It hadn’t taken Henry’s presence for him to be aware of what life in the Yards was like. It was carefully engineered that way and had been for generations. If you started tweaking things, it’d cause disruptions, upset the balances- that’s how you ended up with riots. It’s also one of the easier ways to earn assassins on your head, because the other three quadrant owners would not look favorably on you.

That isn’t why Hans has a target now, of course. He has suspected for a while that he’s just an easy victim whose death would shake up the market. Henry is convinced there’s some intricate, personal plot against him, but that isn’t usually the kind of games the other corporations play. Hans expected a few highly public attempts (if they worked then all for the better, but the press itself would stir things up plenty). The board agrees with him.

Henry himself is meant more as a show piece to convince the press that they’re taking it seriously. Nobody expects Henry to actually do anything useful except Henry himself (which was quite fun to watch at first, but lately just seems to fill Hans with dread). If anything, Hans had been tasked with protecting Henry.

Kobyla is not usually so stupid.

And Toth does not send his Bonded into stupid shit without extreme confidence.

Hans will wonder about that later.

Hans traces his steps back to the garage, tearing off the scarf before heading up the stairs to check on Henry. He creaks the door open slowly. If Henry’s asleep, it’s possible that Hans could get in and out without him noticing at all; he’s just a scentless ghost.

Henry’s not asleep. He’s dimly watching the door, taking deep, measured breaths. Hans can tell he’s been struggling some because he’s shifted his position on the mattress but not in a way that appears dangerous. It’s a miserable sight. Hans tries to remind himself that it’s all done with purpose, but even he finds it almost hard to believe. At least Henry had consented before it took him out. They’d have done it anyway, but still.

He carefully moves across the floor, Henry’s eyes tracking him the entire time. Hans sits behind him on the mattress and leans against his back, arranging his own legs so that they only ache a little bit (what fucked up timing). Henry’s skin is fire, damp with sweat. Hans leans in to look at his shoulder and finds it alright. Little bits of blood, some swelling, but everything is holding. The bloodpack is finished and Hans slowly runs his hand over Henry’s skin until he can grab it and pull it from his neck. Henry flinches, growls, but settles again. He must be fucking exhausted.

Hans can tell that Henry doesn’t know what to make of him. If Hans is mindful and doesn’t flash teeth, he’ll probably seem more like a Beta. Maybe not even that. Henry doesn’t seem quite lucid yet, not aware enough that they could safely get him to drink something. Hans would really like to see him hydrated.

“I hate you,” Hans tells him. He really does.

Hans hates him for taking away his scent. For ruining his recovery last night and subsequently trashing his brain today. Hates him for endangering himself that morning.

Feeling vicious, Hans goes back even further. Hans hates that Henry was ever forced on him in the first place, hates that he eats the same boring ass meals everyday despite infinite choices, hates that Henry can barely dress himself, that his hair's always a mess. He hates that Henry never wants to go anywhere but never puts up a fight about it. Hates him for being so stupid as to put himself in danger at Bar Mongrel.

Hate is such a strong emotion.

Hans runs his fingers over Henry’s side and watches the muscles twitch. It's not been long but Henry's putting on weight. He'll lose it again over the next few days.

He hates that Henry left him for barely twenty-four hours and he'd been unable to fucking cope. Like a child. A pup running across an unsaved road. He'd taken out his frustration with himself on Henry when he finally came home, as if daring him to leave again.

Hans isn't stupid and he's been forced into enough elaborate therapy sessions that he can usually sit and pick apart his actions. He's been taught every coping method under the sun.

It's just easier to continue self-destructing. It isn't as if he really matters, in the grand scheme of things.

He hates that he considers Henry somebody to care about, because that means he's giving Henry power.

He doesn't think Henry will abuse that, but-

Radzig should never have pulled him from the Yards. They should put him back there. With that bitch he'd ditched Hans to go spend the night with.

“Throw you back in the dirt where you can marry your little Omega and flex your muscles on real labor and fill the streets with pups who run into people,” Hans tells him.

It is vaguely amusing to watch Henry listen to him so intently, knowing that he cannot comprehend speech. He slides his palm down Henry's back and feels him shift into it.

“There's nothing in the City for you but frustration," Hans says, fully leaning against Henry and watching his face. “You don't belong.”

Hans reminds himself that it's not been much over a week since Henry was put into his care. He had enjoyed living alone before that and he would again.

“I hate you,” Hans whispers yet again, because it's the only word he can think of to express the way he feels.

Chapter Text

“Let me borrow your phone,” Hans says, tugging at the hem of his borrowed shirt. Henry had managed to fall asleep again and Hans sits in a crooked chair at Godwin's table while some sort of meal is arranged. It doesn't smell great.

Godwin puts a bowl in front of Hans and it doesn't look great either. “Well. I did tell Henry that I wouldn't do that,” he says.

Of course. Hans picks up an old tin spoon and prods at the strew he's been served. He tries not to think about who isn’t eating tonight because of him, thinking about the hours-long excess food line. “Henry won't have to fucking know.”

“We don't cuss at the dinner table, please.”

Hans stares at her, the Omega that Godwin fondly calls Dell. Her dark hair is tied back tightly and she sits with elegant posture. She looks at him with raised eyebrows as if she expects him to actually listen to her. “Okay, sure,” he agrees slowly before turning away from her again. “Henry doesn't need to find out. I have to make some calls.”

“I didn’t say I wouldn't let you,” Godwin clarifies with a cheeky smirk that Hans rather likes. “Just making sure you know he won't like it.”

“He likes so few things.” Hans reaches his hand out.

“After dinner,” Dell says.

Godwin agrees. “Eat first.”

Hans looks between them. He is in no position to negotiate with their united front. They'd lured him to this meal and now he is somewhat trapped, feeling like a kidnapped child. Maybe it isn’t unpleasant; the small room is heavily scented with warmth and familiarity, the Omega's lingering mark. He might have to figure out how to change clothes before visiting Henry again.

The stew is warm, at least. Hans keeps his expression neutral while he eats. He's used to eating just for nutrition and he can handle a bit of mysterious protein. Maybe synthesized poultry, various grains. Salted, thankfully. He thinks about Henry eating this for years and wonders if bolder flavors might overwhelm him. It'd be fun to test.

“I knew your father fairly well,” Godwin comments out of nowhere.

Hans’ grip on his spoon tightens. “Did you?” he manages.

“As well as anybody out here, I suppose. He visited often while the first materials and molds for his prototypes were being formatted and then again during mass manufacturing.”

Yes. He'd been a busy man, never standing still. Hans runs his tongue under the edge of his teeth, feeling the separation line on the back edge of his fangs where the slightest bit of enamel still lived. “Unsurprising,” he says after an awkward pause. He often has to talk about his dad in passing- a popular nonsense topic among much of the board- but some days it feels easier than others. He can often predict what the ass-kissing directors will say, but this conversation could end up anywhere.

“And you running after him everywhere too.” Godwin chuckles. “We'd offer to put you up in the daycare and he'd say-”

“I have to-” Hans tries to interrupt but doesn't have a real excuse planned. Not only is there nothing he has to do, there is almost nothing he can do. He ends up staring at Godwin with wide eyes, suddenly on his feet, both of them silent.

Dell eyes him and he just knows she's wondering what scent cue she missed for him to react so suddenly.

“...check on Henry,” Hans finishes lamely. He gets up and pushes in his chair (he might as well pretend to have good manners at this bizarre mockery of a family dinner) and then ducks out of the room.

“Fucking shit,” he mumbles, pacing through the working garage. The motorcycle is tucked away and covered properly now. The inner workings of some machine are scattered over most of the room, its most central pieces mounted on a lift. With the sun low, natural lighting in the room feels gloomy.

If he wants to call his Uncle, he will have to come up with an excuse to slink back in there. Fuck. He wonders what they're all thinking; they probably just assume he managed to dodge all their cams and drag Henry out somewhere. Maybe at some point Katherine might point out that he isn't appearing on any feeds and Uncle will get pissy that Hans hasn't called him today yet.

He has no expectations that anybody except Istvan would have found Erik in the carport.

It isn't as if he can really leave anyway, so maybe he needs to stop worrying about whether people are searching for him or not. The Yards would be the very last place they’d look anyway.

He pauses to stretch out his legs. The bite stings. It's uncomfortably deep and a much less pleasant kind of pain than the marks from the cane. Yeah, it isn't in a visible spot, but he still isn't in the habit of collecting more scars.

If fucking pre-Rut Henry, Hans realizes now, had decided to leave a proper bite on his neck, Hans genuinely isn't sure that he would have been able to stop it. His memory of the event is a little bit confused and hazy.

Actually, Bunny is probably expecting a call from him today too. She won't suspect he's disappeared, but she'll email his private address another irritating aftercare lesson.

That whole event makes him want to go upstairs and kick Henry awake.

Having had to stumble around the pent-house for twenty minutes only to discover him staring at pictures on his phone while sitting over a half mile drop makes him want to kick Henry twice. Actually, three times, because what the fuck had that been? Henry looks ill every time they have to go over the most mild drop and suddenly he's daydreaming about being roadmeat.

Put that on the extensive list of things Hans hates about him.

Actually, he is going to go kick Henry awake. It'll be healing, or whatever. Cathartic.

Hans leaves his shirt on the stair railing and lets himself into the loft. Henry isn't sleeping. Hans doesn't turn on the light, but the last rays of sun show tear marks across Henry's face. That's… not unexpected, actually, but it puts a damper on the ‘kicking him’ plan.

Hans casually takes up the same spot against Henry's back and tilts him once more to see the mess of staples. Holding up well. They just need to last a few days. Henry himself is breathing faster now, more alert and more stressed all at once. They're restricting so many natural behaviors and the thick scenting isn't enough to make up for it.

Hans bends forward to brush damp hair out of Henry's face. “I think by rights I should leave you to suffer,” Hans tells him, “since my incredible Courting gift was so firmly declined.”

Another thing he hates Henry for. Who would decline him?

“Declined by you and your little ghost Bianca.”

Chains rattle as Henry shifts to stare at the door. His wide eyes turn towards Hans and then back again to the entrance.

“That's fucking pitiful, Henry. Don't. Don't do that.” Hans grabs the muzzle and attempts to turn Henry's head but is met with such a display of teeth that he lets go. “Relax. She's not here. She's not coming.”

It takes Henry an upsetting amount of time to calm down. Hans makes a mental note to watch his fucking mouth. Henry's ability to cognitively understand speech is almost nonexistent (Hans knows this from plenty of personal experience) but he still has emotional ties to trigger words. By the time Henry's breathing settles and he gives up waiting for the door to open, expression dimming, Hans is more than ready to distract him with something more exciting.

Hans grabs Henry's tied arms and shifts him, rolling him onto his back. It won't be safe to leave him like this unattended, but it's got to be more comfortable for him. Henry's entire body is tense and the way his muscles coil under glistening skin is, frankly, making Hans feel absolutely lecherous. He straddles Henry, settling over his knees and indulgently pressing his palms to Henry's stomach.

“This body might be wasted on you,” Hans says, running his hands upwards over Henry’s chest. He pauses for a moment to check the ties on Henry’s arms; they've tightened some but Hans had made sure to leave them a little looser at the start. Maybe he can redo them with Godwin's help while Henry is lucid. For now he digs his fingers into the meat of Henry's thick, calloused hands, rubbing proper circulation into them. When this is all done he thinks he'll drag Henry into his favorite salon, see what the manicurist can do about these chipped nails. There's a fine line between rugged and dirty.

Henry likes being touched; Hans knows that's all he craves now. He's watching Hans with half-closed eyes, mouth slightly parted only for the sake of his teeth. And what teeth they are. They both wore irritating wounds in the shape of the other's mouth- but a misplaced bite from those Rut fangs would require true medical attention. And of course they were covered only by bent metal and leather that had been used in six projects before this.

So primitive, Hans thinks. Add that to his extensive list of things to do when they get home; finally remember to shove that kit in Henry's mouth for a proper muzzle. The sheer fact that he can't be kissed has Hans’ brain focused on it, fixating on the sensation of kissing past those fangs. Henry is such a messy kisser, so easy to tease, way too earnest.

Hans resettles Henry's arms and slips his hands underneath them to grope at his chest. “Genuinely incredible,” he says, squeezing muscle. He has never cared enough to ask what exactly Henry did as his job, but in his mind Hans imagines it involves a lot of lifting, maybe swinging a hammer in an extremely sexy way, dragging chains through the dirt, etcetera, etcetera; all the standard muscle model activities.

“Body of the perfect Alpha, brain like a dog. The ideal, really,” Hans teases. “You have no idea how incredible you look.”

It's addicting, the way Henry trembles underneath him. Hans can feel his hips move, he's so desperately horny- and Hans will get to that, he's not so cruel, but when else will he get a chance just to sit and enjoy Henry's body without Henry getting all handsy on him?

Hans shifts further down Henry's legs so that he can bend down and press his mouth to Henry's stomach. He'd prefer to spend his time mouthing Henry's neck, because fuck is he sensitive there, but shoving his face directly into Rut oil may not be the wisest decision and he suspects that if he isn't quite careful enough with his teeth against Henry's neck, he'll set him off in a way that isn't the right kind of sexy.

So instead he licks Henry's abs, breathing in the rich taste of his skin, his sweat, his cloying smokey scent. He sucks one beautiful mark into the soft flesh and then another without really thinking about it. Even here, Henry's skin is a dark sun-kissed tan and Hans imagines him in the summer daylight shirtless, dirty, black grease in exactly the right places.

Henry makes a fun noise, a little whine that falls apart into a growl. He wants more than Hans is giving him, needs more; Hans knows this and is immensely enjoying it. Is it mean to tease an Alpha in Rut? Is it entirely ethical?

Ah, who fucking cares either way.

It's an incredible distraction from everything outside that room and entirely too flattering at the same time, the way Henry can't take his eyes off of Hans. There's almost an edge of danger to what he's doing and it requires a severe amount of trust in his ties and the old garage equipment they were keeping Henry down with. One hand free and Henry could likely take everything he wanted.

Exhilarating. Hans flushes.

He doesn't think Henry would play like this outside of Rut. He's too damn sweet about everything. Keeps trying to hold hands like they're sixteen and boring.

Fucking him, though. That had been something good. Hans had felt that unconscious growling through his cock buried deep inside. Teeth bared- it'd had the makings of something real fun. He had left Henry's hands untied hoping he might have done something finally interesting with them, but no.

Well, whatever. There are a thousand other Alphas in the City who will play rough with him if he's never able to convince Henry to.

When Henry has sex, he looks like he's deep in his feelings about it every time. It's a little unnerving, but Hans has since noticed that Henry does almost everything looking like he is drowning in his emotions. The man eats his fucking oatmeal like it might be the last meal he'll ever have and like it deserves to be studiously savored. (Hans hopes, for the dead girl's sake, that Henry puts at least half as much effort into eating pussy.)

He's the kind of person Hans has learned to keep out of his bedroom, and yet somehow it's Hans himself who keeps crossing his own lines.

Maybe there's something a little bit safe about fooling around with a man who is too tangled up with a dead girl. No threat and no attachments, either. Hans is extremely strict on no attachments.

Hans consciously is strict on no attachments. Whatever bestial thoughts dwelled in his subconscious clearly were not getting the memo.

A motherfucking Courting gift.

It nauseated him to consider. He can't even come up with an excuse for it either.

He needs to stop thinking about it at all and start wondering about the ethical implications of fucking Henry like this, bound and chained.

Morally, it was wrong, right? It would make Henry very mad; probably it'd shift him true feral again. But it would be hot as hell, and he wouldn't even need to find lube because Henry's rock hard dick has been leaking a mess over his belly for the past two hours.

There. That kind of thinking is a good distraction. Hans isn't the kind of man to actually do something like that, but maybe next time if he got consent first and Henry wasn't technically an injured patient.

“I know, I can hear you just fine,” Hans says, answering Henry's increasingly frequent noises. They're a little bit cute; inquiring, insistent, borderline begging grumbles and whines. He's going to start getting frustrated if Hans doesn't start touching him correctly and while it's incredibly tempting to keep pushing him, Hans is trying to remember that Henry is the one actually suffering and also did save his life.

So Hans dips his hand into the pre-cum puddle and then grabs Henry's cock.

The noise Henry makes is devastatingly filthy. He struggles against his restraints and thrusts into Hans’ loose grip. It becomes a little bit difficult to balance and Hans has to sit down heavy on Henry's thighs to keep him still. He slides his hand tighter down Henry's swollen arousal and eyes that shoulder warily.

Well, it is what it is. Hans will just staple it again if Henry's fuss pulls the skin into breaking.

“Is that better? Is that what you wanted?” Hans wraps his other hand around Henry’s quickly swelling knot. The temptation to use his mouth is incredibly strong but Henry is just a bit too frantic; Hans leans over and simply lets the spit pooling in his mouth drip over his fingers instead. The squelching sound is obscene and Hans is giddy thinking about jerking himself off with his own messy hands after this.

Henry moans, head thrown back as far as the chain tethering him to his wrists will allow. His eyes are squeezed shut (disappointing) and he breathes heavy, fast breaths through open fangs once again stained with drool-pink blood.

“Are you going to breed my sloppy fingers, huh?” Hans teases. His own skin feels warm and he grins, hot with lust. Henry's scent is shifting slowly from the intensity of early Rut to something deeper, something less directly threatening and more protective. Hans is certainly not immune to it.

He has never Rutshared with another Alpha before because of the cataclysmic risk involved, and technically this probably wouldn't quite qualify as a Rutshare anyway, maybe, but fuck is it hot. He's encountered every damn scent variation possible before, so this isn't new, exactly, but experiencing it fresh and raw instead of within the context of a lab database is very different. He wishes he had thought to take his pants off before doing all this and is forced to settle for awkwardly grinding himself against Henry's bare thigh.

Fuck, Henry's knot gets thick. A cock like this is wasted on him. There's no way he knows what to do with it. Hans can't wait to teach him.

When Henry finally cums for the first time it's with a desperate, low moan, muffled behind his clenched teeth. Hans presses both hands around his knot and is a little obsessed with the way Henry's cock twitches violently as he spills all over himself. “What a good boy you are,” Hans tells him just to watch it happen again.

Henry shivers, one full-body tremble. Hans looks up towards his face and thinks he's bitten his tongue or his lip on his teeth, but there's nothing to be done about that now.

“Very good boy.” Hans bends to finally put his mouth on Henry, just the swollen tip, licking cum as it drips. He is entirely flustered, so hard himself that it makes his heart raced, but he won't let go of Henry's knot until it's been long enough that Henry will no longer be so upset when he does.

Barbaric sort of backwards civilization, this, Hans thinks; no sort of toys or tools or anything to satisfy an Alpha alone in Rut. Or perhaps Godwin simply hadn't thought to ask about such things when he acquired the muzzle, or wouldn't have been bold enough to ask even if he had. Life out here feels more like torture the more Hans sees of it.

He gives Henry about five minutes before he lets go. Henry is still upset, whining and shifting his hips, but the electric scent if sex in the room is driving Hans crazy. He feels light-headed and overwhelmed, reminiscent of a hormonal Alpha teen. Hans undoes his pants and forces them down his hips, vaguely remembering having told Henry once that sober sex didn't always get him so excited- he is almost glad Henry isn't aware enough to remember later how eagerly Hans strokes himself off in Henry's lap. He passes his fingers through Henry's thick cum before wrapping them around himself and almost forgets to breathe.

Henry stares at him dimly. There is blood pooling at the corner of Henry's lips and Hans pictures fucking his mouth just like that. Dangerous teeth, fucked out, content expression, a tear on his tongue that doesn't stop bleeding. Shove so deep into his throat that Hans’ thighs end up covered in his scent.

Hans cums with a muted gasp, watching his release mix with Henry's and drip down the sides of his belly. He finishes and slides himself next to Henry, pants wrinkling just above his knees. The restraints creak as Henry pulls towards skin contact and Hans vaguely shifts until they're touching more thoroughly, side to side. Henry feels like fire.

Hans closes his eyes for a minute. His mind buzzes blissfully, worries set to the side for one rare moment. He puts his fingers to his mouth and slowly licks them clean one by one. “Good job, pet,” he mumbles, tired, and the pleased sound Henry makes rumbles through his chest.

Chapter Text

Hans wakes to the sound of Henry coughing and spitting. He sits immediately and frantically rolls Henry over onto his side. “Shit, shit,” he hisses under his breath. “There you go. Breathe.” He hadn’t meant to fall asleep there at all, but the room is so warm and dark and the scent of Rut and sex too compelling. 

Henry dying after all this simply because Hans let him choke to death on his back would just be… really would just fit the whole shitty mess. 

When it’s clear that Henry can actually breathe, Hans fixes his own pants and leans to check the shoulder. He absently rubs Henry’s back, feeling just a little bad about nearly murdering him. Well, it’s not like Henry will remember it. The shoulder seems… okay. There’s a little bit of tearing in the tighter spots but nothing that Hans thinks he actually needs to do anything about yet. He leans against Henry’s side to look down at him.

“Good morning,” Hans says, watching his expression closely.

Henry coughs again, swallows, but then he slowly and deliberately nods. 

“There you are. That took ages.” Hans carefully undoes the simple buckles on the muzzle and peels it from Henry’s face. There are red streaks over his cheeks from the leather, crusted with salt from tears and saliva. Henry stretches his jaw, licking over his teeth. He strains his bound arms and then looks at Hans again. “In a minute,” Hans tells him, ruffling his hair.

Hans gets up to figure out where Godwin stashed the water and finds it pushed to the wall near the door. He picks up a gallon and eyes it; it looks clean enough, he supposes. It wasn’t him that’d be drinking it anyway, and Henry is probably used to a little bit of gray in his liquid. Hans grabs a towel and a cup and returns to Henry, carefully taking a seat in front of him.

“Off,” Henry grunts.

“Don’t you rush me.” Hans considers how he’d like to manage this. It still isn’t safe to just free Henry, as much as Hans would genuinely like to. He has no idea how long the lucidity period will last- it’s a stage intended for recovery, a brief respite during which one is generally aware enough to acknowledge thirst or injury. Most people can speak a little bit and if there are memories afterwards, they usually come from those periods of time. But there’s no way to tell how long it will last and something as simple as an ominous noise from outside could knock him out of it again.

Lucidity typically lasts longer if you’re with another person, but Hans still isn’t convinced that he counts as another person, as far as Henry’s concerned.

Well, it can’t hurt to undo his legs at least. Hans pulls on the release and the tie loosens. He untangles the rope and manhandles Henry into sitting up. “That’s better.”

Henry nods, eyeing his still-restrained arms with a scowl.

“Quit pouting. This is your fault. Sit still and drink this.” Hans shoves the edge of a cup to Henry’s mouth.

Henry rears back from it. He turns his head aside.

“You fuck. Drink it.” It would be extremely cognitively unlikely for Henry to remember his drink being spiked before, but Hans adds, “It’s just water. It’s safe.”

Henry’s eyes narrow and he looks from the cup to Hans. “You,” he says, and Hans groans, feeling stupid.

So maybe Henry does acknowledge that he’s a person. That might end up being problematic when Hans wants to leave again, but it’s also making Hans feel uncomfortably warm in his chest. That’s another of the things he hates- the way Henry interacts with his pseudo-scenting and the way it makes him feel. Hans still isn’t sure why he hadn’t just faked it all from the start. He doesn’t know why he’d put up such a fuss about picking a different one and started all this nonsense at all. He supposes he’d simply panicked (panicking was unlike him).

“You,” Henry repeats more instantly.

“I hear you,” Hans snaps. He puts the cup to his mouth and pretends to drink until Henry looks pleased. Only then does Henry almost chug the water when offered.

Hans wets a towel and aggressively rubs at Henry's dirty face once he's done drinking. Henry whines but he is a very well-behaved Alpha. For once. 

And he's treating Hans like his mate, clearly. Lowers the bite risk but has been making Hans feel unsettled since he realized. “Stop looking at me like that,” he tells Henry. “You can't even smell me. Open your mouth.”

Hans grabs his chin and Henry dutifully bares his teeth. There is a gash along his tongue but it's already clotted and well on its way to healing. Hans pushes Henry’s mouth shut. Everything is going well and that's making Hans nervous too. Nothing ever just goes well. At this rate Henry will have a raging fever by next evening.

“Drink more of this.” Hans refills the plastic cup for him and waits until Henry finishes most of it. At least he is no longer slowly dying of blood loss, but he’s constantly losing fluids through drool and sweat and cum.

“I need you to stop trying to die,” Hans says. “I mean that.” He re-wets the towel and wipes down Henry's neck. “I told you that I needed you. And right now you need me, and I'll be pissed if you make me do all this for nothing. Are you listening?”

“Yes,” Henry says, because he is doing nothing but listening; paying attention to every little thing Hans does just in case Hans might need something. Comprehension is an entirely different story. 

“Lay back.”

Henry does.

Hans moves down his body, cleaning both of their fluids from his skin. “Your father should have known better than to leave you with me. I don't know what he's thinking half the time.” He sighs. “I guess that's fucking lawyers for you. You're not going to like this bit, Henry, so I'll just keep talking at you with the towel on your legs and maybe you won't even notice, huh?”

Hans sits at Henry's feet and carefully arranges his makeshift rope. “You and I will go back home and settle things with Toth and get everything back to normal. Normal like before the past few days, I mean.” Without warning, Hans tightens everything all at once and Henry predictably reacts, thrashing and sitting himself up to look at Hans with an expression of absolute confused betrayal. Brutal.

“No, see, now that I’ve done that, I can do this-” Hans grabs Henry’s arms and works them free next.

Henry watches the rope fall from his arms and heaves a large relieved sigh. He stretches and rolls his shoulders.

“Give me your hand,” Hans says, holding his own out expectantly. Henry reaches for him and grips his wrist as if to scent him and that’s… fine. Sure. Unproductive, but it allows Hans an easy way to gently rub the redness out of the skin that'd been tied by rope. He squeezes Henry’s left hand, trying to determine if there's any weakness, but his attempts at exam are fruitless; all Henry wants to do is touch him.

And, well. Fuck it. It's the middle of the night and he is so tired. Hans moves to make it easier for Henry to draw him close against his warm chest. He closes his eyes for a moment and rests while Henry scents him thoroughly. They've already crossed this line anyway days ago; what was a little bit of intimate neck to neck scenting between… whatever the fuck they were?

Hans envies Henry his easy scenting and hates him for it too. Always so cavalier, so casually reaching to take any stranger's wrist. Henry barely manages to control his own and that never seems to bother him. 

Hans can't even remember a time when scenting wasn't something he needed to consciously think about almost every waking hour. The sound of his cell crunching in Henry's mouth will haunt him for years.

“I hate you,” Hans reminds him quietly. Henry's arms are tight around him and Henry nuzzles closer when he speaks. 

Rattay will replace his phone for him as soon as they get back to the City. He only has to survive a few more days trapped out here- probably less once he manages to get his uncle on the phone. All he needs to do is be conscious of indoor scenting distance and keep track of wind direction outside. Just more practice for when he inevitably irritates the board so catastrophically that they remove his access to the program completely.

Hans is pretty sure he wouldn't be able to endure that for more than a few days either.

See, he can indulge these thoughts without Henry noticing and worrying; the one singular good thing about being broken. Meanwhile, the second Henry starts getting lost in memories of all his dead people, Hans can tell. 

(It is a frequent thing.)

When Henry starts mouthing at his neck, Hans knows it’s time to quit indulging. He pulls away and prepares himself; it won't be easy to restrain Henry and Hans is already nearly regretting freeing him at all. Maybe those stupid blue puppy eyes have rotted his brain. 

If he's lucky and asks very nicely, Henry might just let it happen. If Hans is unlucky, then somebody is going to get bit. 

“Okay, pet,” Hans says, pulling out Henry’s favorite little name early, “keep being real sweet.” He slowly reaches across Henry's lap to grab the rope. When the attached chains clink against each other, Henry freezes and Hans curses under his breath.

Hans takes Henry's hand. “It'll be alright. Not very tight.”

Henry frowns and Hans tries not to look at those teeth. If it comes down to it, then Hans is going to have to bite first. He’s going to keep doing his best to make sure that’s not what happens.

Hans starts to loop the rope around Henry’s forearm and is unsurprised when Henry pulls his arms away. “Don't,” Henry warns him.

If it wasn't the middle of the night, Hans might consider asking Godwin for help; then again, inviting a third person into the room at this point might be asking for just as much trouble. It's going to be a fight. He shouldn't have undone the muzzle and arms both, but Hans is vaguely confident that he can manage to physically overpower Henry with his shoulder like that. Probably. If he's quick about it.

“Fuck.” Hans shoves Henry backwards into the mattress and throws himself over Henry’s chest, full weight focused into pinning him there just long enough to secure his forearms together. It's a style of knot that Hans has done a hundred times, but usually the struggle happens after he's tied it. Not this time.

He can hear Henry’s teeth snap behind his back and hopes Henry isn't flexible enough to reach him. Hans has to shove one of Henry's elbows in place with his knee and- fuck, the sounds he's making are gut-wrenching. He alternates between snarled threats and confused whines and outright begging, which Hans decides is worse.

“ Please ,” Henry cries. 

Hans winces and tucks one length of rope through another. “I have to,” he tries, despite knowing there's no way to make Henry understand. “You'll be safer like this.”

“Don't. Don't. ”

Hans pulls it tight and finally sits up. It's impossible to meet Henry's wet eyes. Hans decides that next time it will be kinder not to untie him at all. Kinder to Henry and kinder to himself.

Hans allows them both a moment to recover while he tries to convince himself it might be okay to just leave the muzzle off. 

“You can sleep wherever the fuck you want after this, Henry,” he mumbles, thinking about how easy it would be for Henry to just turn his head and tear out the staples.

“Please,” Henry begs, and Hans wishes he was snarling instead.

The muzzle is easier because there's not much Henry can do about it by that point. Hans straps it on and then hauls him up into that same awkward sitting position to keep him from choking. There's a thin trail of blood leaking from his aggravated shoulder wound and Hans cleans it up before he rises to leave.

“Wait,” Henry says desperately. “ Stay .”

It's genuinely difficult for Hans to tell which upsets Henry more- being restrained again or watching Hans go out the door. Hans stumbles down the metal stairs and shoves open the door to the outside. He vomits into the dirt.

--

There is an unexpected number of people out and about in the Yards during the early AM hours, but Hans realizes that most of the factories probably run near constantly. At least there are no pups dashing through the streets to threaten his legs while he wanders. He doesn't know where he is going but he’s half naked and smells like Henry and knows it'd be ill-advised to run into anybody like that, so he veers away from the rhythmic working noises and into the alleys.

This isn't actually where Henry grew up (that location is currently a crater and the subject of too many ongoing lawsuits and rebuild plans), but it's easy enough to imagine him here anyway. He would have been one of the twenty pups grazing their knees on the unsaved roads. Him and his girl probably haunted these shadowed back areas after curfew. Worked his long hours without complaint and then went home to his parents who would feed him monocolored stew and ask him about his day.

Hans still tastes vomit on his tongue. He hadn’t even stopped to put that cheap shirt back on and is wandering alone shirtless- which he realizes suddenly means his implants are on full display. He pictures running into somebody and ending up fucking… kidnapped for ransom or stoned to death or something equally deserved.

Henry is ruining his fucking life. He should just go wake Godwin up and demand his phone. Falling asleep was the worst possible choice.

Hans kicks a rock into the peeling vinyl side of a small building. He toys with the idea of breaking a window and bends down to pick up another rock, only it's not a rock he grabs but a twisted chunk of metal. Great. Even better. Now to find a window and a good place to run after it shatters.

The metal is not just a random piece of metal. Hans pauses to look at it closely in the midnight shadows. It is clearly intended to be some kind of creature made from scrap bits. Four legs, a head, some kind of crinkled tail. Hans doesn't know what kind of creature, but he has a suspicion that the builder might not have known either. 

He needs to bring it to Henry. Hans turns around and- 

No. No. No . 

He drops it like it's burned him. Absolutely not. Heart racing, Hans kicks it as hard as he can and the subsequent thump in the distance is satisfying. He's going to go back to the garage, figure out where he's supposed to sleep, and call Uncle as soon as Godwin wakes up. 

…

Nope, he's going to find that stupid thing again. He has to. Hans rushes to where he suspects it landed and kneels on the ground, searching. “Now who's in the motherfucking dirt?” he mutters, somewhat hysterically. “Stupid. This is so damn stupid.” 

He can't stop himself. He must look like a freak, scrabbling in the dark for some whiny pup's shitty art project. As if he couldn't just buy Henry a real statue of a… whatever the fuck it is. 

Or not buy Henry anything at all, actually!

Hans takes a moment to breathe, kneeling on the road with his hands thrust into his sweaty hair. He tries to walk himself through the moment because he becomes overwhelmed. What will happen if he doesn't find it?

Then he'll have to find something better for Henry.

No. He doesn't need to bring back anything for Henry at all.

But if he doesn't have anything to offer him, then how will Henry know he's interested?

He's not fucking interested.

The more Hans tries to argue with his base instincts, the stronger they feel.

“Stop,” he hisses into the night. “Stop. Stop.” 

Why Henry? Because he's- because he was- the way he-

Hans gets further overwhelmed just thinking about it. “ Focus. ” Make a plan. Step one… find the damn piece of recycled art.

It takes him twenty minutes and he knows his nails and his pant legs are ruined, but his fingers finally close over it near the edge of a dark building. Hans sits back on his ass in the alley and finds it much easier to breathe again. His hands shake as he holds the metal trash and he leans back, looking upwards into the sky.

There are stars up there.

Faint and small, and more than a few of them are satellites and living stations, but he can see real stars out here in the middle of the Yards. The light pollution in the City completely drowns them out; people often forget they're there. 

Hans quits admiring them just in case he starts getting funny ideas about Gifting Henry one of those instead.

In his hands is a Courting gift. There's really no denying it at this point without feeling stupid; he feels pretty stupid about it anyway. What is he supposed to do about it? He'd already been declined. Henry was too hung up on his losses, or maybe Hans was just too insufferable. 

First he needs to allow himself to finally admit that this is what he wants to do. (It isn’t). (It might be). (It’s a terrible idea).

“I need him,” Hans says. He pushes his hands through the dirt, for once in this life not thinking about the metal in his palms. Henry is the only one left who sees him as a real person; not as a corporate liability or an experiment or a fuck toy or a… a corpse. Maybe even Hans doesn’t know who he is beyond all that anymore; he’s worked for years to cultivate a public persona designed to keep people at arm’s length. There are maybe four people (besides his Uncle) that he thinks might call him a friend, and he would not be unsurprised to find that they actually didn’t think of him in that way. None of them really know him anyway; Hans wouldn’t be calling them friends.

Henry has discovered some of Hans’ worst secrets already and has still sworn to stick around.

Hans has a nauseating suspicion that Henry probably just pities him, but fair’s fair- he looks at Henry sometimes and finds it difficult to see him as anything but a tragic sob story (caused by Hans’ own heritage). It doesn’t matter. 

He’s letting himself get lost in thought to avoid the reality of what he has already decided to do. It’ll have to wait until after Rut, of course, but Hans is going to hold onto this shitty piece of trash in his lap and present it to Henry like it means everything in the world. For real this time, without the facade of not understanding.

Hans thinks again about picking out a better Gift and- no. Nope. It definitely has to be this one. Ugh.

If Hans Courts with intent, maybe Henry will accept it. Maybe Henry-

Hans laughs quietly, thinking about one of the first times he'd realized how convenient it would be to convince Henry to fuck around with him. An easy distraction in his home at all times. A sexy bodyguard fantasy come true. It'd been one of those back of the mind thoughts for a while (because Henry was also an insane person and Hans hadn't been quite sure he should be allowed in human society yet) but then he had looked over and seen Henry making out with some other Alpha and realized okay, there might be potential there.

Suddenly Henry had been the most interesting man at that party. (And that was before he’d been all over Hans trying to protect him in the kitchen.)

Fuck, Hans is tired. The memory isn't the point. The point, he reminds himself, is that Henry had needed a little gentle persuasion after that. What had he said? Chasing. Hans could chase again. Chasing was fun.

And if Henry really, truly declines him again, Hans is sure he'd do it kindly. 

Dad would have liked Henry. He wouldn't have liked some of the ways Hans treats Henry sometimes, but if you go and fucking kill yourself in a place where your kid gets to find you, then you don't get to make decisions for them later.

Those are the kind of thoughts Hans starts having when he can't get his brain to settle down. He pushes himself to his feet and dusts his trousers off. 

(He is very intentionally not thinking about what might happen if Henry actually says yes. It's too complicated. Henry shouldn’t say yes.)

--

This isn’t the first time Hans has fallen asleep on a concrete floor with only his wrinkled shirt as a pillow, but it is certainly the first time he wakes up covered in a warm, hand-knit blanket. The fabric is thick with Omega home scent and he pulls it closely around himself, taking full advantage of the comfort while he slowly wakes. The sun glimmers through the garage’s high windows. 

There’s a sudden insistent knocking against the garage’s door. Hans winces and struggles to sit up against the wall, wrapping the blanket over his shoulders. The quick knocking doesn’t stop until Godwin finally comes out of his office with a sigh and unlocks the door. “Oh,” he says. “You didn’t-”

“Where’s Henry?” demands a woman who waves Godwin out of the way and walks confidently into the garage. She pauses to look down at Hans on the floor; he meets her stare and pulls the blanket around his neck a little more. She’s got on a long, ugly brown dress and matching brown hair tied back with a cloth. He does not like the way she narrows her eyes at him and he scowls right back.

“Yeah, he’s here, but he’s unavailable,” Godwin says, trailing after her while the door slams itself shut.

“I’ll see him,” she insists.

Hans snorts. “You fuckin’ won’t.”

She spins to level a hard expression at Godwin. “Please. He hasn’t come to visit Matti once . I want to lay eyes on him.”

“Ah… well.” Godwin hesitates but what he says doesn’t matter, because he glances towards the loft and she’s clearly too sharp. “Jo, you shouldn’t.”

She turns and marches to the stairs, waving dismissively. “I’ll be quick.”

Hans scrambles to his feet but she’s at the door before he even makes it to the bottom of the stairs. He stops and watches her pinch her nose shut and hold her breath before she pushes open the door and steps inside. 

She doesn’t linger long before backing out and climbing back down the stairs. Jo looks from Godwin to Hans to Godwin again, her face gone faintly pale and lips pulled back from her Alpha fangs in disgust. “What- What in the world are you doing to him?”

Godwin puts his hands up. “He’s been injured.”

“Injured?” she repeats, louder. “You’ve got him bound like so much meat! Godwin!”

“Back off,” Hans snaps. “We’re handling it.”

Jo turns on him. “ Handling it? That’s not handling anything! That’s just- you’re just torturing him!”

“Oh, fuck off.” Hans feels a little goofy arguing like this with a knit blanket clutched around his shoulders like some kind of invalid, but he steps further into her space anyway. “He nearly fucking died. Who even are you?”

She does not back up and seems almost glad to square up with him. “Me? A friend who actually cares about him. Who are you ?”

“Alright,” Godwin says calmly. “Perhaps you two are a little bit affected by the scent in this room.”

“Yes!” Jo agrees. She points at Hans. “And tell me why he is covered in it?”

Hans catches himself growling. “Because I’ve been the one at his side fixing his fucking wounds. Where have you been? I’ve never even met you.”

“You’ve-” Jo blinks and points at him again but this time looks at Godwin. “Godwin! All that’s holy- you’re hiding Capon in your garage?”

Godwin shrugs. “Just for a little while; for Henry’s sake.”

Jo gives Hans such a dirty look that he almost takes a step back. “Why have you been keeping him from us?”

“I’m not keeping him from anybody, bitch,” Hans spits. “He can do whatever he wants.”

She puts her hands on her hips. “Oh, sure, and that’s why he’s tied up in the loft weeping?”

Weeping . Hans fears going up there again, but he’s not surprised to hear it. “The fuck do you suggest we do? Let him bleed out?”

That seems to stymie her argument for a moment. She clenches her teeth together.

Hans will gladly take the minor victory. He adjusts the blanket even though it’s clear she has recognized him anyway. “Not so damn easy, huh? You go find me an Omega who wants to do it for us instead or you can shut up about it.”

“Ugh. City boy. ” She says it like a curse word and shakes her head. “We don’t use people like that here.” Jo turns away from him and heads to the exit, happy to pretend he doesn’t exist. “Godwin,” she says as she pulls the door open, “just tell him I visited.”

“Alright, Jo.” Godwin chuckles under his breath, bemused. “Go with care.”

The door shuts and locks itself behind her.

“Godwin,” Hans says, feeling an ache start down the back of his neck, “let me use your damn phone.”

Chapter Text

Henry woke gently. Eyes shut and breathing slow, steady breaths, he gradually stirred back to consciousness. 

“You're coming out of it,” a gentle voice at his side told him.

He felt warm and comfortable despite the way his body faintly ached all over. It was tempting to linger in that drifting half-sleep, but Henry forced his eyes to open, blinking hard into the room's dimmed light.

A hospital room- far more elaborate than any treatment room they'd had at the Yards’ clinic. He shifted to look down at himself and felt pain resonate throughout his left arm.

“Take your time,” said the nurse posted at his side, most of her face covered by white mask and collar.

His memory was fuzzy. Why was he in a hospital room with a stranger? The way his gumline stung felt like Rut, but coming out of that wasn't usually so calm and slow. (Coming out of it for him, embarrassingly, typically meant he was likely to cry until somebody could hold him for a while- Ma thought that was just part of doing it alone but she wasn't an Alpha and couldn't really know .)

“Where-” His mouth felt dry and the air made his teeth sensitive. He coughed and tried again. “Where's Bee?”

“I'm not in charge of your guest list, I'm sorry. They've been notified that you're in recovery though. Don't worry.” She pat his right arm softly. There was an IV taped to that hand that shifted but didn't hurt when Henry flexed his fingers.

He remembered where Bianca was. He let his eyes fall shut again. 

He remembered being shot. Being forced to shoot Erik. Going to Godwin's. Then just the vaguely emotional memories of Rut: desperation, pain, frustration. His heart monitor's beeping quickened as he focused on the mess of clouded, fractured memory. The room hadn't been safe. He'd been abandoned- there'd been a fight?

Henry had always been terrible at Rut recall but usually there wasn't anything worth attempting to remember anyway, just days spent pacing a small room in the sheds.

The nurse started adjusting something above his head and Henry opened his eyes again.

“What's your pain like?” she asked him.

He tried to shrug and immediately regretted it. “I'm alright,” he told her anyway. He didn't care for being fussed over. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“You're here for a few reasons; mostly to repair that gunshot wound in your shoulder. Mr. Capon did good work on the field but we had to go back into surgery to replace part of your collarbone.”

 “Replace with what?”

“Metal alloy, mostly. The surgeon was also able to fix the messy stapling and with the addition of replicated skin tissue, you'll just have thin easy scars on both sides. Give it six months and you can have those taken care of by your plastic surgeon if you like.”

The implication that he might just have his own surgeon on speed-dial made Henry laugh softly. He was just glad to be alive, frankly.

The nurse sat down on the stool next to him and tapped through a few screens. “Also treated for blood loss, dehydration and other Rut related symptoms, as well as forced termination of the Rut itself.”

“That's possible?”

She smiled at him. “Easy, in most cases.”

“Oh.” Well. Maybe if he'd know that, then… well, Henry wasn't quite sure he had been capable of making decisions at that point beyond the desperate choices he made. “Is Hans okay?”

“Capon? Of course, thanks to you. He's been up and down the wing harassing us since you arrived.” She winked at him briefly. 

Good. Then no need to regret those choices. Henry laid back against the plush hospital pillows and let his eyes fall shut again. He felt exhausted and he did not care about any other details; he didn't need to know what day it was or how long his shoulder would ache or where he was meant to go after this. He had lived but this time he'd saved somebody else, too.

--

“You told me he was awake.”

“The message was that he's recovered from anesthesia. He fell back asleep afterwards.”

Hans grumbled. “Well, get him back up.”

“I'm ‘wake,” Henry mumbled before Hans could harass the attending nurse any further. Waking up this time wasn't as peaceful and his arm felt extremely uncomfortable. He blinked open his eyes to see Hans pushing aside the IV pole to loom over him. 

“There's some color in your face now, Henry.” Hans, to Henry's hesitant surprise, did not look upset to see him. He was wearing a sleek silver collar and Henry wondered if that might be hospital protocol. “How's your arm? Can you move it?”

“Well, it hurts to, but yes.” He halfway demonstrated and nearly bit his tongue in the attempt. 

Hans frowned and spun around to accuse the nurse. “You don't have him on pain meds? What are you doing?”

“He's got some on board and he said that he was-”

“Well, obviously he was just being fucking polite,” Hans snapped. He hustled her out of the way and browsed Henry's chart for a few brief seconds before moving back to adjust the lines.

The nurse stood by uncomfortably. “You can't-”

“You could go find something else to do, actually,” Hans told her without looking at her. “This will be better in a second, Henry.”

“Uh, thanks,” Henry said. He watched the nurse step out of the room and hoped she wouldn't be in trouble later for allowing Hans to bully her out.

“You know, if you had the implant, we could inject meds more directly.”

Henry turned to look at him and could tell by the easy smirk on his face that Hans was teasing him. “No thanks,” Henry said anyway, just in case. He was almost surprised he hadn't woken up with more installed in his palms anyway.

Hans hooked the stool with his foot and kicked it next to the bed before sitting down and leaning against the bed rail. “Why'd you take us to the Yards, huh? What the fuck was that?”

“It felt safe.” Henry tried squeezing his left hand into a fist; the pain was already dimming but some of his fingers felt oddly numb. “I panicked. Sorry.” He looked at Hans. “I'm really sorry.”

Hans tilted his head. “For what, saving my life?”

Henry felt his cheeks warm. “I wrecked your phone.”

“Yup.” Hans nodded slowly. “I'm sure I understand why you did that, but it was pretty damned fucked up. Very miserable, shitty thing for you to do to me with no warning.”

“I thought you'd hate me for it,” Henry confessed. He had done it assuming that it would be the end of the entire working relationship with Hans, that he might finally be fired, but he had done it anyway. 

“I do hate you for it,” Hans agreed simply. “And I hate you even more for doing that and then dumping me in shit-town by myself.”

“I thought you'd be safer there.”

“I forget how stupid you are.” Hans sighed. “And why did you not tell me about your Rut?”

“I tried to!”

“You didn't try very hard!”

“I didn't know, alright? That was two months early.”

“It won't happen again like that,” Hans said. He reached one hand out towards Henry and hesitated carefully before simply pulling the thin blanket higher over Henry’s chest. “What's your pain at?”

He felt good. Sleepy. Warm. “Gone.”

“I bet. They always underdose that shit.”

“Mmhmm.” He didn’t want to fall asleep while Hans was here, because he was afraid that Hans would leave before he woke. It was difficult to keep his eyes open. “Why're we here now?”

“Here? Called Uncle and we were retrieved within the hour. Airlifted here.” Hans shrugged. “You were very intent on killing the medics before they knocked your ass out. Really something to see, Henry.”

Henry took a long breath and let it out slowly. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

“Don't you dare fall asleep again. You know that man you took us to knows half of Rattay?”

Godwin was one of an extremely small number of people who had moved to the Yards and decided to never leave. “From the City,” Henry managed to answer. He drowsily watched Hans’ fingers tap against the bed railing. What would happen if he lifted his own hand to grab one of Hans'? Hold on so tight that Hans wouldn't leave him again. 

Mmm. Again? “You were with me?” Henry guessed.

“What? Ah. On and off. To take care of your mess.” Hans gestured at his shoulder and then glanced away for a brief moment. “Turns out I am particularly well-suited to the task, being… you know.” He tapped the edge of his collar. “A neutral presence.”

This time Henry did reach to take his hand and Hans allowed it for a few seconds longer than Henry had expected before shaking him off. “Thank you,” Henry said sincerely.

Hans scowled. “You saved my life, so. I guess we're even now.”

Henry laughed quietly to himself. They would never be even. He gave in and allowed his eyes to fall shut again, ignoring Hans’ complaints about it.

--

The next time Henry woke up he was absolutely fucking starving, but he was also alone. He pulled on the rail to sit himself up and looked around, still no idea what day or time it was. Would they be upset if he got up? It would be tricky, because he didn't know how to push the rails down.

He settled for waiting and rested his left arm over his lap. He could make a fist if he didn't mind the surge of pain that shot up through his elbow, but it was too much to try and lift the arm any higher than his chest. At least it was his non-dominant hand? The ring and pinky still felt fuzzy, almost numb. Henry thought that he probably wouldn't be useful for a while.

“Does it hurt again?” Hans asked from the doorway.

“No,” Henry said, lying only a little. “When do I get to eat?”

“Whenever you want. I'll get you something.”

“No, you-” Hans had turned down the hallway before Henry could say otherwise. Henry shook his head.

Hans came back with a tray that he plopped into Henry's lap. “There you go. Eat. Your favorite. You're going to be discharged soon anyway.”

Henry adjusted the tray and picked up a spoon. “It's oatmeal,” he said. 

“You always eat oatmeal,” Hans pointed out. He hunted down the stool and leaned against the bed like before.

“For breakfast, yeah,” Henry agreed. This oatmeal was lukewarm and unflavored, which wasn't necessarily a problem but it definitely wasn't as nice as what he'd been eating the last two weeks every morning. “It's not my favorite, like, food in general.”

Hans gave him a dirty look that felt wholly undeserved. “What is.”

“Uhm. Okay.” Henry tried to explain it; he wasn't sure it had a name and if it did then Hans surely wouldn't recognize it. “You take whatever dried meat you get and rehydrate it in water and then you use the water to boil grains and then you mix them together.” 

Hans grimaced. “Absolutely not.”

“It's better if you get pickled vegetables to add,” Henry said, half-heartedly attempting to defend himself.  “Or maybe a leftover sauce.”

“Keep eating,” Hans ordered. “In the Yards,” he added, leaning back in the stool, “there were people lined up for hours just to get leftovers.”

Henry stirred the oatmeal and nodded. “Yeah. We didn't waste anything.”

“And,” Hans continued, “there were pups just all over the place.”

“As opposed to…”

“Well I don't fucking know.” Hans shrugged. “School? I know you can read, at least.”

Henry rolled his eyes and swallowed more oatmeal. “School isn't all day. You were supposed to stay in the garage. Did you go out wandering? Not by yourself, right?”

“I was in disguise!”

Henry groaned. Every last inch of Hans read ‘City’ like a billboard (and not even counting the neon billboards his likeness was actually printed on). “I bet you were clocked instantly.”

“I was not!” Hans insisted, grinning. “I fit in so well that one lady tried to hand me her pup.”

“I'm in Rut and you're kidnapping children,” Henry commented dryly.

“Oh, fuck no. I said tried, Henry. I was an unwilling participant.”

“You're just lucky nobody recognized you.” Henry left the spoon in his near empty bowl and pushed the tray more comfortably over his legs. “When do we leave?”

“You didn't finish eating,” Hans pointed out.

Henry eyed him. “I'm done with it.”

“But you-”

“Hans. I'm done.”

Hans kicked away from the bed and stood up. “I'm going to go finalize discharge or something,” he announced before leaving the room.

Henry leaned back in the hospital bed, sighing. He wished Hans was angrier with him. That would be easier than this; Henry should have known better than to assume the issue of Courting was dead and over. The question was, once again, did Hans know that's what he was doing? Or was he stuck in a behavioral loop that he didn't recognize and that would infuriate him if Henry pointed it out?

He remembered how angry Hans had been that morning Henry first addressed it; how appalled he'd been by the very concept. He wouldn't have done it again this morning intentionally, Henry decided.

The Rut thing had gotten to him. To the two of them probably, and it would explain so much of the last week. Perhaps Henry's scent had just been manipulating them both.

His scent- it remained the same. He had hoped- he had wondered if… maybe it would go back to normal, after Rut. If he might recover and go back to smelling like himself and not this stranger's scent.

But no. This was simply part of who he was now. Unrecognizable.

It was the nurse who finally reappeared again to help him dress, not Hans. She had fresh clothes for him and instructions not to try and bear any weight with his injured arm. They'd pushed healing forward with progressive techniques but if he strained himself, she warned, they'd have to embarrass him by putting him into an old world sling.

Henry promised he would behave.

Hans retrieved him shortly after that, pulling him down the hallway with a terse, “Come on then.”

“Where do I go now?” Henry asked in the elevator, watching numbers spin down.

“The fucking penthouse burnt down.”

Oh. Henry had forgotten; he'd watched it happen through the bike's mirrors. (Was his bike in the City too, or still stuck in Godwin's garage?) “I'm sorry,” Henry said for the second time.

Hans shrugged and shook his head.

“Oh, your-” Henry shut his mouth before finishing the sentence. Hans eyed him but he was not about to reveal what he had read of Han's textbook, not even to offer sympathy. “All your things,” Henry weakly said instead.

“Whatever. It's all replaceable or backed up somewhere. Just petty, you know? Fucking botched the murder so he had to go and try to burn down the building? I think Toth just-” Hans stopped talking as the elevator finally dumped them onto the parking level. “Let's go.”

A silver car was waiting for them and Henry hesitated. 

“Get your ass in; it's safe.” Hans pushed him towards the auto-opened door. “Or do you wanna stay cooped up here any longer?”

Henry slid into the seat and Hans slouched across from him. It felt almost normal (nothing currently felt normal). Once the car started moving, Henry asked again, “Where do I stay?”

“Uncle offered his home, but he and I get along best specifically not living in the same place,” Hans said, gazing out the window. “I have-”

“No,” Henry interrupted. “I mean, where do I go?”

Hans turned to look at him. “What are you talking about?”

“I'm injured,” Henry pointed out. He shrugged the left shoulder and winced. “I can't be useful right now; Radzig said he was arranging somebody else anyway.”

Hans frowned. “Radzig said what?”

“Something about… a second team? Just in case.”

“He's so fucking…” Hans waved the thought away. “The ‘just in case’ has already happened and you dealt with it just fine,” he continued. “And now we know it's only Toth playing games, so once we're settled I'm just going to call him up and we can talk about it like men and have no more problems, Henry. I did tell you not to fuss so much.”

Henry often thought Hans did not take any of this seriously enough. He should have been dead now thrice over and he still thought a corporate luncheon was going to solve the issue. It didn't matter at the moment- Henry still wasn't capable of doing anything until his arm healed. “Am I being put up somewhere or do I need to find a place myself?”

Hans kicked him in the calf. “Are you quitting?”

Those fancy pointed boots of his actually hurt. Henry leaned down to rub the spot. “I'm not quitting.”

“Then stop trying to ditch.” Hans looked out the window again, visibly pouting.

Henry was tempted to kick him in return but knew it wouldn't go off as well. “I only thought-”

“Stop thinking, then,” Hans snapped. “You said you wouldn't leave.”

“I won't leave.” He couldn't help grinning; it was such a relief to hear he still had a home with Hans, wherever it ended up being. “Where are we going, then?”

“A hotel,” Hans eventually said. “I own another house, but it's... I don't know about it. And besides, it will take them a little while to make it suitable to live in again. I might just buy somewhere totally different anyway.”

Even the concept of owning your own home was somewhat foreign to Henry. It was more of a luck-based lottery system in the Yards, which was why he and Bianca had still been living with their own parents. They'd actually been somewhat fortunate, because not a small number of families ended up sharing homes. 

“I'm not picky,” he eventually says. 

“Yeah. I've seen where you lived now and I bet you're not.” 

Henry gave him a dry look and Hans laughed quietly.

--

The hotel room was somehow fancier than the penthouse. It was only one story but it only needed one story to do everything and more. There was a damn piano in the corner, beautiful cream couches, a matching dining table already set for eight people. Crystal clear windows opened onto a covered balcony decorated with vibrant fake plants and at least one trickling fountain. The only thing smaller was the television screen and it still took up a huge chunk of the assembled living space.

“This will work for a few days,” Hans decided, looking around. “They should have already set up wardrobes for us.”

The bedroom was through its own door and nearly as big as the first room. There were two large separate beds (for better or worse, Henry thought, watching Hans pry into the closets) as well as a full couch. The bathroom was an entity of its own with a huge double shower and even a bathtub, something Henry hadn't ever seen before.

“Hans,” he called, following to the doorway of the walk-in, “where did you stay while I was in the hospital?”

Hans pushed a drawer of shoes shut and frowned at him. “You- were not there long,” he said vaguely.

“What day is today?”

“Who knows,” Hans lied.

“You don't have a new phone yet?”

“I have a new phone. I don't have one that does what I need it to do yet.”

“That's why the collar?”

Hans unsnapped said collar and casually tossed it on the floor. “It's also best practice to wear collars in medical buildings, Henry.” He pushed past Henry out of the closet and sat on one of the beds. “Did you like it?”

Henry trailed after him, stopping in front of him. “The collar?”

“Obviously.”

“Would you go put it back if I said I did?”

“No.” Hans reached out to grab the edges of Henry's shirt and tug him closer, shifting so that Henry might fit between his legs. “They're uncomfortable.”

“Then I didn't stop to think about it at all,” Henry admitted. The beds were tall; it would not take much for him to lean down and kiss Hans and he knew that's what was expected of him now. When did it become so easy and casual? This felt like more than using each other for comfort. It also felt like leading on a man who couldn't stop accidentally Courting him. 

“Does your shoulder hurt?” Hans asked yet again when Henry didn't move.

“Yes,” Henry said to buy himself some time to think.

Hans shuffled him out of the way and slipped off the bed. “I have meds for you. Sit down.”

Henry sat obediently. Why did it feel like something had shifted between them while he was functionally unconscious? If Hans had been in the room with him during Rut, had Henry done something? He surely wouldn't have said anything. He remembered the three of them deciding it would be safest to completely restrain him, so what could he have possibly done?

Maybe he wasn't thinking about it the right way; maybe this was still just Hans being grateful that Henry had finally managed to save his life. 

…Unlikely. Hans acted as if his own life was easily disposable.

Hans returned and forced two thick pills on him with a glass of water. Henry took them because it’d look strange if he didn't and the ache in his shoulder was slowly getting worse again. As soon as he swallowed them, Hans' mouth was on his. 

Impatient, frantic almost, it felt like Hans had been waiting to do this all morning. Henry let himself be shoved backwards onto the mattress and he moved further back to give Hans space to climb over him. Warmth- he wrapped his good arm around Hans’ waist and pulled him closer.

“Hans,” Henry murmured into his mouth, “I was really convinced you'd make me leave.”

Hans bit Henry's bottom lip until it stung. “That's because you're fucking stupid, like I keep telling you. Close your mouth more when you kiss me.”

Henry laughed. Hans gave up on his mouth and started sucking warm spots of heat across his neck instead. Henry untucked Hans’ shirt and shoved his hand inside it, against his skin. Whatever they'd done to end his Rut hadn't left him with the same lonely desperation he always felt, but he still felt an anxious weight fall away like this.

They could go back to normal. They probably hadn't even established a normal yet, truly, but they could get back to how things were, when they were only awkwardly learning to live together and fooling around for selfish reasons. 

“Henry,” Hans said suddenly, looking down at him very seriously. 

(Or not.)

“What?” 

“I have something for you,” Hans told him. He narrowed his eyes as if daring Henry to argue.

“No, you don't,” Henry argued anyway.

“Yes.”

“Hans.”

“Henry.”

Henry shook his head. “I won't take it.”

Hans’ lip curled; he showed his teeth as if he could threaten Henry into agreeing. “You have to.”

“I can't.”

“It's not- it's not anything incredible. You can take it.”

Henry struggled to get his arm between them in a way where he could gently touch Hans’ face. “Please,” he said softly. “You know I'm in love with someone else.”

Hans leaned into his palm. “She doesn't count anymore.”

Henry felt almost like he'd been slapped. He grit his teeth and looked more at the ceiling over Hans’ shoulders than at him directly. “She does,” he insisted. “She does to me.”

Hans sighed. “Just- just take it. It doesn't have to mean anything.”

“How could it not mean anything? Do you know what you're even talking about?”

“I get them all the time,” Hans said. “I have an automated service arranged to decline them all.”

Henry looked at him again and frowned. “So it's just what, like a game for you?”

Hans was quiet for a while before he finally spoke. “I wish it was, Henry. I wish it felt like a game.”

Henry closed his eyes. “Give it to me,” he eventually said.  Give it to me and let's talk.”

Chapter Text

“Uh, oh.” Henry turned the little metal figure over in his hands. “Where did you get this from?”

Hans stood three feet back with his arms folded behind his back like he was waiting to be judged. “I found it,” he answered vaguely. “I found it and I thought you also needed to see it. I guess.”

The idea that Hans had been so compelled to bring him this was really something interesting. Henry posed it up on his palm. “I used to make ones like these as practice.”

“Really? Did you? Practicing what?”

Hans seemed genuinely surprised, so Henry assumed he actually had just naturally found it on his own. There was probably some young pup out there being scolded for losing their practice pieces, but he wasn’t going to mention that detail. “It's a dog,” Henry explained. “You put it together- I welded mine usually- and then you take it apart and start over again.”

Hans pondered that for a moment before he finally smiled. “Then it's a good gift.”

Astonishingly, yes. It filled Henry with a wave of nostalgia that for once didn't also hurt him. He tweaked the dog's crooked little tail. “It's fitting. You did well.”

Hans looked incredibly pleased. Henry understood; there was such a deep feeling of satisfaction that came with having your gift well-received, an actual surge of endorphins in the brain. Instinct appeased.

Henry stood up and left the recycled dog project gently on the bed. He glanced at Hans before opening the bedroom door and wandering into the staged living area. The lighting in there was better and he felt that maybe the bedroom itself might be too charged for them to manage a real conversation in there. Henry leaned against the back of an untouched couch and turned to watch Hans trail after him. “You want to keep doing this?”

“ This being me giving you things for free?” Hans asked, shutting the bedroom door behind him. “Are you saying that you wouldn't like that?”

Henry pressed both hands to his face with a sigh. “I'm trying to be serious,” he said into his palms. “If you can't even try, then just take it back.”

“No, no, I didn't say that.” Hans snuck into Henry's space and grabbed his wrists, pulling them down and away from his face so that they could see each other again. “I'm listening.”

“You know what Courting means.”

“Sure. Yes.”

“Tell me,” Henry challenged. He did believe that Hans knew conceptually what Courting was, but it was just difficult to accept that he knew exactly what he was pushing for. Because why would he? Why Henry? It felt ridiculous and he was hoping Hans would just come to that conclusion on his own; he hadn't explained his reasons for declining the flower in the first place because the idea that he would have to tell Hans fucking Capon not to pursue him in a meaningful way was absolutely unthinkable. “Tell me why you want to Court me,” Henry added.

Hans let go of Henry's wrists and turned away, clearly already frustrated. He walked a few awkward steps back and forth and then stopped to gesture at himself, grumbling under his breath.

Henry crossed his arms over his chest. “Yeah, I know. If you ignore the feeling, it does eventually go away.”

“Hard to believe,” Hans groused.

“Promise.” Henry was trying very hard to keep this conversation on rails but it was difficult not to laugh at the doubtful expression written across Hans’ face. “It's never possible to gift anything and everything your brain decides it needs to.” Well, maybe for Hans it might be. For regular folk, no. “And that's not a good enough reason,” Henry continued. 

“Do I really fucking need to have a good reason? Can't we just have one of those relationships where we're just fucking around to see what's fun?”

Henry was caught off-guard. “Is that what you want this to be?” he asked after a moment of stunned silence. “You want to be in an actual relationship?”

Hans grimaced as if he too hadn't expected the ‘relationship’ word to come out of his own mouth. He took another moment to pace back and forth again, stopping to stare outside at the balcony before he finally threw up his arms and said, “Everybody else is always doing it. I might as well give it a go.”

Henry rolled his eyes. “Incredibly romantic.”

“Nobody ever said it'd be romantic .”

“What, you just buy me things and I say thank you? Doesn't need to be Courting for that to happen.”

“I can think of more creative ways for you to thank me, if that helps.” Hans raised an eyebrow. “We can start right now.”

This was going nowhere. Henry wasn't sure why he’d ever hoped otherwise. He felt tired and hungry and really just still overwhelmed after everything that had happened to him. With a frustrated breath, he turned to head out onto the balcony.

“Wait,” Hans said, holding up one hand.

“I'm not going to fucking jump,” Henry said dryly. “It’s hard to think in here.”

“Not that. If you go on the balcony, people will take pictures of you.”

Henry stared at him. “Who? Why? What are you talking about?”

Hans shrugged. “It's a very expensive room. The glass out there is bullet-proof but by no means opaque and some of the shittier news outlets have drones just to see who might be renting the expensive suites. And if they might be doing anything scandalous.”

The City is fucked up, Henry decided for the 100th time in the last month. “If you care about people taking pictures of me, then you should definitely rethink the Courting.”

Hans motioned to the balcony door, irritated. “I don't give a fuck about that. Go right ahead; just thought it'd be polite to warn you.”

“Oh. Right. Sorry.”

“Leave the door open so I can hear while you keep making up reasons about why you're too scared to do this with me,” Hans snapped.

“I'm not scared,” Henry retorted, turning away from the open balcony and facing Hans again. (It was a lie- absolutely a big fucking lie.) “I just think you have no idea what you're talking about.”

“So what? Maybe I change my mind tomorrow and I'll tell you that you were right and what? It's whatever.”

“It's whatever,” Henry echoed.

Hans nodded emphatically. “Yes.”

Fuck it. Henry had accepted the gift and promised a conversation. They could have the conversation and he would start with the subject most likely to get Hans to give up. “If we're gonna be Courting, it'll be exclusive.”

Hans rolled his eyes. “Instinct doesn't compel an Alpha to Court more than one person. You're just being pedantic now.”

Henry did allow himself to laugh at that. “I'm talking about sex.”

Hans blinked, face blank for a long series of seconds while he processed. “You're talking about me fucking other people.”

“Not fucking other people, specifically.”

“Uh, no.”

See? Easy. Henry shrugged. “Then I guess you can just take back-”

“Wait! Wait.” Hans stepped closer. He pressed his bottom lip between his teeth uncomfortably. “Counterpoint,” he suggested. “I can fuck anybody, but also you're there too.”

“Counterpoint… considered,” Henry allowed tentatively.

“We said this whole thing was going to be casual,” Hans argued.

“You said it would be a relationship. Dating.”

“Okay, a casual one.”

“What I'm hearing you say is that it's also fine for me to go have sex with anybody I like too then, huh?”

Hans opened his mouth. He hesitated. Then he closed it again with a deep breath before admitting, “No.”

Henry sighed. “For fuck's sake.”

“You don't even want to fuck other people! It was like pulling nails to get you to let loose at the Bitchhouse and you turned down-” Hans growls with exasperation. “You didn't want to get laid with me even when you were in fucking pre-Rut.”

“Maybe I just see it as a more serious thing.” 

“Well, it's not for me.”

“Obviously,” Henry snapped. 

“If you want to call me a whore, there's a long fucking line,” Hans growled.

“Okay, we're-” Henry cracked open the balcony door. “Neither of us want to be arguing like this. Let me just take a minute to clear my head out here.”

“Yeah, cause this isn't my fucking aggravated scent in the air, is it?”

“Sorry. Fuck. Give me five minutes to think.” Henry stepped out onto the balcony and slid the door shut behind him. He truly did not care whether a random gossip feed took his picture; good on them if they managed to make anything interesting out of it. 

There was a layer of thick, protective glass across the other end of the balcony, but there was still somehow a breeze. Henry wondered if it was manufactured just like the green plastic plants. He ran his fingers over a wide leaf and came away unsatisfied by the slick, unreal feel.

It was raining over the east side of the City, a gray fog that dimmed all bright lights. Henry leaned against the glass to watch, thinking. Hans was likely staring at him from inside; Henry didn't think he'd step foot out here without taking twenty minutes to stare at himself in the mirror first.

What were they even doing, talking about all this like it might be a serious suggestion? It felt ridiculous. There wasn't any kind of future for them together, not boyfriends or husbands or mates or Bonded or- any of it. It was impossible to picture; they were simply too different. They wanted different things.

Hans wanted… what? Somebody guaranteed to be at home to fuck around with? A paid yes-man whom he could lavish Courting efforts on just to make himself feel better before going back to fucking his strangers in the clubs?

Those were cruel thoughts. Henry didn't really believe them. It would be easier if he did, but he'd seen too many facets of Hans to label him like that so easily. And whatever Hans might actually consciously be thinking, Henry knew that an Alpha didn't pick somebody to Court based on idle whims; not with the kind of instinct that was making Hans so uncomfortable that he was willing to make any concessions at all.

Hans was supposed to give up the second Henry mentioned monogamy. He wasn't supposed to be willing to even discuss it. Truthfully, Henry didn't think he gave a shit who Hans slept with- he was just attempting to end the whole thing before having to admit that he was scared.

Not knowing what Hans wanted out of this was terrifying. What was worse was that Henry did know exactly what he himself wanted- what he saw when he closed his eyes and pictured the future was a tiny house with concrete walls and a brunette who got very angry when he didn't take his shoes off at the door.

Maybe that would be all he ever wanted. But maybe all Hans needed was just one person he could depend on.

The door slid open behind him and Henry had barely turned to look before Hans was pressing him hard into the glass.

“Stop talking yourself out of it,” Hans growled low. He shoved Henry against the glass, grip tight on Henry's arms, and kissed him so hard that there was an audible thunk when Henry's head hit the window.

“I wasn't,” Henry insisted when he was allowed to speak again.

“Then you're taking too long to talk yourself into it.” Hans mouthed at his chin; bit down on the side of his jaw. 

“I'm in,” Henry finally admitted. He pulled Hans closer to kiss him again before pausing to ask, “Are they not taking pictures of us?”

“Oh, I'm sure somebody is.”

“Is that fine?”

“I'm Courting you, so yes.”

“And if I was still on the fence?”

Hans grinned wickedly. “Then it might have made some very delicious blackmail to convince you otherwise.”

--

Dinner was delivered by a waist-high robot that beeped a jaunty little song at them until they let it inside and unloaded what Hans had ordered. Alcohol, mostly; bottles of wine and then a bunch of fancy finger foods that Henry could identify none of.

“Actually,” Hans said after eying the wine, “you can't drink any of this. Because of the meds you're on.”

“More for you, I guess,” Henry said. He picked up what he hoped was some sort of meat- it just tasted like salt on his tongue.

“I have a better idea anyway.” Hans filled a glass for himself and drank nearly half of it before winking at Henry.

--

The bathtub took up an entire corner of the bathroom, surrounded by an expanse of beautiful gray marble. Henry was unsure about the concept of a bathtub until the moment he climbed into it, sinking into hot water like he was born to be there. He shut his eyes and leaned back against the porcelain edge and wished he was allowed to soak his gently throbbing shoulder, too.

Hans tilted his face back and leaned over to kiss him. The bandage slowly peeled away in Hans’ fingers and Henry heard him sigh. “Look at that. I bet they thought they were doing you a favor.”

Henry turned to look at his own shoulder and frowned. It looked strange, a mess of new white skin and even sutures- and not a single remnant left of Hans’ mouth. He reached up to touch it but Hans grabbed his hand and pushed it back down.

“Keep it dry if you can.”

“I was almost growing fond of that,” Henry pouted.

“Because you've an archaic brain, Henry. There are better places for teeth.” Hans turned Henry's face aside and pressed a teasing, open-mouth kiss over the side of the neck. His lips curved against Henry's skin, incredibly pleased. 

“Get in the fucking bath, Hans,” Henry grunted.

“Working on it, impatient mutt.” Hans finished positioning a collection of things on the marble around the bath, including a full pile of towels as well as the rest of his bottle of wine. Finally he undressed and slid into the other side of the bath, kicking Henry's legs out of his way. Water sloshed over the edge and he simply pushed the towels further away.

Henry watched him like a starving dog. Model-perfect in the literal sense and here he was with Henry in a tub that was entirely too big for just too people. “Are you going to sit over there the entire time?”

“We're relaxing after a traumatic week, Henry.” Hans turned to grab his stemless wine glass and sipped at the expensive red slowly. “Does your arm hurt?” He held out his hand.

Henry suspected he was going to have to lie about it often. “No,” he answered, putting his left hand into Hans’ waiting palm.

Hans squeezed his fingers, the meat of his hand, prodded along his wrist. “Does it all feel normal?” 

“Mostly.”

“What does mostly mean?”

“It means that I want you over here.” Henry grabbed Hans’ hand instead and tried to pull him closer. Fire flared across his shoulder but he refused to let go until Hans gave in and allowed himself to be settled against Henry's chest, between his legs.

“Could have simply asked,” Hans teased, readjusting his grip on the wine.

“Shouldn't think that I'd have to, since we're dating now.” What a terrifying thing to say out loud. Courting felt safer, more unavoidable, natural instinct. Dating was an active choice that filled his chest with a strange pressure, a feeling he wasn't yet sure that he liked.

“Dating,” Hans mumbled, and Henry thought with vague relief that he might feel exactly the same. Hans twisted to lean more comfortably against Henry, resting against his chest, wine clutched in both hands and already mostly gone.

Henry dipped his good arm under the water to hold Hans close. It was almost like cuddling, and he wasn't about to interrupt it by acknowledging how fucking hard he was against Hans’ hip. This was the sort of thing that made him wonder if he was actually still just trapped in Rut and experiencing impossible dreams.

“Katherine has been telling me to get myself a fake relationship for years,” Hans told him.

“Optics?” Henry guessed.

Hans elbowed him lightly. “Is that your big word of the day? Yes, optics. Find somebody halfway stable to take routine pictures with.”

“And then what was her plan when you still got caught sleeping with everybody else?”

Hans’ laughter made ripples in the water. “I'm sure there was a part B to her idea that I wasn't going to like.”

“The same way she'll feel when it happens with us, I imagine,” Henry said.

 “It will happen.”

“I know. It's fine.” 

For now. Maybe someday Henry would feel otherwise. Or even better, maybe someday Henry might be enough for Hans all on his own.

He brushed one damp hand through Hans’ hair. “Well, you know,” Henry began, “I'm still in love with Bianca.”

“Fuck, Henry, your pick-up lines need work.”

“Just listen for a second.”

Hans steadily worked on finishing his wine but did nod for Henry to go on.

“I still love her. I don't know that I'll ever not.” It was difficult to express but Henry would feel dishonest if he didn't say all this at some point. He took a breath and admitted, “I can't promise I'll ever have room to love you too.”

Hans laughed. He shoved the empty glass on the edge of the tub and twisted around in Henry's lap to face him. “So serious.” Straddling Henry up on his knees, he threw his arms around Henry’s neck and kissed his cheek. “I've never asked you to fall in love with me, Henry. In fact-” Hans meets his eyes with a faint smile. “I'd really prefer that you don't.”

“Oh. That's-” Sad. It was sad. It was also an incredible relief to hear, in some way. “That's okay,” was what Henry said out-loud instead. 

Hans kissed him properly then, deeply, pressing him against the edge of the bath. It made him light-headed almost, the steaming heat of the water and Hans’ intense touch. Water splattered onto the floor and neither of them cared. Henry slid his hand down Hans’ chest and gripped his hip in an attempt to pretend he had any control at all; Hans always made him feel a little bit lost.

Hans leaned over to grab a bottle he'd placed near the tub earlier. He cracked the lid open and then shoved it in front of Henry's face, squeezing it slightly. 

It made his mouth start watering instantly, a faintly sweet scent that made his heart pound. He felt himself flush and looked from the bottle to Hans’ devilish grin.

“Lube, Henry.”

“Slick lube,” Henry clarified.

“Almost an exact recreation,” Hans said, looking altogether too amused. “Taste it.”

Henry swallowed. “I've never tasted real slick.” Not beyond whatever traces had been left behind on Hans’ own skin, second-hand and aged.

“You look like you'd combust if you did.” Hans bent to mouth at Henry's neck. “Even your scent shifted the moment I opened it.”

It was difficult to be embarrassed when all Henry had room for was hot arousal. He twisted to claim Hans’ lips again and tasted his own thick scent oil on Hans’ tongue. His hands wandered over Hans’ body with no goal other than to touch as much of him as possible; his fingers traced a familiar pattern along the implant, his abs, his hips, his ass. 

Hans pulled back just to shove two fingers into Henry's mouth and Henry nearly bit them at the taste. Henry closed his eyes and groaned, trying to lick at Hans’ lube-drenched fingers at the same time that Hans shoved them deeper. 

“Could finger-fuck your throat until you finish just like this,” Hans said, watching Henry's desperate expression intensely. “Do you even need a hole or just the taste of one?”

Both, Henry thought.

Hans slipped his fingers free dripping with saliva. “Henry,” he muttered, kissing him and licking the last taste of slick from his teeth, “you are being entirely too polite with your hands.”

Was he? He felt like he was going to leave bruises on Hans’ perfect skin. “What should I be doing with them?”

Hans rolled his eyes. “You look feral at the first whiff of slick and yet you're not Alpha enough to take what you want.”

“I want to fuck you,” Henry breathed.

“Well, you'd better hurry up and get to it before I get bored and pin you first.”

He had not expected permission and he was not going to waste it. Henry snatched the lube and poured it into his hand, hit once more by the strongest natural aphrodisiac and too tempted to taste it again. Later, he thought- he could lick it from Hans’ thighs again. 

Hans kissed him violently and Henry let him, distracted by the task of stretching Hans to fit. Two fingers were easy and Hans leaned his body heavily against Henry's chest, focused on sucking a mark into the base of Henry's neck so dark that it'd probably stain his skin for days.

“Don't treat me so gently,” Hans said, pressing the edge of his teeth against the stinging bruise he'd just made. Henry slipped a third finger inside and Hans made a pleased noise, shifting back against Henry's hand. “Better. Keep going.”

The angle was awkward and both of them impatient. Henry pulled his hand free and Hans growled at him so violently that it made his cock twitch. “Just move,” Henry said, manhandling him over the side of the tub. “Let me use my mouth.”

Hans grabbed a towel to lay his wet body on and Henry kneeled in the tub. He hesitated for a moment to trace the yellowing bruises slowly healing on Hans’ thighs until Hans kicked at him, impatient and likely cold. He spilled more lube into his hands and pressed two fingers back inside, kneading Hans’ ass with the other hand before leaning in to taste him.

Henry pressed his tongue inside next to his fingers until his fangs threatened to wreck his meal. He'd be happy to suffocate there just like that, choking on fake-slick and feeling Hans quiver around his tongue. He pushed his fingers deeper inside and and heard Hans moan. There was something incredibly satisfying about managing to please him like this.

He tilted his mouth to get the third finger back in and fucked deep with his hand, curling his fingers until he felt Hans jerk and swear at him. Henry slid his fingers out and pressed the flat of his tongue to his hole, licking dripping slick and the salty taste of Hans’ skin.

He could be content to get himself off like this. Maybe later he would. But Hans was spread up before him, shivering with cold, a beautiful blush spreading across his shoulders and down his back. You could see the areas of heavy scarring, Henry realized, licking wet from his lips, because the skin stayed white instead of flushing pink.

“I don't have a muzzle,” Henry said, sitting up on his knees to lean against Hans’ thighs.

Hans swore again. “I don't have one for you. I brought… hold on.”

“I could…” Henry did not trust himself to keep himself from biting when he felt the way he did, not on top like this. There had been a time during the hornier teenage years when he had used his own arm instead- the quick pain was more than enough to get him to release. It felt stupid to suggest that now to another Alpha, though, and technically it was always risky.

Hans stretched towards his assorted pile of things and pulled out the wide silver collar he'd worn at the hospital. He snapped it over his neck, adjusting it. “Don't fuck up your aiming,” he warned. “Bite exactly where you want to bite and this will work perfectly.”

“You are the most beautiful man in the world,” Henry told him earnestly.

Hans gave him a warning look. “Yes, I'm aware.”

“Should you have-”

“If you let my teeth anywhere near you like this, that's on you,” Hans snapped.

Henry gently squeezed Hans’ hips, unsure about the tone of his voice and wary without a scent to clarify. “Are you being impatient again or do you not like this?” he asked.

Hans took a deep breath and turned to look over his shoulder at Henry. “I will tell you if I don't like it,” he said. “I'm going to make angry noises just like you did. If that makes you stop I will turn around and strangle you.”

“Right. Yes.” Henry distinctly remembered how his own instinct had fought him when Hans had been on top of him before. He was still- he just wasn't sure, because really the bath just smelled like his own scent and Omega slick, and that was fine, but it was-

“Do you need me to fucking beg?”

….would he?

Nope, no, Henry wasn't going to push him. (Not this time, anyway.) He shifted, ignoring the uncomfortable feeling of his knees on the flat tub floor, and pulled Hans back for a better angle.

“Finally,” Hans sighed as Henry grabbed himself and slowly pushed the swollen head of his cock inside.

Hans felt even better than he tasted, hot and wet. Henry leaned over his back and pressed himself inside deeper, inch by inch, trembling with a restraint that he wasn't sure he even needed. Hans growled faintly and Henry could feel it through his cock and something about that was vibrantly exciting, like he'd won something here, like Hans was a prize to be taken.

Henry shoved himself in all at once to the base and the way Hans gasped for air, hands scrabbling against wet marble before finding a towel to cling to- it was thrilling. Henry leaned over his back, slipping slightly in the tub and gripping Hans firmly to keep himself upright. If his fingers left bruises, they'd be more exciting than the ones still painting Hans’ thighs.

He fucked Hans hard over the edge of the tub, panting, slick-trigger drool dripping over Hans’ sweaty back. Hans pushed himself up onto his elbows, snarling at nothing and meeting Henry's every thrust in a way that punched the air from his chest. The collar glittered in the bathroom lights. 

Hans was his. His to fuck and his to go home to. Heat bloomed in Henry's throat and he reached make Hans look at him, to see those pale eyes and silver teeth.

He could feel the pressure of his knot and wondered if he could, if Hans would let him- remembering Hans fucked out on his sheets some days before asking to be knotted.

“Can I-”

“Take what you want,” Hans hissed before he could even finish the question. Henry could only assume Hans knew what he was asking.

He adjusted his stance, spit thick drool over his cock to wet it better. It was difficult to be careful; he didn't want to be careful. He wanted to force it to fit so tight that nothing would separate them. Henry sheathed himself deep inside and lay heavy over Hans’ back. He wrapped one hand around Hans’ throat to force his head back so that Henry could lay his teeth over leather- so that when he was finally able to grind his knot stuck he could just fucking bite.

He bit down hard.

Hans choked, pulling on Henry's wrist until he moved his hand away and held Hans’ neck simply with the force of his fangs dug into the collar.

The orgasm was almost blinding. To knot and to bite at the same time- Henry almost couldn't breathe. If Hans was speaking to him at all, he couldn't even tell.

Long minutes passed and eventually Henry peeled his mouth from the collar, swallowing. He rested his head against Hans’ back and focused on catching his breath again with no hurry.

Hans unlatched the collar with trembling hands and slid it from his neck. He ran his fingers over the scent gland and seemed relieved to find no punctures (even though he'd been the one so sure it would be fine.)

Henry could already see bruising, however, and knew he'd be in trouble for that later. At the moment, he felt it was more than worth it.

He limply reached to pet through Hans’ sweat-damp hair. “Alright?”

“I like when you lose control,” Hans mumbled. 

Henry wasn't sure he felt the same, but it was hard to argue with the satisfaction that warmed his body. He shut his eyes for a little while, content to cover Hans in his scent while he rested. Hans didn't need to scent for himself. Henry could do it for him.

 “I'm cold,” Hans complained, and Henry very carefully gathered him up and pulled him down into the warm bath with him, tucked into his lap and stuck there until the tie broke. 

Chapter Text

Henry woke from a dead sleep to Hans shaking his uninjured shoulder. Hans shoved him harder when he didn’t immediately answer and Henry turned to blink at him in the curtained darkness of the bedroom.

“Henry.”

Henry grunted. He’d no idea what time it was, but it felt like he was due another three days’ worth of sleep. His shoulder still ached and part of his hand was still numb and despite the pain he thought he could easily fall back asleep for hours.

“You’re awake now,” Hans told him, and fuck, sure, he supposed he was.

“What’s it?”

Hans slid his hand up to grip Henry’s chin. “Do you remember last night?”

“Yes.” Vividly, until the hot water and easy pressure of Hans against his chest had lulled him to sleep. Henry smirked.  He could see the pattern of faint bruises he'd made on the side of Hans’ neck despite the collar. “Would you like a reminder?”

Hans shook his head slowly. “I didn't finish.”

“Uh. You didn’t- what?” 

“You want me to repeat that?”

That couldn't be right. Henry tried to replay the night before and- was that right? “Why didn't you say anything?”

“Should I fucking have to?” Hans laughed sharply.

Henry moved to sit up but Hans pressed a hand to his chest and pushed him back down into the bed.

“You knotted me and then fell asleep in the bath.” Hans leaned down to stare at him intently. “Bare hours after trying to insist I only have sex with you for the rest of my life. Really?”

‘The rest of his life’ was a very distracting statement. Henry had to refocus. “I was… uh.” 

“Tired and recovering; I'm aware.”

And also on heavy medication, Henry didn't add. “I can make it up to you now,” he offered instead. “Whatever you want.”

“Obviously. Get up.” Hans threw the blankets off and manhandled him out of bed. “Shower.”

Henry shook the sheets from his legs and followed Hans to the bathroom. The shower was already running, the room comfortably warm. Their mess of wet towels from last night was still scattered around the tub. Henry finished undressing and opened the door to the huge, multi-person shower.

He was shoved face-first against the tiled wall so quickly that the water barely dampened his hair, dripping faintly onto his shoulders. Hans pressed against his back and Henry could feel the thickness of his hard arousal against his own ass. 

“I cum first,” Hans hissed into his ear.

Henry nodded quickly. That was more than fair. He tried to turn to see if Hans might kiss him, but Hans tangled fingers in his hair and pulled until Henry’s lips parted with a soft gasp. This was clearly not a kissing kind of mood. 

Hans’ other hand roamed his back, slipped down his waist before wrapping around to press wide against his stomach. “Put your hands on the wall, pet.”

Henry hesitated before sliding his palms flat against the shower tile.

“No?” Hans did kiss him then, on the back of his neck with lips that almost felt cool in the spray of the water. “Not when I’m mad at you?”

“Are you mad at me?”

He could feel Hans smile against his neck. “No. Unfortunately, I’m quite fond of you.”

Henry really wanted to turn and kiss him. He was confident that he could, if he truly made an effort or if he was honest about how much it hurt his shoulder to have Hans leaning against it the way that he was. “Unfortunately for who?” he asked instead.

“For both of us.” Hans’ hand wandered higher over Henry’s chest, just touching him slowly.

“I don’t believe that.”

Hans spoke more quietly then, almost difficult to hear over the stream of water. “You just haven’t spent enough time around me yet,” he said.

“I’ve got the rest of your life to go still, apparently,” Henry recalled. It had been a minute since he’d heard this kind of mood from Hans and he was unwilling to allow it to be pursued now; not when every movement dragged his hard cock against the cold wall. “What’s your big plan here- you gonna fuck me or what?”

Hans readjusted. He let go of Henry’s hair and shifted until his dick pressed against Henry’s ass. He took himself in hand and slid it between Henry’s slick thighs instead. “Should use your body like you did mine.”

“I'm sorry-”

“Hush.”

The water was hot, the walls more like ice against his chest. Steam rose billowing and made every desperate breath wet. Hans pressed him firm against the wall and fucked his thighs slow. Henry envied the view; he wanted to look down and see, watch the head of Hans’ cock slip between his legs, but the grip on his hair was tight, unrelenting, and he could only watch their muddied reflections in the mirror through the fogged shower door.

Hans’ body on his, the feeling of the head of his cock pressing underneath Henry's sack; Henry felt almost weak at the knees, brain gone just as murky as the steamed glass.

After a while Hans pulled back. “Turn,” he said, and Henry spun around to grab him only for Hans to slip from his grip. Hans breathed, “Knees,” and Henry dropped to the puddling tile floor. Hans did not have to say anything else. Henry leaned in to take Hans’ cock in his mouth, water running down Hans’ torso and pooling against his lips. It was an incredible view- Hans with hair slicked to his forehead, water cascading down his chest, watching Henry with such a catty smirk. 

Henry grabbed Hans’ thigh to achieve better leverage and swallow without drowning himself. If both his arms worked properly, Henry would have him backed against the wall instead; he knew he could take Hans deeper if he had one leg over his shoulder. Whatever- his numb hand still worked to slide down the base of Hans’ cock, to dip lower and grasp his heavy balls.  When his entire elbow started to go fuzzy from the angle, Henry moved his mouth there instead, pressing his face in until all he could smell was Hans’ despite the water.

He reached over his head to take Hans’ shaft again and Hans closed his own fingers over Henry’s, using both their hands to stroke himself.

“I know you can be a good boy, Henry,” Hans said breathlessly. “Look at me.”

Henry leaned back on his knees. Hans shook Henry's hand off and jerked himself faster until he quickly finished, spilling across Henry's face. The wide shower head washed it away almost too quickly, Henry's tongue across his lips to try and catch what remained. 

Hans grabbed Henry's arm and hauled him back to his feet to kiss him. If anything they'd ever done had felt romantic, that kiss was it. 

At least, until Henry tried to touch himself too and Hans grabbed his wrist, looking at him with a wicked grin. “No.”

“No, what?”

“No, you don't get to cum.”

Henry blinked. He felt hot all over; could still taste traces of Hans in his mouth.

Hans kissed him again and said, “Maybe next time you'll remember who matters when we fuck.”

“What if I beg?”

“I would love to hear it, but it won't change anything. Not until tonight.”

“All day? ”

Hans laughed. “What were you going to do, go rub one out at lunch?”

Or sooner, maybe. Henry was very hard and Hans was very sexy and the idea of not finishing was going to strangle him alive. But alright. Okay. That was fair. Sort of. It's not like he had stopped Hans from orgasming last night, just- okay. He could play this game. It might even be worth it.

Henry sighed. “Tonight, though.”

“Probably.”

“What do you mean probably? ”

Hans laughed at him again and turned off the water. 

There was a plush robe for each of them and Henry pulled his around his shoulders, rubbing his cheek against the soft fabric. The bathroom was warm and filled with steam and all Henry wanted to do was lean against the countertop and jerk himself off. What were the odds he could just get Hans horny enough to let him?

Probably near zero. Might be worth considering after breakfast.

Hans grabbed Henry’s arm while he was busy contemplating in the mirror and spun him around. “Do you see this?” he asked, shoving a thin white cylinder in his face.

Henry had to tilt his head back to get his eyes to focus on it. “I see it?”

“Your new best friend. Cap off, spin this end, and then-” Hans pushed Henry’s robe aside and stabbed the needle into Henry’s tense thigh.

“Ow.”

Hans capped it and pressed it into Henry’s hand. “There you go. Don’t fuck us over again.”

Oh. Suppressants. Henry idly rubbed the spot on his thigh. The needle itself was small and thin, but whatever liquid had been injected stung. “How long does this last?”

“We’ll do it weekly. You can throw that away; I just wanted you to see it.” Hans had his own and he paused to inject it much more carefully than he’d done Henry before chucking it into the bathroom trash.

“But if I just finished my Rut, do I already need to-”

“You’re fucking doing it, Henry.” 

“They’re just so expensive.”

Hans gave him a look that clearly said ‘who fucking cares’.

Henry twisted the pen in his fingers, reading the little warning labels. These were not something even remotely obtainable in the Yards, no matter how long you saved trade credits or who you thought you knew. They had to be individually created for each person based on… well, Henry didn’t actually know the details. Blood or scent profiles or something.  Actually, Henry didn’t even know what the true cost of them might be; they were simply a nonstarter for people in the garages with very little access to healthcare.

Hans took it from his hands and threw it away. “I've got a new phone for you too. It’s charging.”

“Thanks. When does your proper one arrive?”

“This afternoon. Hopefully.” Hans snaked a towel from a hanging rack and ruffled it over his hair. “It'd better, because we're meeting Toth for dinner this evening.”

“We aren't. For dinner? He tried to kill you.”

“Technically, he only tried to have me killed.”

“By his Bonded!” Henry argued. “That's like- that pretty much makes them the same person.”

Hans ran his hand through his damp hair and eyed himself in the mirror. He gave Henry a brief look. “It doesn't. You don't have to come if you're going to be weird about it. He and I will settle things. You can eat some real food for once.”

“I think you should be weirder about it, Hans.”

“You don't know fuckall about how shit works here, Henry.” Hans turned to really look at him, leaning against the counter in his matching robe. “You've got until this evening to get it together or I'll ditch you in this hotel.”

“Don’t go without me,” Henry pleaded quietly. He would only sit there anxiously the entire time.

Hans closed the distance between them and pinned Henry to the sink for another warm kiss. “You're going to put wrinkles on your face if you keep worrying so much. Trust me.”

“I trust you.”

“Good.” Hans smiled. “This dating thing is easy.”

Henry pushed him away and headed towards the bedroom to figure out his clothing situation. “Give it twenty-four hours first.”

--

Hans had nothing on the schedule between that morning and the ominous dinner date. Henry suspected that he was keeping himself unoccupied until he could scent, and more or less confirmed it when he asked if they might go out to the Yards and Hans immediately scowled, fingers lightly grazing the edge of his neck. 

“Why?” Hans asked.

“I have to see a friend. I can go by myself if I can use a car.”

Hans frowned. “You need to go now?”

He should have gone last week. “He's at a clinic. I think we technically need to wear collars anyway.”

“Fine,” Hans said after a moment. “I won't have to put make-up over these damn bruises if I wear one anyway.”

“I like those bruises.”

“Take a fucking picture then,” Hans said, shoving the new phone into Henry’s hands. “It’s not happening again.”

Henry did take a picture, and then another while Hans was dressing. He tried for third before Hans threatened not to let him cum for a week, and then he simply got himself dressed.

“We’ve got to take a normal looking car into the Yards,” Henry insisted.

Hans rolled his eyes but the vehicle that pulled up to the hotel lobby was simple and black; still vastly overpriced, but it was probably the best Henry could ask for. It was a long drive to the Yards, but the main South clinic wasn’t too deep into the heart of things.

He took out his phone while the car navigated the underroads. After a very brief moment of debate, Henry simply cleared most of his notifications: missed calls, emails, texts, etc. Most of them were probably outdated from when they’d been AWOL and certainly couldn’t be relevant now. (And they’d never expected him to actually answer emails before, so why would he have to start now?)

No texts from Erik. Had he lived? If he died, and Henry had pulled the trigger even if he’d been forced to, would that count as Henry having murdered him? He’d never shot anybody before. It wasn’t during approved texting hours, but Henry figured that an assassination attempt was a good excuse for him to start ignoring that rule.

H: are you alright?

He shouldn’t care. Erik had tried very hard to kill Hans and was also responsible for the non-stop pain in his shoulder. But he hadn’t killed Hans, or Henry even, so that had to count for something?

No immediate answer came. Every other text (from Henry’s extremely quick scan) was just an attempt to figure out where Henry and Hans had gone and if they were okay.

Except for one from Katherine that he only tapped because it started with a series of exclamation points.

K: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  

K: I do not care if you look at my emails because they’re also sent to three other people and have not been relevant to your concerns.
K: But it would be extremely kind of you to give me a heads up if my day is going to be spent dealing with something like this.
K: (image attached)

Yeah. He wasn’t going to answer that one, either. What was he supposed to say? Sorry? Or suggest that if she really looked closely at that balcony picture, she’d notice it was Hans who was kissing him first?

Actually. No, he knew what he should tell her.

H: btw hans says hes officially courting me now

Katherine was not slow in answering her messages. 

K: Wow. Okay. Great news. Definitely. 

Somehow those five words perfectly echoed how Henry felt about it, too.

Hans, having been sat across the car as usual on his own cell, let out a big sigh. “Why did you fucking tell Kat? ”

Oh, she was fast. Henry shrugged. “Shouldn’t she know?”

“Why? It’s between you and me.”

“And the paparazzi,” Henry pointed out. He opened the picture Katherine had sent and turned his phone for Hans to see. 

Hans rolled his eyes. “You’re hardly the first person I’ve been ‘caught’ on a balcony with. And nothing about that reads Courting. Don’t overreact.”

Henry put his phone away in his jacket pocket. “So you don’t want anybody to know you’re Courting me.”

“Well.” Hans leaned back against the leather seat. “I didn’t say that.”

“Mmhm.” Of course not. Courting in secret was contradictory. 

“Ignore the photo. It’ll be forgotten as quickly as the other ones of us.”

“What other-?”

Hans crossed the floorwell to crowd into Henry’s space. He shoved Henry’s knee aside to make room to kneel between them, leaning against Henry’s thigh. Henry distinctly remembered him doing this once before, but Hans had been a lot less sober then and their arrangement a lot less complicated. This time the blue eyes staring up at Henry looked perfectly clear and especially dangerous. 

They were on the highway going an incredible speed, and maybe it was a perfectly safe autodriving car, but it still felt incredibly risky for Hans to start undoing his pants. Despite the racing of his heart, Henry made no move to stop him.

Hans pulled his cock from his pants and leaned over him to suckle gently at the head, squeezing him slowly until he was truly hard. Henry let his head fall back against the seat and didn't realize until Hans took him deeper into his mouth exactly what was happening.

“Are you just riling me up again only to keep making me wait until tonight?” he asked suspiciously.

Hans laughed around his cock.

Henry kicked at him, pushing him backwards into the footwell. Hans kept laughing, entirely amused while Henry grumbled, tucking his damp and definitely hard arousal up into his pants again.

“You stay on your half of the car,” Henry grumbled, crossing his legs.

Hans climbed back up onto his seat. “You’re just so fucking easy, Henry.”

--

The clinic wasn't large, but it was guarded. The car left them out front in the warm sun and pulled away, likely to sit somewhere out of view and less conspicuous. One guard Henry hadn't met before opened the door for them, and two more stood posted near the reception desk.

There were usually patrolling guardsmen wandering the Yards, especially after curfew, but the only official postings were at locations concerned with food or medicine.

Henry approached the desk and told the attendee why he was there. She seemed more concerned with Hans, staring at him while Henry tried to speak to her, but eventually she told him where to go and he headed down an unfamiliar hall. He'd never been to the long-term clinic before, but it wasn't a complicated set-up and he found the correct room soon enough.

Henry carefully slid the glass door open and stepped into the room, holding the sliding door for a moment to let Hans follow. It was quiet and almost suffocating, and the lack of any sort of steady monitoring noises alarmed him until he realized there were simply none present. Matthias looked to be fast asleep in the small bed and Henry took a seat on the chair next to him.

He looked terrible. Henry truly should have come here sooner- the fact that there’d simply been no time did nothing to assuage the sickening guilt he felt as he watched Matthias struggle to breathe. His face looked pale even next to the bleach-white sheets and his eyes sunken, dark. Henry turned to meet Hans’ eyes; Hans simply shrugged and grabbed a thick medical folder from the sink counter before finding a spot against the wall to lean against.

Henry reached under the blankets to find Matthias’ hand, taking it and squeezing. He felt too cold. It was genuinely surprising to see Matthias shift at Henry’s touch and blink his eyes open with real effort.

“Henry,” he whispered through dry and cracking lips.

Henry smiled for him and attempted to keep the horror from his expression. “Hi, Matti.” Apologizing for his tardiness would do no good for either of them.

“Thanks for visiting.” Matthias struggled to sit up; Henry pushed his pillows back to make it easier for him without getting in his way. His Omega scent was almost sickly sweet, just faint enough that Henry barely caught it on the fabrics. “Jo said you’re in the City now. Must be busy.”

“I could come by more often,” Henry promised. “It’s not so bad in a car.” He glanced at Hans, who was flipping through loose pages and frowning. Henry wished for a rock to throw at him so that he might not make the record look quite so gloomy.

“I’m just glad-”

The door creaked as Johanka shoved it open again, a thick blanket in her arms. “Matti. You’re supposed to be resting.”

“All I do is rest,” Matthias complained good-naturedly.

“Jo.” Henry stood up to greet her. She tossed the blanket onto the foot of the bed and yanked him into a tight hug.

“Glad you’re looking better, Henry,” she told him.

“Me?”

Hans tossed the folder back onto a random countertop. “She intruded on your Rut,” he said. He rolled his shoulders and then headed to the door, pointing to Henry and saying, “Come speak to me,” before he stepped into the hallway.

“I don’t care for him at all,” Jo announced. She brushed Henry’s sleeves off before letting him go.

“Well.” Henry shrugged. “He’s a little rough around the edges.”

Matthias grinned. “Like somebody else we might know.”

“Ugh. Lay back down.” Johanka unfolded the blanket and threw it over him, ignoring his complaints about it being heavy.

Henry took the opportunity to track Hans down in the hallway. He found him not far off, looking through his phone. “Do we have to leave already?”

Hans shook his head. “Your friend is going to die here.”

“Yeah.” Henry turned to make sure he’d closed the door behind himself. “Yeah, we all know that. Just look at him.”

“You could move him.”

“Where?”

“Rattay hospital.”

“Hans. This is a Rattay hospital. Technically.”

Hans looked away, frustrated. “I mean a real one. In the City. They’re just managing symptoms here and barely that.”

“You think they have the funding to do anything else? Who is going to pay for a City hospital? You?”

“Yeah, if you asked me to.”

“I would ask for any of them, Hans. Where are you going to draw the line?”

“Fuck, Henry. It was just- I was only offering.”

It was so difficult sometimes to look at Hans and not see the rest of his professional titles. It wasn’t directly his fault that people in the Yards were left to rot like this- except in a few months he would inherit that fault. What kind of company would it become? Henry wondered if he should pay more attention to Hans’ meetings.

That was neither here nor there. Henry sighed. “Do you think there's a point? He isn't too far gone?”

Hans considered, looking through the glass windows at Matthias in that bed. “I think he'll die in ten or twenty years of cancer even if he does live now,” he said bluntly. “And it will be a rough few weeks of emergency care. Bone marrow recreation. But sure. Yeah.”

All of that, all by himself in the City. Henry would have to make sure to be better about visiting. “Thank you,” he told Hans sincerely. “For the offer. I'll ask him.” He left Hans loitering in the hall and let himself back into the room. “Can I have a minute just with him?” 

Johanka frowned (damn, he even missed that familiar frown) and then nodded. “I have some things for you, actually. I'll go get them.” She gave the blanket one final yank and then left, pushing the door shut behind her.

Henry sat down next to Matthias again. “There are more options for you if we transfer you to a better hospital, outside of the Yards. You won't have to think about payment, either.”

Matthias offered his hand and Henry took it into between both of his own. “Thank you, Hal, truly, but…” He closed his eyes for a moment and drew in a shaky breath. “I'm really very tired.”

Henry bit down on his tongue until the choking feeling went away and then squeezed Matthias' frail hand. “I know. I understand. But why not-”

“For what, Hal? Then what? Come back here to try and find a place in the rest of the overcrowded Yards?” Matthias met his eyes and shook his head faintly. “Figure out what job I'm still capable of doing? I don't have an Uncle to go to like Theresa.”

As much as he wanted to, Henry wasn't about to falsely promise any more of Hans’ goodwill. He should have visited earlier. “What about Jo?”

Matthias laughed quietly. “Henry. I like to think that when I'm done with this, she might actually be able to rest.”

“No.” Henry said it quickly. “No, Matti. I promise you- I promise - there won't be any resting for her.  Not for a long time.”

“I'm sorry,” Matthias said gently.

 “I know.”

They were both quiet again. Finally, Matthias said, “She won't be happy if I go to the City.”

“Absolutely pissed,” Henry agreed. “Especially on Capon's dime.”

“Yeah, what's, uh. What's going on with that, exactly?”

They both turned to watch Johanka clearly sharing her thoughts with Hans through the mostly-soundproof glass. “I'm not sure,” Henry answered honestly. “But when I come see you in the City, maybe I can explain it better then.” He looked back at Matthias, hopeful. “Right?”

Matthias lowered his gaze to their joined hands. “I don’t know,” he said. “It feels like just moving to a lonelier grave.”

It might be. It might be lonelier, it might be more painful, it might be throwing hope and money and time away for nothing but lingering despair. They both knew it, but Henry couldn’t bring himself to give up on one of his last and dearest friends. “I’ll be there,” he promised.

“I’ll think about it. In the meantime, Hal, I guess I’ll… I guess I’ll keep trying.”

“Thank you, Matti.” Was it selfish to beg him even for that much? Henry released his hand and stood. He exited the private room just in time to save Hans from the start of another Johanka lecture, looking back one last time before the door shut. 

Johanka gave Hans one last intense stare before she ignored him and turned to Henry. “Here, Hal.” She pressed a small box into his arms. “The liquidators let me in there if I volunteer hours and suit up with them. Not much left, but maybe some of it's familiar.”

Henry was terrified by the concept of the box but tucked it under his arm. “Thank you.”

“Come visit again. Soon. Others come sometimes but he just spends so much time… alone.”

“Saving his energy to deal with you, I'm sure,” Hans interjected. “Come on, Henry.”

“I'll see him soon,” Henry promised quickly, before Johanka recovered enough to argue the indignation. “Real soon.”

He picked up the pace to catch up with Hans. 

--

Hans made it all of fifteen minutes of highway driving towards the City before he couldn't help but ask, “What'd she give you?”

Henry pulled his gaze from the passing scenery and looked at the simple plastic box on his lap. “Things she recovered from the fires, I think.” He brushed his fingers over the top.

Hans leaned over from across the car. “Are you going to open it?”

“Maybe. Eventually.” The simple possession of the box was comfort; looking at whatever items might be inside would cause him pain. They would mark a state of reality that he’d be forced to acknowledge.

“I’ll open it.” Hans reached for the box and Henry growled at him. He backed off. “Alright, whatever. I need to figure out transport for your dying friend anyway.”

“No, he’s… he said he’ll consider it.”

Hans paused with his phone in his hand, looking at Henry doubtfully. “What do you mean?”

“I mean what I said.” Henry wrapped his arms around the box and leaned back to look out the window.  “He doesn’t want to leave, but he promised he’d think about it.”

“He has to.” Hans stretched his legs out and crossed one ankle over the other.

“He doesn’t have to.”

“Then you might as well have smothered him with a pillow while we were there.”

“Hans.”

“What? He’s undergoing multiple system failures. He’ll be-”

“Enough,” Henry snapped. “I saw him; I know. It’s his damn choice, alright?” If Matthias wanted to just waste away in the comfort of home, Henry couldn’t stop him. Fuck. Should he have tried harder, though? He put his face in his hands. Why Matti, out of all of them? Henry hadn’t even asked what had actually happened to him.

“That girl,” Hans said. “His Alpha.”

“Johanka? They’re not… it’s nothing official.” As if that even fucking mattered at his point. “What about her? She bitched at you?”

“No,” Hans said simply. He looked out his own window and crossed his arms. “She begged me to save him.”

Chapter Text

Henry left the box sitting on their shared nightstand unopened. It wasn't a short trip to and from the Yards and they'd not much time upon returning to the hotel to refresh and dress properly for their early dinner. He didn't have time to process anything. Still, he eyed it each time he walked by and considered simply lifting the top just to look. 

What sort of things could possibly remain after that kind of destruction?

Matthias’ body, a failing shell.

Henry thought about Johanka and her dangerous beliefs that they'd all silently agreed never to mention. Whatever sort of deity she'd decided was real enough and mattered enough to risk her life worshipping- it made Henry ill to think she would have to find herself metaphorically on her knees before Capon instead.

All that and it wasn't Hans any of them needed to beg, but Matti himself. Fuck. He should have tried harder. He'd thought begging would be too selfish? Who fucking cared about selfish? Selfish was choosing to die and leaving them alone again, it was-

No. Henry took a breath, trying to steady himself. Matthias had every right to choose his own death. 

Johanka was notoriously good at talking them all out of things. Henry just had to have faith in her now. 

The door buzzer went off shortly after, and it was Hans’ newest phone, delivered like dinner by a cheery waist-high robot. A visible weight shed itself from his shoulders as he took it, immediately going through his lists even as the door auto-locked behind him. Hans didn't often bother with scenting when it was just the two of them, but he set it strong enough that Henry could smell it as he passed by him. 

It was simple, nothing but an average ‘this is me' aroma of barely-sweetened spice, but Henry found himself still trailing Hans into the closet and pushing him against the wall before he even flicked the lights on.

“Henry,” Hans muttered. “We still have to- change.”

“Okay.” Henry grabbed the bottom edges of Hans’ shirt and started to wrestle it off him.

Hans struggled; the shirt came off but a few buttons didn't quite survive and rolled across the floor into the darkness. “Henry.”

“There’s time for this.” Henry slipped both arms around him and tugged him away from the wall so that it was easier to hold him close and truly scent him, neck to neck, racing pulse to racing pulse. 

“Henry,” Hans repeated a third time.

“What could possibly be worth bitching about right now?” Henry grumbled into his skin.  “Can you shut up and comfort me for a damn minute?”

Hans floundered.

Whatever. Henry traced the silver lines on his back and breathed their shared scent in. The two of them were something now, and part of that something was an implicit agreement to only give and take what the other could survive.

This was something Hans could give him, even if it was the middle of the day beyond the shadowed confines of the walk-on closet.

“You like being scented,” Henry reminded him

Hans laughed quietly against Henry's neck.

“And you could make an attempt to scent me back.”

Hans leaned back until his head knocked into the wall to meet Henry's eyes. Perhaps it was only the shadowed light spilling in from the edge of the door, but there was something in Hans’ expression that seemed almost haunted. 

“What are you thinking?” Henry asked, unable to resist despite expecting, at best, a half-truth.

Hans’ lips parted slightly, just enough to see the tips of his canines, but he only shut his mouth tight and shook his head slowly. 

Silence was better than a lie even if it might make Henry more anxious, more curious. A thousand vague possibilities- was he particularly swayed by Jo? He'd agreed to her demands before she'd even asked, but he'd been near silent in the car back to the hotel. Or was it as simple a matter as him hating a second forced visit to the Yards?

Henry hoped he was nervous about the fucking dinner; hoped he might finally be treating it with the seriousness it deserved, but in reality it was more likely that Hans was only having feelings about being able to scent again.

“Now what are you thinking?” Hans countered. 

“That we should probably get dressed.”

Hans grabbed Henry's chin, thumb against his mouth, and turned his face away so that Hans could properly scent the other side of him, roughly, with intent. They'd smell like each other for the rest of the night.

--

Hans’ newest vehicle was a luxurious little thing in glittering white with sharp silver accents- somehow exactly like the loose silk suit Hans had chosen to wear that evening. It came equipped with an upgraded sound-system that Hans started testing as soon as they sat down, doors sliding shut behind them. Henry felt stiff in his pressed black suit, new shoes uncomfortably tight, and the way Hans flipped through songs was doing nothing to help the anxious rock in his stomach.

After yet another bass-heavy song cut off halfway, Henry finally begged, “Can we just listen to something quiet for a minute?”

Hans seemed startled but did lower the volume and swapped to a slower playlist, allowing his phone to rest against one knee. He eyed Henry before asking, “Do you listen to music?”

“Yeah,” Henry said. “You almost always have something playing.”

“No, I mean- what do you like?”

Henry shrugged. “Nothing particular.” If he thought about it, his life was just a series of listening to other peoples’ music: his mother's slow rock, the few approved lists of ancient songs that played over the aging speakers in the factories, Bianca's constantly shifting tastes. Hans’ extremely specific mixes were just another soundtrack in his life. “I don't mind what you play,” Henry said honestly.

The restaurant was closer to the central districts than Henry had ever been before, and traffic grew heavy. The stop-and-go was beginning to make him nauseous, and Henry wondered if they'd have to cancel if he managed to actually vomit in the car- in Hans' new car.

Eventually the vehicle pulled up to the curb in front of an elaborate building whose entrance put them on a street a couple thousand feet above ground-level. Henry stepped out of the car first and looked around. There were so many people on the street, multiple businesses held within each stacking building, the setting sun only barely cutting through the City's silhouette at this height and leaving streaks of reflected yellow across metallic walls. Busy. Henry couldn’t wait for the day to be over.

Hans unfolded himself from the car and carefully touched Henry's elbow. “You're not on duty,” Hans reminded him. “This is casual.”

Casual. What could possibly be casual about this? Already more than one stranger was pausing to look at them, uncertain recognition spreading on their faces. The building's front door wasn't monitored and neither was the lobby beyond a few bored and underpaid concierge-types lounging behind a desk. Hans bypassed them completely and led Henry to a set of elevators.

“Have you been here before?” Henry asked.

“Once or twice,” Hans answered as an elevator dinged and the doors opened. He stepped inside and Henry followed. “They make it easy to clear out the upper levels for meetings and events.”

The idea that there’d be no other patrons but them was both reassuring and unsettling. Henry smoothed out his jacket and missed the familiar shape of his concealed weapon.

The elevator began to rise and Hans bodied him into the corner, grabbing his face to kiss him rough against the wall. Henry was more than aware of the game by now, but this time he didn't argue and took the distraction for what it was. He put his hands to Hans’ waist and pulled him closer. 

The elevator slowed and Hans pulled away, adjusting Henry's jacket collar and looking predictably smug. When the doors opened, Henry followed him out slowly, attempting to slow his racing heart and will away the flush he could feel hot upon his cheeks.

Seeing Istvan standing across the room casually speaking to a member of the waitstaff certainly did wonders to chill Henry's mood again. There was no showy cape this time, but instead an overcoat with draping floor-length sleeves painted like the edges of the setting sun; an over-the-top statement piece completely unsuitable to try and wear while eating. The waiter saw Hans first and Istvan, noting the shift in the staff's gaze, turned to greet them with a smile that appeared uncomfortably genuine. His pointed canines were done in yellow gold, a choice of softer metal that Henry hadn't seen used before.

“Hans,” he said, slipping the entire coat from his shoulders and handing it to the employee without looking at them, “glad you could join me.”

The dark outfit he wore underneath was more simple in its elegance, but Henry truthfully did not care about fashion and was entirely too struck by the man's collarless neck. The left appeared perfectly normal, but as Istvan turned and stretched his pale gloved hand for Hans to take, Henry blatantly stared at the horrific mess of white, ragged puncture scars on the other side. The Bondmark was so graphic that Henry genuinely wondered how he'd actually survived it.

His scent gland clearly hadn't- there was a series of implants, both gold and Rattay silver, embedded thick into and around the gland in a clear effort to reconstruct damage. How strange to see so much of Hans’ inheritance in the skin of the man who'd wanted him dead.

Hans’ foot nudged his and Henry yanked his attention back to the moment and to the hand now offered him. He stared down at Istvan's fingers, covered in white. Henry reached out and gripped Istvan's wrist politely despite the bile that threatened the back of his throat and the uselessness of scentgreeting a man with covered wrists. Istvan's hand was shockingly cold through the thin fabric. 

A woman dressed in muted black directed them to a small table. There were other tables in the decorated room, but all of them were empty as if reserved for a private event (they were the private event). There was a flickering candle in the center of the table and more staff waiting to pull chairs out for them. To Henry, it felt almost eerie; some kind of farce of a meal. He sat stiffly next to Hans and made a concentrated effort to not stare at Istvan, instead focusing on the cream drapes hung heavy around the room's crystallized windows. 

Staff poured them white wine from iced bottles. Henry let his sit. Hans leaned back entirely too comfortably in his chair with the glass in hand almost before it'd been finished pouring. They were talking nonsense about numbers and people and places that Henry couldn’t keep up with because his mind was made of too much static to focus beyond keeping his palms pressed politely to his knees. Once or twice he picked up his own drink to sip, each time surprised by its clear, crisp flavor (expensive, delicate, not made to get drunk on).

They were each shortly served a bowl of greens and then at least Henry had a purpose for his hands. The dressing was sour and unfamiliar, but he ate it anyway, eyes low as he subtly watched Istvan use his napkin to wipe away a faint sheen of sweat at his collar.

Was it jumping to conclusions to presume he was nervous? Or was it just a secondary-?

“Is Erik alright?” Henry asked bluntly, shocking even himself by interrupting.

Istvan looked at Henry sharply. He lowered his fork to the table and leaned back as if to more fully observe him, and Henry felt a chill prickle across his neck. “Yes,” Istvan said after a weighted moment.

Henry glanced to the side to see Hans staring at him with brows furrowed. He ignored that. “Good. I'm glad.”

“Are you?” Istvan asked coolly.

“Should I not be?” Henry countered. Talk at the table had so far been about the profit value and population costs and the risks of professional marketing versus relying on viral word of mouth- not once had anybody mentioned the fucking murder plot and Henry was sick of it. A farce, he thought again. Every aspect of the City was just a polluted facsimile. “I consider him a friend,” Henry added, both because it was one of few true things he had and because he thought it'd get under Istvan's skin.

Hans set down his empty wine glass. “They spoke at the Arboretum,” he elaborated.

“So I saw.” Istvan nodded once, slowly. “Before the nearly-tragic accident.”

Waitstaff reappeared to take their dishes and refill glasses. Henry pressed back uncomfortably into his chair while a man with a little brush whisked nonexistent crumbs from the tablecloth. Once suitably cleaned, the main dish was served, and Henry found himself staring at a dehydrated little black eye that stared back at him from a fish's open-mouth face.

“Erik is… recovering comfortably,” Istvan continued as if no interruption had taken place.

Henry felt faintly light-headed. He managed to answer without looking away from his plate. “I would have liked to see him again.”

That was too much for Hans, who couldn't help but scoff under his breath. Even he, however, was not so bold as to mention the bloody last meeting so openly. Whatever he did say, Henry didn't hear, because his brain had gone fuzzy again looking at the entire dead fish.

A real live fish, just like the thousands he'd spent hours watching swim on the giant screen in glittering schools under the brighter old world sun. What had this one been through? Where had it lived? He knew a fish could feel fear; had watched them scatter around predators only to dash rapidly back to their families immediately after. Did this one have a family to miss or were they all taken at once? Was the fish on Hans’ plate-

He looked over and found Hans watching him very intently.

“Henry,” Hans said, “are you going to try it?”

Henry picked up his fork and slid it underneath the fish's skin. There were bones buried in the white, flaky meat. It did smell incredible, roasted and savory. He pressed his tongue against the back of his teeth.

Istvan cleared his throat. “Capon.”

Hans and Henry both looked at him. 

He gestured loosely at Henry and his dinner. “Are you not aware, perhaps, that the population of the Yards do not eat living meat?”

“I- yes, of course I know that.” Hans waved one of the attending staff over, muttering under his breath, “Those fucking documentaries.” He motioned at Henry's dish. “Can you take-”

“No, I'll eat it.” Henry grabbed the plate before it could be taken. 

“You can have something else, Henry, it's fine.”

Henry felt heat spread over his face. “Will they throw it away?”

“Uh-”

“We'll have to, yes,” answered the waiter before Hans could decide if he wanted to try and lie or not. “Our chef can provide anything you'd prefer, sir.”

Sir. The whole situation felt like a bizarre, embarrassing dream. Henry did not let go of his plate. “I don't want to waste it,” he insisted quietly.

Hans grit his teeth briefly before sighing. “Can you take it and just have it de-boned? Bring the same back but only the filet? Let go of it, Henry.”

He finally peeled his fingers off and let the waiter carefully take the dish away.

Istvan was laughing at them silently and put up a hand when they both gave him a dirty look. “Please,” he said, smiling thinly. “I only find it somewhat nostalgic.”

Henry felt like maybe he should apologize, but he refused to. 

“Do you have plans for where you'll move next?” Istvan asked once it was clear that the conversation had somewhat stalled.

Hans shrugged. “Possibly. Depends. Real estate has been growing tighter these days.”

Istvan nodded. “Perhaps smart not to give your next address out, after the recent string of Rattay arson.”

Hans’ eyebrows lifted and he smiled dryly. “The news is still reporting the first as an… industrial accident.”

“Of course. That must be right.”

Henry's eyes grew wide. “You-” He stood, knees bumping the table so hard that their drinks shook. “Do you know-” His fingers closed over his fork tightly. “What do you know?”

Of course it was all connected. Of fucking course. Whether it had been somebody else pulling the specific strings in the Yards, whether Istvan had sent Erik there too- Henry felt sick - he should have realized this earlier. Did Hans know? Hans knew. 

Istvan briefly looked from the wavering fork to Henry's frantic expression before ignoring him completely. “You must still be working on manners, Capon.”

“Henry,” Hans hissed. “Not here.”

Henry thrust the fork out as if it were any kind of threat. His other hand crumpled the tablecloth. “You know who did it,” he insisted. 

Hans shifted closer to place one hand on Henry's elbow and Henry looked down to meet his eyes. Slowly, hands trembling, Henry settled back into his seat. He forced his fingers to drop the fork and it fell onto his unused spoon with a clatter. Hans squeezed his arm once before letting go.

Henry clasped his hands together underneath the tablecloth and drew in increasingly steady breaths. Maybe it was just a ploy to get him further agitated (he didn't understand what the point of that would be). No. No, he couldn't talk himself out of it. The same people who had struck his home were also trying to rattle Rattay by taking out Hans. Hans had probably known this the whole time. Henry felt- 

He felt a lot of things. It had been a very long day and he still needed to sit through the rest of this meal.

Hans' fingers were colder than his. Henry let Hans pry his hands apart under the table. Hans sat comfortably at the table, completely unrattled, his other hand clutching a half-full glass of wine; nobody would look at him and guess how tightly he was clutching Henry's right hand below the tablecloth.

“Apologies, Toth,” Hans said with a faint nod of his head. “He's been through quite a bit lately and, as you say, isn't used to these sort of events.”

Istvan offered a half-wave. “No need,” he answered, “as I said. Nostalgic.” He eyed Henry with a smug tilt of his lips and Henry felt every muscle in his body tense.

His meal was returned to him, no longer with a face but as a simple cut of white meat over a bed of assorted grains. Henry was grateful for the distraction, and more grateful still that he no longer felt so emotionally connected to his food; exhaustion crept at the edges of his vision.

He did not let go of Hans’ hand and lifted his fork with his bad arm. He was unskilled with fine control of his left hand on a normal day, but with two fingers gone numb it was even more difficult. Still, he managed, focused on the edge of his fork instead of Istvan's infuriating expression. The meat tasted like salt and butter and fell apart on his tongue. Henry thought of sharks basking in the ocean's distorted sun. 

--

The rest of dinner seemed uneventful. Henry felt exhaustion like lead pooling down his spine. They should not have been to the Yards earlier- he was used to years of long days filled with monotonous labor, not this constant get up and go. At some point he lost count of how much wine he actually drank himself after reaching for it absently when he no longer knew what to do with his hands. He certainly felt tipsy by the time the three of them stood, staff returning Istvan's coat to him, but Hans was definitely drunk and flushed red across his cheeks and over his ears.

Henry backed into the elevator. He could taste iron on the back of his lip. They would all three walk out together as friendly acquaintances, lying as easily with their bodies as they did their mouths. 

“Mr. Capon, sir,” a voice called, and Hans sighed.

“Hold the elevator,” he said, slipping back into the room without one look back.

Henry put his foot in the doorway. If he moved it, locked himself in there with just Istvan- did he have the guts to act on his murderous thoughts?

The choice was taken from him the moment Capon's loud boots disappeared beyond another room. Istvan slammed his heel into Henry's foot while simultaneously gripping the meat of his injured shoulder, fingers like hot irons dug into his unhealed wound.

Henry gasped as the air rushed from his lungs and he stumbled, clinging to the bar that ran along the edge of the elevator to keep himself upright while the doors closed with an ominous rattle. 

Istvan wrapped his hand around Henry’s throat but didn't squeeze, just forced his attention. “How did you fucking do it?” Istvan snapped, lips twisted into a snarl.

Henry tried to grab him but his injured arm was unresponsive, filled with static and numbing pain. If he let go of his slippery grip on the metal bar, he'd fall to the floor. Henry spit instead, watched it land over the make-up on Istvan's cheek.

Istvan's gloved thumb pressed so deeply into his sutures that Henry felt wetness bloom and choked on a whimper. “Tell me what you did, you filthy dog,” Istvan demanded again.

Henry sucked in a breath. Istvan's scent was like the air at the Arboretum; uncomfortably off but with a thick floral background. “I pulled the damn trigger,” Henry growled. 

“You were bleeding out.” He tightened his grasp on Henry's throat and Henry felt his vision blur, the descending red numbers on the elevator unreadable. “There’s no possible way you would've made that angle.”

Henry wondered faintly how many times Istvan had watched the scene. He struggled to speak and for some reason Istvan let him. “And yet I did,” he insisted, and then because there was some half-sense of self-preservation inside him, Henry finally bared his teeth and Commanded, “Let go of me.”

Istvan released him instantly and Henry threw his weight into him to shove him down, knocking him to his knees and adding with heat, “Stay there.”

“You've learned from your petulant master,” Istvan spat. One of his sleeves twisted between his folded legs. He glared up at Henry, their panting breaths making the elevator hot. “Covered in his manufactured scent. Do you know who taught him to Command?”

Henry tackled him. It was stupid but he was beyond furious. He threw himself on Istvan with teeth bared and wrestled him on the glossy metal floor. His teeth caught on silk fabric and it tore loudly. Istvan yanked on his injured arm and Henry yelped; he had the advantage in weight and size but Istvan knew exactly where he was weak.

A sharp, fiery pain streaked across Henry's forearm as gold canines ripped through his skin. Blood stained Istvan's coat. Henry ignored it; just another spot of pain to make him angrier. He would win this fight- he was naturally meant to win this fight- and finally he had Istvan pinned properly on his back and his hand on Istvan's throat instead, Henry's teeth hovering over the pulsing lifeblood in his neck.

Istvan laughed at him. Henry tensed, ready for another nasty trick, but Istvan had nothing else to challenge him with. Henry could simply allow his baser instincts one moment of control and he'd get to watch the Omega bleed out on the floor.

It would be so incredibly satisfying for that one, singular moment. 

And then Henry would forever wonder if Istvan really was involved in the Yards arson or if he'd just been talking to get under his skin. 

Henry's narrowed eyes looked at the scars under his fangs, spit dripping into old bite marks.

Somehow, Henry managed to close his mouth, swallowing. He shifted off of Istvan's body slowly, ready to leap back into a second fight if he needed to, but Istvan simply watched him with a manic look in his eye and Henry's red blood smeared on his lips.

“Erik and I are even now,” Henry said, his voice raw.

Istvan pulled himself into a sitting position. “You'll never be even with him.”

“I saw what you did to his fucking wrists.”

Istvan hissed a laugh and stretched his own arm out. “His wrists?” He struggled with a clasp at his sleeve before he was able to yank it back. He peeled the wrist of his glove up far enough to show Henry his scent gland- or what remained of it. Unlike Erik's mess, Istvan's wrist was lined with precise, almost surgical scars. Probably surgical scars, actually. 

Henry had no idea what to say and was silent while Istvan tacked his sleeve back up. He suspected he might never understand. Right now he didn't care to try.

Hans would be so mad about Henry damaging his shoulder again, Henry thought. His head pounded. The elevator doors finally shuffled open and Henry forced himself to his feet with a groan. He couldn't explain why he did it, but he offered his hand to Istvan and Istvan took it. 

The waiting concierge in the lobby stared at them with alarm, but Istvan waved them off. Henry dripped fresh blood on the waxed tile from the gash in his arm and pressed his other hand to the wound when he noticed.

He let Istvan leave without comment and waited patiently under the too-bright lobby lights for Hans to appear in the next elevator. 

“Henry,” Hans gasped, rushing over. He pulled at Henry's arm until he could see the ripped fabric and torn skin; eyed the limp way Henry was holding his other arm again. “What the fuck did you do?”

“I didn't start it.”

“Well, you- did you finish it?” 

Henry grinned slowly and Hans kissed him. They both tasted like dry white wine.

--

“Maybe we should go to the clinic,” Hans mused in the car. 

“I don't want to,” Henry complained. He finished tugging off the suit jacket and let it crumple in the floorwell. The gash in his arm wasn't so terrible, having been blocked mostly by the thick fabric of the jacket's sleeves. There was blood spotting through his white undershirt shoulder, but not enough to concern him. He felt his pulse racing like thunder in his chest, lingering adrenaline pushing him out of his seat and into Hans’.

Hans backed against the door and tried to push him back with his foot. “You're gonna stain my new suit, you fuckin’ animal,” he complained. 

Henry dragged his palm over the bite wound and shoved Hans leg aside to reach out and smear red over the white silk of his loose jacket. His blood and his scent; they both belonged to Hans.

Hans complained loudly. Henry did not give a fuck. He shoved Hans’ leg down and pinned it against the back of the seats with his body, laying heavy over Hans’ lower half and beginning to struggle with the waist of Hans’ white pants. 

Hans assisted him with a low breath once he realized what Henry was doing. He shifted so that Henry could yank his pants down, the two of them laying awkwardly in the car seat, edge of the door jammed almost painfully against Hans’ shoulders.

“We're fucked up,” Hans told him, shoving Henry's head down to make him take more of his cock. “I should have let you really try and stab him with that damn fork. Fuck.”

The car turned a sharp corner and Henry groaned deep. He was so fucking horny, pushed all day because of Hans’ stupid game. The angle was terrible, awkward, but if he reached down and forced Hans’ leg into a better position, he could grind himself against his calf.

Hans was drunk and chatty, the hand on Henry's head almost gentle in his hair- Henry did not pay attention to anything besides making himself audibly choke. If he could make Hans finish fast enough, there might be no knot to keep him from swallowing until he truly could no longer breathe. He wanted to shove his face closer to Hans’ trimmed blond hair, prove that he was good at this, actually; he made himself gag and readjusted, humping Hans’ bent leg like the fucking dog they all thought he was.

Hans bent over him, panting. He held Henry's wrist in one hand, initially trying to control the blood dripping from it and now just using it for something to hold onto. “That's it, that's good,” Hans mumbled drunk non-stop nonsense, running his fingers through Henry's hair. “You're mine, you know- my strong pet.”

Henry came first, sloppy in his pants against Hans’ calf, his shoulders shuddering. He grasped the edge of Hans’ jacket with his other numb hand and looked up at him with wide, wet eyes. When Hans finished it seemed to shock them both and Henry choked again, spilling spit and seed both through his teeth while he tried to breathe.

Hans was struck quiet for a moment. Henry tried to push himself up but the seat's leather was slick with blood and he only slipped. Instead he settled where he was to lick the mess from Hans’ lap. 

Hans let his head fall back against the window with a painful thunk, eyes wide. 

Chapter Text

Hans abandoned his jacket before they slunk from the car. He wore nothing underneath, but his bare chest would raise less suspicious questions than an outfit smeared with blood. Henry performed the reverse and peeled his crumpled coat from the floor of the car, sliding it over his shoulders with a wince. One of the attending concierges did open her mouth to comment on their appearances, but she was quickly elbowed by her coworker who simply offered them a wave and generic greeting.

Showering was their first objective and then Hans slapped a bandage over Henry’s clotting forearm. His sutures had been largely protected by layers of clothing; Hans smeared adhesive over one particularly sketchy looking spot and called it good enough before forcing more narcotics on him.

Henry found some particularly soft sweats among his new clothes and wandered back to the bedroom. It had all been cleaned while they were gone, beds made neatly and towels refreshed. His box had been positioned neatly on the center nightstand and he wondered absently how nosy people who cleaned hotel rooms for a living might be. They were all just people, after all; some of them were born to labor in the dirt and some of them to labor fifty stories high. Henry didn't give a fuck if somebody had been through his things. There were so few times in his life he'd even had things worth going through.

He flopped backwards onto a plush comforter and reached over to pull the stupid box onto his stomach, resting his hands over it. Hans was playing music on his spare phone in the bathroom. Henry closed his eyes for a moment. His cheeks felt wine-warm. He briefly considered texting Erik again, maybe sending a picture of his arm- he couldn't decide if that would just be petty and ultimately didn't even reach for his phone.

In his mind, he saw Istvan bleeding out. Tasted blood on his tongue and flesh in his teeth. He could smell acrid smoke clouding his lungs, feel hot ash on his arms.

Henry could have killed him easily. It would have felt incredible; the most intense kind of predatory satisfaction, the revenge fantasy of his ancestors’ feral dreams. 

As he laid there now, the last remnants of his home like a sick weight on his stomach, Henry was desperately glad he'd stopped himself before going that far. Perhaps it was a traitorous thought; in this world of money and secrets, for men like Toth there existed no consequences other than blood. 

His parents would not have wanted to be avenged. They would want him to stay the kind of Alpha who hesitated to eat meat that'd ever had a beating heart.

Hans pressed his palm to Henry's forehead and Henry opened his eyes. He had been clenching his teeth; he forced his jaw to relax. Hans eyed him and then the box in his tight grip and asked, “What are you doing?”

“Thinking.”

“Well, don't strain yourself.”

Hans had dressed again, a loose satin shirt tucked into dark pants. Henry questioned him. “Are you going out?”

Hans shrugged. “To the bar.”

“By yourself?”

“Just the hotel bar downstairs,” Hans clarified. “But for the record, I'm a grown man who has been going out alone for years. And you're off-duty, Henry.”

Henry considered the limp state of his own body and the tipsy fog at the edge of his thoughts. Definitely off-duty. “Be safe,” he mumbled. “Take your phone.” That’s what Ma always said whenever he left the house; he felt silly for saying it now.

“Uh, yeah. Why don’t you go to sleep.” Hans rustled the box as he walked by. “Or open that. Waiting won’t make it easier.”

No, but waiting did mean he wouldn't yet have to be tormented by visions of his life ruined by flame. Nothing in that box would be whole anymore. 

“I read your dad's book,” Henry confessed suddenly. 

Hans paused at the foot of the bed to look at him. “Why? Which one?”

“The one you kept on your working desk.”

“Oh. I thought you meant one he'd published.”

Henry shook his head slowly. “No.”

Hans put one hand on his hip and took a breath. “Okay. Didn't realize you were so fucking nosy.”

“Sorry.” Maybe it was wrong to have said anything; like digging a knife into a healing wound. “I didn't see much. I only wanted to feel the paper inside of it, really.”

“Feel the paper. Damn, Henry.” Hans sighed through his teeth. “You make it hard to be irritated at you with that pitiful expression.” 

“I'm sorry you lost it in the fire.”

“I had it scanned years ago. And I still have the rest of them.”

“The rest?”

Hans ignored him and headed towards the door. “Go to sleep,” he said simply. “Now I really need another drink.”

--

Hans was right; it was never going to get any easier to open Johanka's box. The only thing he was afraid of was being devoured by his own feelings and those feelings were never going to go away. Henry sat up, backing into the pillows and settling the box on his lap.

He carefully pulled the plastic lid off and set it next to his thigh. Inside was a pile of neatly labeled clear sample bags, each holding the remnants of a different item..

His hands shook lightly as he picked up the first bag. The written labels were guesses; he didn't need to read them anyway. This was most of the strap of Pa's work-bag, marked with his initials in red embroidery that was now stained black. The rubber edges of the strap were melted, the nylon singed. Henry ran his fingers over its texture through the plastic bag before placing it carefully next to him.

He took a breath. Alright. Maybe he really could get through this rationally and process it all later. He was glad Hans had gone even if he always felt like the rooms were too big when he was by himself.

In the next bag was a ragged square piece of a very familiar blue blanket. He could not stop himself from peeling the bag open and pressing the fabric to his face. It wasn't soft anymore. Bits of it had been touched by floating cinders and melted into stiff spots. The last shred of his mother's nest smelled only like smoke, caustic and sharp. Henry breathed it in anyway.

The rainbow glass paperweight Ma had kept in the kitchen windowsill- distorted and discolored by heat. The rusted metal tag for his locker in the shared garage, the H having fallen off but left behind a mark in its absence. He pictured Johanka stepping through wreckage trying to decide what scraps might matter and who they might belong to. She would not appreciate being thanked for it, but he would figure out a way to do it anyway.

One last little item remained, blackened but immediately familiar. Henry poured it from the bag into his palm and closed his fist around it. Gemless and simple, he had made this ring at fifteen years old and presented it to the prettiest girl he knew. Over the next ten years he would have it chucked at his head multiple times for multiple reasons (some more his fault than others) but she had always accepted it back (or stolen it back if he was being stubborn about it).

Not this time. It was his for good

The pain medication had dulled the feeling in his shoulder, but the physical pain of loss was left untouched. It was like fire in his gut, suffocating smoke tight around his heart. There was nothing else to do but sit with it and wait until existence within his body felt bearable again.

Her ring looked so small in his hands now. For one insane moment Henry thought about swallowing it. Penance and a promise to keep her forever.

He groped blindly for his new phone and dialed her number. It rang forever before finally connecting to her voicemail.

‘Hey, it's Bee. Please just send me a text instead, I've got too much shit going on to listen to voicemail. I can say shit in my own message if I want to, Henry, I-’

He'd forgotten that half of her message was speaking to him directly and it stopped him breathing. He dialed again. And then again. Once more before he waited for the beep and choked out, “I'm so sorry.”

Henry scrambled to dial a different number and barely waited for the call to connect before he frantically asked, “Would she hate me?”

“Uhm.” Theresa let the silence hang in the air for a moment. “Are you alright, Henry?”

He bit the ring between his teeth until it hurt. “For being with somebody else already? Would Bianca hate me?”

“Are you with somebody else?” Theresa asked.

He whispered it into the phone. “Hans.”

“Are you drunk, Hal?”

“A little. Maybe. I don't…” He trailed off and started again. “We're dating. He and I. Courting. I told him I won't ever love him. I can't. Because of-”

“Slow down. Let's take a breath.”

His phone buzzed and Henry glanced at the screen. “Hold on- he's calling. I have to answer.” He cut her off and took Hans’ call instead. “Are you alright?” he asked quickly. Too quickly. He had to focus; he couldn't let Hans know that he was in the middle of a spiraling crash out. 

“Yes, quit fussing. I'm just letting you know I met someone so it might be a bit.”

Of fucking course he met somebody. “Are you coming here?”

“I'm going to his.” Hans paused. The clink of glassware in the background was loud. “Unless you want to…?”

“No,” Henry answered immediately. “No, I'm tired.”

 “Okay. Cool. See you.” Hans hung up.

Henry stared at the ceiling for a moment before he finally picked Theresa's line up again. The adrenaline of panic was starting to fade and he felt somewhat stupid for having called her at all, but he couldn't leave her hanging.

“Hi, sorry. I know it's late for you.”

She sighed. “You can call me whenever, Hal. But, uh- Hans Capon?”

“Yes. Somehow.”

“And you're not… I mean, you're sure? You haven't just misunderstood something?”

“Theresa.” He put her on speaker and started collecting his memories neatly back into the box. “There's pictures of us kissing on the internet.”

“Really? Hold on.” He rolled his eyes and she made a startled little noise. “Wow. Oh, there's a lot of pictures of you two.”

“What?”

“Henry. What is this about a car bomb?”

“I guess I have a lot to tell you about next time I see you.”

“Our big City boy,” she said gently. “And his… big City boyfriend.”

Henry shuffled the refilled box to his nightstand and looked down at the ring he still held. He did not believe in any sort of afterlife and yet he still felt like he was performing some sort of betrayal. Bianca was not there to hate him and yet her voice was still so vivid and real in that recording.

“I don't know what I'm doing. What he and I are doing,” Henry eventually admitted. “But it's been real good, I think, to have somebody.”

Theresa hummed. “Honestly, I've never seen you as the kind of person able to survive on their own.”

“What do you mean? I'm not incompetent.”

“I just mean that you're really very people-motivated. Did you know that history says we all used to be much more pack-oriented?”

Henry smiled thinly. “I have heard that one before.”

“Bianca is very… Bianca was very possessive of you, but she wouldn't actually want you to be miserable.”

“Debatable.”

“Not debatable,” Theresa insisted. “Don't remember her like that.”

He bit down gently on his tongue. He wanted to bark back and argue that he was the one who knew Bianca best, but Theresa wasn't chastising him blindly. He just… missed her. And it was easier to think about her being angry with him than it was to remember her fond laughter.

“Johanka found her ring,” Henry said, suddenly exhausted. He got up to peel the perfectly folded blankets back and shuffled himself underneath them.

“You went to see Matti?”

“Yes.”

“Good. That's… good.”

He could tell Theresa about needing Matthias to agree to seek treatment, but that might only burden her further. He had laid enough of his troubles on her for one evening; he knew she didn't truly mind him calling but she should have been asleep long ago for the early bells. 

“Thank you for talking me down,” he told her.

Theresa laughed softly. “Well, you're all alone out there, Hal. And you know. I miss her too.”

“Goodnight, Theresa.”

“Night, Henry.”

All alone in the big terrifying City. It would be easier to come to terms with everything if he was still in the Yards, he thought. If he slept in a stiff bed and woke to a scheduled routine of thoughtless labor, he might be less likely to forget what he was missing. Who he was missing.

But he wasn't actually alone, was he? Somehow he'd been pushed off on Hans Capon, problematic rich boy, and Hans, with his chaotic, ‘never pause to think’ lifestyle, had turned out to be exactly what he needed.

Bizarre to think that ‘what he needed’ somehow resulted in him comfortable in bed alone while his boyfriend was doing who knows what with a stranger floors below. Boyfriend. For now, anyway; he knew Hans would get bored with him eventually. Somebody like Hans might find him interesting for a little while, something different- a boy from the Yards with almost no real schooling and bad habits in bed (apparently). It wouldn't last. He probably shouldn't have bothered to tell Katherine they were Courting; that made it sound so serious.

It was…

It was a little bit serious.

Henry could lie there and casually tell himself otherwise, but he could not avoid the fact that he was personally unwilling to end it himself and was more than content to simply wait until he was dismissed.

Henry rolled over to carefully place the ring on top of the box. It was unnerving to have something again that he couldn't bear to lose. 

--

Hans returned late into the night. Henry, long lost in the deep sleep of the heavily medicated, might not have even noticed him returning- if Hans hadn't slammed the bedroom door a little too loudly before jamming his foot against the bed and cussing louder. Henry rolled over with a grunt and watched Hans flop onto his stomach on the other bed.

Henry blinked slowly, sleepy. Words seemed trapped on his tongue for a moment but finally he said, “D'you spend a lot of money on shirts?”

“Fuck,” Hans groaned into the pillow, shirtless. 

Henry pushed his blankets away with a lengthy yawn and then forced himself up out of his bed to stand next to Hans’. He bent to press his palms against Hans’ back and leaned on him deliberately until Hans grumbled. “You're in the wrong bed,” Henry told him.

“And you're fuckin’ heavy.”

“And you smell like…” Henry scowled. He pushed at Hans, shoving his shoulder and manhandling him until he rolled over onto his back. Henry climbed over him to kneel across his lap and bend to smell him better.

Hans smirked at him, watching him with a glazed, unfocused expression. “Like?”

“Omega.” Sweet and strong enough to nearly mask Hans’ own scent underneath it.

Hans slung an arm around Henry’s neck and leaned up to kiss him sloppy, all tongue. He let Henry go after and grinned at him, licking over his own teeth.

He tasted of slick and his breath was alcohol sour. “You're wasted,” Henry told him.

Hans rolled his eyes. “Cry about it, pet.”

Henry grasped Hans’ chin and shoved his mouth shut. He leaned in further to breathe against his neck before licking a wet path over his pulse. 

Hans mumbled and Henry loosened his grip just to hear him say, “Taste his thigh scent on my neck?”

Absolutely infuriating. Heat boiled in Henry's chest. He pressed his mouth to Hans’ neck and genuinely debated leaving a bold mark on the sensitive skin there. The temptation was an actual strain on his jaw, but he knew better than to intentionally cross that line. Hans’ neck did not belong to either of them. 

Henry could not bite him, but he could scent stronger than any random Omega. He licked oils from Hans neck and curled over him possessively. “How dare you come back to me like this, scented by someone else,” Henry growled, wiping his palm against his own neck and smearing his bold scent through Hans’ tousled hair.

He could feel Hans tense underneath him, watched his eyes go wide for one brief, startled moment as if he thought Henry might be serious- and Henry was serious, but not in the way he thought Hans might fear.

The idea that Hans might fear anything at all-

Henry kissed him again. He shifted to cup Hans’ face in two hands and kissed his warm lips with the desperate intent to convey the ideas that seemed to terrify them both. Hans lifted one hand to Henry's chest, palm gentle at first before trying to push Henry away. Henry fought it, refusing to separate, because it didn't seem fair that Hans would resist while at the same time still kiss him back so earnestly.

He pulled away eventually, slow to part and having at some point settled more comfortably on top of Hans’ chest. They recovered their breath together in the heavy fog of Henry's jealous scent. Henry pet through Hans’ hair, the lingering taste of slick no longer anything but the faintest memory on their lips. 

“You'll smell like me,” Henry whispered, “and come home to my bed.”

Hans, looking flushed and worn out, exhausted, nodded once. 

Content, Henry moved away from him, rolling to take the empty spot next to Hans on the bed and allow him space. Sleep fell heavy over him the moment he gave into it once more, drowsy and satisfied. Just before his thoughts faded completely, he felt Hans shift and reach out just to simply rest his hand over Henry’s arm. 

Chapter Text

Henry woke suddenly, his body shifting. He blinked into the shallow dawn light and realized that he had more than just crept into Hans’ space, he was halfway sprawled over his back. Hans was awake underneath him, one arm reaching towards the nightstand slowly in an obvious effort not to disturb him. Henry knew what he was trying to get and wrestled with himself for one short second before he stretched to grab it first. Hans tilted his head to look up at him and Henry gently pressed the ring into Hans’ palm.

Hans pulled it close to look at it, twisting it between his fingers. Henry didn't care to imagine what he might be thinking and simply continued to lay atop his back, rising and falling with every deep breath. Eventually Hans offered it back and Henry returned Bianca's ring to its spot on top of the plastic box. Neither of them spoke one word about it, and after Hans carefully pushed him back onto his own half of the bed, Henry fell asleep again. 

Vividly, he dreamed again of being trapped in the bunker. Vines in the walls shifted and dug deeper cracks within the concrete. He'd be crushed in the darkness within moments, but he didn't wake up screaming.

--

Hans was nervous and Henry didn't need any sort of fake scent to tell. His first clue, actually, besides how early Hans had gotten up and dressed, was that the music in the car was different. Henry was slowly growing somehow familiar with Hans’ tracks, especially after spending hours listening to his vehicle playlist on the way to and from the Yards. This morning he hadn't picked the same one, and Henry couldn’t figure out why.

“Where are we going?” he tried asking.

Hans barely glanced at him before staring back down at his phone. “You'll see,” he said simply, refusing to give a real answer. “We won't stay long.”

They pulled up to a large office building and Henry climbed out of the car first. The entrance was busy; an extended set of six glass double-doors stuck almost constantly in open position due to the number of well-dressed visitors crossing in and out. Hans stood next to him for a lingering moment before crossing the sidewalk and Henry followed him inside.

People stared at them. One woman stopped dead in her tracks at the sight of them and nearly caused a pedestrian collision. It wasn't until Henry finally looked at the front desks and the giant silver logo lit upon the wall above them that he understood why they were attracting more attention than usual- this was the central Rattay Intent building. He stuck to Hans' heels and followed him down a long side hallway and into a wide elevator.

“Why are we here?” Henry asked, watching Hans scan his palm without pressing any numbers.

“I'm going to knock you down in a second and have our tech finally installed in your skin,” Hans told him flatly.

That was a horrifying concept. Henry was pretty sure he was joking. “I'd like to keep both my eyes, if I have a choice.”

“You know we don't do eyes yet.”

He did not, in fact, know that at all. Maybe after he had been trapped in the background of a few more meetings, Henry would better understand the Rattay collection, but it wasn't high on his list of priorities.

“My house is here,” Hans finally said. “The Capon mansion.”

“In the Rattay corporate building?”

Hans pointed upwards. “On top.”

“And you've got to walk through the building every time you go home?” Henry asked, confused.

“Well. No,” Hans admitted. “There is a more direct backdoor. But we- dad always liked to- fuck.”

“Habit?”

“Habit,” Hans grit through his teeth.

“You're going to move back in?”

Hans motioned between the two of them. “Both of us.”

“Of course,” Henry nodded. The elevator started to slow. “I thought you were going to buy someplace new.”

“Maybe the money is better spent somewhere else.”

The floor they arrived on was unlisted, higher than the highest number marked on the directory. In a way the lobby was similar to that of the penthouse: a generic space with elevator and roof access and one large, well-secured door. It was unlabeled, because why should anybody who'd gotten this far need it to be labeled? Hans once again pressed his palm to a security pad and grimaced when a gentle robotic voice said, "Welcome home, Mr. Capon.”

Locks loudly disengaged and the door slid within the walls to open. The inside was cavernous, but also covered in plastic and dust and, well, people.

“I'm renovating,” Hans told him unnecessarily before heading through the door.

Henry had thought the penthouse was elaborate, but it was truly nothing but a small apartment compared to this. As he followed Hans into the main room, he peered through open doorways, catching glimpses of a kitchen as big as the home he grew up in, a deconstructed dining room with a dozen chairs stacked carefully underneath a glittering crystal light fixture, a more private sitting room with real rolls of carpet leaning against the wall.

It did not feel like a real place. Henry felt small, out of place- like he had just those couple weeks ago when he'd first seen Hans scowling down at him from the balcony. He was a boy born in the dirt; his every step might stain the marble floors. They'd get lost here, just the two of them. 

He saw Hans’ shoulders relax and looked up to see Hanush leaning over a temporary table set between two matching, curling staircases. Covered frames rested carefully against the walls in the otherwise furniture-less foyer. Hans joined his uncle to look at the series of paperwork laid out over the table.

“There you are,” Hanush said loudly. His voice echoed in the emptied room. “The foreman has a thousand questions for you.”

Hans leaned down to run his finger over a map. “I'm sure you could have answered him yourself.”

“This one is your project.” Hanush straightened and noticed Henry standing awkwardly in the center of the room. “Oh, Henry,” he said, and then nothing else.

They had last spoken only very briefly and not altogether pleasantly; Henry remembered the flash of anger he'd been unable to temper, watching Hans’ uncle put hands on him. Perhaps he had been too near pre-Rut, overly protective, misreading the entire situation as a strange dog on the outside. (Hans’ mother, putting hands on him-)

“Hello, sir,” Henry said politely. Objectively, he owed this man everything he currently had; owed him for retrieving them both from the Yards, for expensive and ongoing medical care, and for… well. For Hans himself.

Hanush looked him up and down so thoroughly that Henry knew with horrible certainty that Hans’ uncle was absolutely 100% aware of their Courting and that there was nothing Henry could say or do other than simply stand there and hope he didn't look embarrassed. The silence drew Hans' attention and he glanced between the two of them before coming to the same obvious conclusion. 

“Well,” Hans said, breaking the momentary peace, “I should start-”

“Actually,” Hanush cut in, “we should talk about architectural options. Henry, why don't you go look at another room.”

What a blatant dismissal. He looked at Hans, who ultimately just shrugged. Henry simply backtracked and turned down a random corner, his ears hot. He didn't want to hear them argue again, especially not over him; he followed the hall down to its very end and through a wide doorway that put him into a smaller room with a large window for a wall. Boxes were stacked haphazardly on the tiled floor and there was a room's worth of wooden cabinetry in the middle of being demo'd. Henry could hear people working nearby and had the vague thought that he might go try and help them, but instead he wound up at the window staring at the expanse of City spread before him.

This was one of the tallest buildings in the City. Skytrains rattled in and out of view at speeds almost too fast to see. Some fifteen stories below he could see a blinding Intent billboard and Henry knew without needing to compare pictures that it was Hans’ naked back glittering under white lights. In the few gaps between towering, layered skyscrapers, he could see the distant brown acres that marked the Yards. Mismatched.

His phone buzzed and Henry checked it just to see a text from Hans summoning him back. The house was so damn big it was easier to message than to shout. Again he found himself wondering how somebody could live here and realized with a jolt that Hans had lived here. His little grubby handprints had probably been all over that window. His-

That was why he'd been agitated all morning. Henry tried to picture returning to the ruins of his home, alone, and he understood why half of this mansion was in the process of being stripped to pieces. 

He backtracked down the hallway to the main foyer and found Hans surrounded by three people wielding tablets and asking one question after another. Hanush had gone; Henry had either been staring out at the view for longer than he realized or it had been a much shorter conversation than he had predicted. 

“The hanging art piece in the second office-”

“Keep it,” Hans answered. He glanced at Henry with a faint smile as Henry came to stand by his side. 

“We need to decide a color for the dining room-”

“Just pick what's trending- have they selected a color of the year yet? Go with that.”

“And in the primary bedroom,” the third one began, “do we keep the sunken corner for the nesting mattress or would you like us to level it out while doing the boards?”

“I don't-” Hans hesitated, glancing upwards. Henry could see him tense. “Just- just figure it out,” he finally snapped. “Are you not getting fucking paid enough? You can make-” Hans glanced down at Henry's hand on his elbow and grimaced. He took a breath. “Email me a list. I'll answer shortly.”

They seemed more than happy to end the impromptu meeting and get back to their teams. Hans rubbed his forehead and groaned quietly. “I just need to do a walk-through,” he told Henry, “and then we can go.”

“Was your uncle upset?” Henry couldn't help but ask.

Hans raised his eyebrows. “You really weren't eavesdropping?”

Henry shrugged.

Hans chuckled under his breath and turned to head upstairs. “Next time, feel free. You thought he'd be mad?”

“About us,” Henry clarified, just in case Hans hadn't clued in to what he was really asking. Of course Henry thought he'd be unhappy about it. Henry was a homeless, penniless refugee, technically, with no education and no relevant job skills.

Hans paused halfway up the stairs and turned to look down at him. “Henry. He has been begging me to find any half-ass attempt at a stable relationship for years.”

“Oh.”

“Granted,” Hans shrugged one shoulder, “he probably thinks I'm feeling particularly indebted to you for saving my life and will come to my senses shortly, but he still considers it progress.”

Henry squeezed the banister in one hand, stuck four steps below Hans and thinking very strongly that Hanush might have the right of it. “Aren't you?” 

“Aren't I what?”

“Doing all this because I saved your life.”

“Henry, I…” He seemed to flounder, more shocked to hear that than Henry expected. “No,” he said, and then again with emphasis, “No. I started- you don't remember the fucking flower I gave you?”

“The one that wasn't Courting?” Henry suggested. His heart beat fast and he couldn't help but glance backwards to make sure the room was still empty.

Hans stepped back down the stairs until they were even. “Are you joking?”

“A little bit,” Henry admitted. He attempted a smile that Hans did not return.

Hans grabbed his wrist and pulled him down the rest of the stairs and across the room. “Insufferable,” he muttered. “Come with me.”

As if Henry had any choice but to be led by Hans’ iron grip. They crossed the foyer and headed back towards the entrance before veering in a small room containing a table covered in envelopes and small packages. Clearly Hans has been getting most of his mail sent here instead of the hotel. His wrist finally freed, Henry watched Hans dig through boxes before selecting one with a satisfied huff. He lifted it to slice through the tape with his teeth and then fought through a layer of protective packaging to produce something that he spun around and pressed into Henry's hands.

“This is a Courting gift,” Hans said seriously, meeting his eyes intently. 

It was difficult to look away. Henry was starting to feel the creeping insecurity that meant he should probably be providing Gifts in return. He couldn't do anything about that now- he couldn't trade fairly with Hans anyway. He forced himself to lift his hands and look at what he'd been given.

“I thought you destroyed this,” he said quietly. He thought it'd been crushed. 

Hans shook his head no.

Henry knew he wasn't lying because the red flower that rested fluffed and posed within the glass orb in his palm was by no means perfect. It was wilted and a little misshapen and parts of its edges were blackened or cracked. It had to be the same stolen rose blossom.

“It didn't burn in the fire?” Henry asked, clutching it in both hands to keep them from shaking.

Hans looked away before confessing, “I had it in my pocket.”

“Your pocket.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I don't know.”

Henry swallowed. “Well, are you going to kiss me or-”

Hans did.

--

They left the rose there where it'd be kept safe and not end up lost or stolen.

The second level was a collection of rooms. There was a gym with all glass walls and new machines still covered in stickers and tape. Attached was a sauna- Henry did not know what that was and didn't bother to ask. The hallways were half-painted, the fading parts marked with squares where more portraiture had previously hung.

Hans pushed open another door. “This will be your room,” he said. “So if you have any requests, let me know.”

Henry peered inside the cleared room. “A bed would be nice.”

“Funny.”

One wall was made entirely of carved stone. It was quite beautiful; there were hints of copper piping that made him suspect it might even have been a water feature. “Make this bigger and put some fish in it for me,” he said, still joking. He wasn't sure how else to handle the experience, entirely overwhelmed by the concept of a room that would be his own and that he might have a say in designing. 

“Oh, you have expensive tastes now, Henry?”

Henry shut the door behind them. “You're my favorite expensive taste,” he replied easily.

Hans shoved him up against the wall. “Shut the fuck up.”

“You don't like my lines?” Henry laughed in his face and snaked his arms around him to pull him close. “Or maybe you like them too much?”

“I'll put you in the servants’ quarters downstairs instead,” Hans threatened. He leaned into Henry's chest and casually reached up to push curling hair out of Henry's face. “You can feel more at home there.”

“Why should I have a separate room anyway?” 

“So that you don't have to hear me fucking somebody hotter than you.”

Heat curled within Henry's gut. “Maybe I'd want to listen. I'd hear how you make them beg and force you to do the same for me afterwards.”

Hans’ eyes lit up. He pressed close enough to breathe warm over Henry’s lips, clearly delighted. “I wasn't aware you knew how to speak like this, pet.” He kissed Henry’s jaw, muttering low just for him to hear. “So eager for leftover scraps. I guess that's what you're used to.”

Henry tilted his head to claim that infuriating mouth with his. His friends would think him insane if they were to hear this conversation, but the cruel way Hans spoke to him while at the same time staring at him as if he were the only one that actually mattered, kissing him with raw ferocity every time- Henry thought that could be more than enough for him. It wasn't him that Hans was offering his scraps to.

Hans pulled back with wet lips and a flushed face. “Bite your tongue before I put you on your knees.”

“Bite it for me.” Henry stuck out his tongue and Hans took the bait; it hurt enough to draw a pathetic sound from Henry’s throat and then they were kissing again, hands sliding over clothing unsatisfied.

Henry quit first this time, the faintest taste of iron in his mouth. “Alright, okay,” he wheezed, out of breath.

“You're something else, Henry. Fuck.”

“Me?” Henry unabashedly dragged his wrist over Hans’ neck. “You're- I mean, you're you.”

Hans grinned slyly, pleased. “And I'm also something else.” He finally stepped back to give Henry room to breathe, slipping from his arms. With a slow breath, Hans straightened out his clothing and glanced down the rest of the hall before looking back at Henry. “Thanks,” he said quietly.

Henry ruffled his own hair so that it might look intentionally mussed after what Hans had done to it. “Thanks for what?”

“Distracting me.” Hans started walking, intent on finishing the mandatory mid-construction walk-through. 

“Oh, I'll kiss you anytime you need.” Henry caught up with him and bravely attempted to take Hans’ hand in his, perhaps a little bit too caught up in his feelings.

Hans, of course, slapped his hand away and gave him a look.

Henry laughed at him.

The next room was the secondary office and had been left so far mostly intact. The hanging art piece that the contractor had mentioned was a silver model of the spine implant hanging beautifully over a desk; various dark bookcases walled the room, covered with embroidered curtains. Hans brushed one aside to reveal a line of real paper books of varying sizes. He plucked one out at random and offered it to Henry.

‘Raising Pleasant Alphas’, Henry read, taking it. He flipped it open to a section in the middle and found it filled with familiar neat writing.

“I told you there were more,” Hans said, leaning in to look at the pages. “I suspect he wrote down every thought he ever had.”

“I don't think this book did him much good.”

“I'm perfectly pleasant,” Hans pouted half-heartedly.

“Parts of you, maybe.”

‘Hans has started practicing his threat response.¹ Incredible to watch the brain continue to develop in real time. He continues to remain objectively ahead of schedule.²

¹Despite lack of canines, a bite to the calf does still hurt.
²Subjectively, he could not be more perfect.’

“I want to see more pictures of you as a pup,” Henry said. He had seen a few in Hans’ rotating portrait images, but that felt like years ago.

Hans pulled the book from his hands and tucked it back into the shelf. “Eugh, why? Use your brain. Just picture me smaller and somehow more blond.”

“Little spoiled gap-toothed Alpha pup,” Henry teased, picturing it. “Reciting your perfect ABCs at dinner and then crying when dessert wasn't the right flavor of fruit.” Hans was staring at him. “I bet you were a terrible child.”

“I was,” Hans snapped. “I was terrible, Henry. I mean- fucking obviously. ” Hans spun around and ditched him in the office.

Henry chased after him. “You know that's not what I meant,” he said, grabbing Hans’ arm. “I was just thinking about- you know, when a pup turns three or four and starts testing boundaries and instincts? And they're-”

“I don't know, Henry.” Hans yanked his arm free. He swung open the next door onto another emptied room and slammed it shut without stepping inside. “I want to get this over with. Stop fucking talking about children.”

“Fine,” Henry grumbled. He steadied himself and tried it again, calmer. “Alright. Sorry.” This was stressful enough for Hans; Henry didn't mean to aggravate him but he would apologize for pushing him over the edge even if he hadn't intended to.

Hans stopped and looked at Henry with a faint sigh. “I haven't been here in years.”

“Yeah, I assumed so.” Henry figured that for Hans, this visit was like opening his own box of items retrieved from the fire. “I get it.”

“I thought that if you were here, I could…” He gestured vaguely down the other end of the hallway. “It's been a long time.”

“We don't have to live here,” Henry pointed out.

“We won't find somewhere better. The City's running short on unclaimed real estate,” Hans said. “And I want to. This is my home.”

“Okay, well, will anybody know if we just leave now?”

“No, and nobody would care anyway. But if I can't walk into my own bedroom now, how the fuck am I supposed to live here again?”

Henry offered his hand one more, thinking about Hans’ fingers tight around his underneath the table at dinner. 

Hans’ lip curled, irritated, but he finally relented and allowed himself to take Henry's hand.

They went into the bedroom first; it'd belong to Hans now but this was where his parents had nested, where he'd slept and been raised.

“Oh,” Hans said, looking around at the expansive room. Like the others, the furniture was gone and the walls were bare, one wide window more than enough to light the entire space. One corner was a mess of broken tiles and cracked ceramic chunks; maybe a giant bath corner like their hotel room had. “This is fine.”

Hans let go of Henry's hand and walked forward to lean against the rail that surrounded the empty pit in the floor. “I guess this would be fine to fill in,” he decided, glancing over his shoulder at Henry.

It felt dangerously presumptive, but Henry agreed. “You and I won't need it.”

Hans’ shoulders shook with silent laughter. 

There was one last room and it was Henry who pushed open the stiff door first. Unlike the rest of the house, the main office hadn't been touched yet by workers. Henry could see discoloration on the floor where a desk had once stood and one wall had been painted over in a slightly different shade, but the shelves were still filled with books and various objects, awards, models. Plush chairs and a couch sat at one end covered in loose blankets and above them one wide family portrait- the only one that Henry had seen so far that also included Hans’ mother.

Henry stood hesitating in the doorway; Hans leaned against his back to look inside. Henry could feel his shallow breathing.

“She slept here for a long time after,” Hans nearly whispered. “I wasn't allowed in.”

“Did you want in?” Henry asked, matching Hans’ volume naturally.

“It's hard to remember those days very well. I think I stayed mostly with Uncle.” They lingered for one long minute before Hans stepped back. “That's enough.”

“You could just close this room off entirely,” Henry suggested. He tugged the door shut.

“Yeah. Maybe.”

--

The drive back to the hotel was quiet, but the music in the car was back to normal. Henry kicked at Hans’ feet; Hans kicked him back harder- normal. As they rode the elevator back up, Henry's mind started drifting back to their hallway make-out session, but when the hotel suite door closed and he tried to initiate something again with more privacy, Hans pulled away.

“I am so far behind on my work,” Hans told him, looking away.

Maybe not normal, Henry thought. With everything going on, he expected that Hans probably did have a fuckload of work to catch back up on (he was taking multiple school courses, after all, and Henry hadn't seen him sit down to focus in anything in days), but they way Hans said it- moving away without meeting his eyes, shoulders low- 

He hadn't thought it in a while and it almost made him guilty to think it now, but Henry wished Hans’ had a scent to give away his thoughts. Well, it probably wouldn't tell him anything he wasn't picking up on anyway.

Henry moved through the kitchen to dig out the leftovers he had put away that morning. Hans did settle at a table with two tablets and a headset, one little mobile drone floating at attention.

Chapter Text

“What’s eating you?”

It took Hans a moment before he seemed to realize he’d been spoken to; after a short pause he looked up, blinking. “What do you mean?”

Henry leaned his hip against the table. “Uh, it’s a phrase we say in the Yards- I’m asking what’s-”

“That's not Yards specific; I know what you're asking." Hans rubbed both hands over his face. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m just trying to get shit done.”

“It’s been hours.”

Hans shrugged. “I took a break for lunch.”

“And it’s been hours since lunch.”

Hans clicked his main tablet off and leaned back in his chair. “Fine. Okay. Let’s go do something.”

“We don't have to do anything,” Henry said. That hadn't been his intention at all. “I'm only checking on you.”

“I don't need checking in on.”

Henry moved around the table to stand by his chair. “Too bad,” he told Hans, reaching to gently touch his chin and try to catch his eyes. “Because I care about you, so-”

“Let's go out,” Hans cut in. He grabbed Henry's wrist and pushed his hand away before standing up from the table. 

“Sure,” Henry sighed. He wasn't going to get anything out of Hans by harassing him about it, and really, the answer was likely the obvious. Hans had been affected more by the visit to his childhood home than he wanted to admit. Henry could empathize; he personally had absolutely no intention of setting foot anywhere near the rubble of his home anytime soon, if ever. They could rebuild and repopulate and it wouldn't matter to him how many new lives walked that ground, because it’d still be one mass grave.

Perhaps Hans had only realized the same; that no matter what new color he painted the walls with, he'd still feel the same adrenaline every time he walked up those stairs.

Just this once, Henry wouldn't complain about being dragged out and (probably) abandoned again.

--

“Let me dress you.”

Henry glanced at their small closet and decided there was no way this last minute purchase of an emergency wardrobe contained anything too crazy. “If you want,” he said, agreeing and beginning to undress before Hans bullied him into it anyway.

“This one,” Hans said, pushing fabric into his chest. “And these.”

“Are you sure?” Henry asked two minutes later after pulling on a sleeveless gray shirt that probably came from Hans’ half of the closet, judging by how tight it felt. “It’s very simple.”

Hans grabbed Henry's belt to yank him closer and forcibly tuck the shirt into his black pants. “Yeah. Let your body speak for itself.” He took one step back to eye Henry, considering. “Though if you'd wear a collar-”

“Please, no.”

“Can I paint your arms?”

“I guess so?”

“I miss my wardrobe,” Hans lamented as he proceeded to toss most of his own clean clothing onto the floor. “This is all so boring.”

Henry leaned patiently against the wall while Hans tried on shirts that he was probably going to lose again anyway. The mood had shifted once they'd started to get ready to go out and Hans seemed more enthused. Henry still felt a general sense of apprehension, but it was easier to ignore or to pretend it was just his own personal dislike of the party scene.

“Where are we going?” Henry asked.

“Mongrel."

Ah, yup. Now Henry could be sure that the unsettling sense of foreboding was just a personal problem, having not been forced to go back there since the, uh, incident. 

Hans finally chose something to wear; a dark shirt that seemed too boring until he pulled it off and started making holes in it with his teeth. At that point Henry gave up and ducked out of the closet to get his shoes on and pace impatiently until Hans was finally ready to leave.

The club was moderately busy. Henry felt his skin prickle as they rode the private elevator upwards. Hans' scent was heavy and alluring in the small space, and Henry could already foresee exactly how this night was going to go. “Will you try not to ditch me?” he asked despite knowing that whatever answer he got now would change as soon as Hans was drunk enough.

“Do you think you can keep up with me this time?”

No, and trying would be frustrating. He was going to have to start letting Hans go out on his own- except Henry was his guard before he was his date, wasn't he? Funny that he had almost forgotten already. Soon he might be cleared to carry his gun again, as long as he continued not to mention the intermittent twinge in his arm and the way his hand went half-numb at certain angles. It wasn't his firing arm, anyway.

(He'd lost almost all feeling when Hans had stretched it out to paint white lines down his elbow, and he'd kept silent.)

Henry crowded into Hans’ space. “Check in with me at least.”

“Bring a leash next time,” Hans teased.

Henry allowed himself to think about the crowd of people who would have their grubby paws all over Hans in a few short minutes and then grabbed a fistful of Hans’ ragged shirt. He pressed close to smear his jealous scent into the fabric before he was pushed away.

“Fucker,” Hans complained, but Henry personally thought he looked pleased.

The elevators opened and the steady thrust of bass settled in Henry's chest. He sighed and followed Hans to the bar where at least Sam was working. Henry wondered briefly what else Sam did- if he worked there every damn night or if Hans was selective about visiting on his hours. As always, Sam looked displeased to see them, crossing his arms over yet another bright crop-top, this one painted with the words ‘undisciplined omega’.

“Hi,” Henry said, leaning against the iced bar.

“My problem patrons,” Sam said loudly over the music in lieu of greeting. He did slowly uncross his arms and offered one to Henry first this time, which delighted him. “Are you both drinking tonight?”

“Yes,” Hans answered before Henry could decline. Hans elbowed him. “Off-duty. Give yourself a break.”

There were too many people starting to crowd the bar for Henry to argue. He ultimately agreed with a shrug.

“Is Johnny here?” Hans asked, leaning closer. 

Sam shot him a dry look and said, “Who?”

“You're never any fun.”

“I'm working. Here.” He set out Hans’ usual iridescent cocktail and his typical doubleshot to start with and then slid an unopened bottle towards Henry. Only when Henry looked up did he snap the lid off for him.

It was almost embarrassing to be read so easily, but Henry took it with a short nod of thanks.

“See you in a minute, Sam,” Hans promised before ditching the bar. 

Henry was at his heels, unwilling to lose him quite so fast this time. He clutched his drink to his chest and followed as Hans shoved through a growing group of people, nearly falling into him when Hans suddenly came to a stop and turned towards him.

Hans paused to throw back half his drink at once before grabbing Henry's belt to yank him forward and kiss him hard. He tasted more like sugared alcohol than anything else and Henry twisted out of the kiss.

Hans pressed in closer. “You're going to stay with me all night?”

“Maybe.” 

It was loud, music muffling everything but Hans’ voice against his ear. “I could give you something to-” 

Henry watched as Hans’ attention was immediately stolen from him by a woman in blue. She slipped close into their space, calling him with one decorated hand sliding up his arm. Hans turned and leaned down to kiss her and Henry was left standing there with nothing but a shocked laugh upon his lips.

This was what the terms of their agreement was, he supposed, unable to look away from Hans’ fingers twisting in her dark hair. The air was hot, too many bodies too close together. He wished he hadn't taken a drink simply because he no longer wanted to hold it, but lifted it to his mouth to drink anyway, refusing to look away from Hans, knowing he could lose him in the space of two heartbeats if he did.

In a moment he would grow bored with her and come back to him, Henry thought, staring at the flashes of his silvered teeth against her mouth. 

Another body bumped against his and Henry spun in place prepared to apologize for being so stiffly in the way. A petite woman with bright green eyes smiled warmly up at him and he understood quickly that the touch had not been accidental.

“Hi,” she said, and he only knew what she'd said because it was such a simple word, easily read across her lips. She moved closer and he could suddenly pick out her individual scent, fresh like citrus and reading as extremely available.

Henry bit his lip before echoing her. “Hi.”

She touched his arm lightly, running her fingers down the edge of his white paint. It made his skin prickle and he swallowed. Her smile grew more sly. “Do you-”

Hans inserted himself between them, grabbing Henry's wrist before he could politely offer it to her. He pushed Henry backwards, knocking him carelessly into somebody else whose complaint died in their throat as they recognized Hans and thought better of it.

Hans asked him something. Henry had to ask for it to be repeated. Hans drew closer and growled again, “What are you doing?”

“Flirting,” Henry dared to answer. “What are you doing?”

Hans no longer had his drink; it did amuse Henry to picture him handing his empty cup to the nearest random stranger. He took Henry's face in both of his hands, palms cold on Henry's warm face, and kissed him so filthy that Henry suddenly didn't mind where his mouth had been thirty seconds ago. Hans forced his tongue between Henry's lips and Henry sucked on it eagerly, drawing a low noise from Hans’ throat before he pulled away slowly. 

“I don't want other people touching you,” Hans told him, narrowing his eyes. “Not without me.”

“Hypocrite.”

“Yes.” He leaned in to speak against Henry's ear, sliding his hands to rest over his bare shoulders and keep him close. “I don't mean to care about it so much, but I picture them touching you and it's…” 

“That's instinct,” Henry breathed.

“Yes,” Hans said again. “I meant it. I'm Courting you.”

And he didn't even care that Henry couldn’t force himself to feel any of that overwhelming instinct in return. It probably only worked between them for now because he didn't.

But Henry did care about him. Immensely. More than was reasonable for the short time they'd known each other and more than he was brave enough to truly admit yet.

“Will you have more fun here if you're not worried about me?”

“Yes. I want to…” Hans put a hand over his own chest. “Not think about things for a while. You just give me more to think about.”

Perhaps one day Henry might earn a right to mention that this wasn't the best way to cope with the overwhelming thoughts. If he tried it now, he'd be just as much a hypocrite as Hans. 

Besides, Hans wasn't stupid. He already knew.

“I'll go hang around then. Safely. And we can go home together,” Henry said. “I'll just… not talk to strangers.” Or drink anything at all. 

Hans kissed him again, briefly. “Follow me,” he said.

Hans steered him towards a set of mostly empty lounge seats. “You won't be by yourself- sit with her,” he said, gesturing towards a random slender blonde woman with her boots crossed on the empty seat next to her. “She's safe.”

Henry grunted. “Oh, I'm allowed to flirt with specific people only?”

Hans snorted a laugh. “With her, yes.”

“And what are you going to do?”

“Get high and see if someone will suck me off in the bathroom,” Hans told him, blatantly honest. “Drink a lot more and then figure out who I can suck off in the bathroom,” he continued.

Henry shook his head. “Ugh. I see why Sam hates you.”

“He doesn't hate me. He's just upset that he can no longer-”

“Don't finish that thought.”

Hans grinned. “Now, if you want to sneak into the bathroom later-”

“Bye. Goodbye. Don't leave without me.”

“Your bed and your scent, pet.” Hans kissed him one final time before abandoning him- this time with permission.

--

Henry carefully approached the woman on the couch. She had white-blonde hair twisted against her head and pinned with steel flowers. Her black thigh-high boots covered more skin than her chrome mini-skirt and black corset top combined, and she was kitted out with as many Rattay implants as Hans had. To Henry she looked terrifying, but he politely presented himself before her and asked, “Can I sit here?”

She looked up from her phone and eyed him head to toe before pointing to the seat her feet rested on and asking, “Here?”

He nodded.

She snorted. “No.”

Henry glanced over his shoulder but Hans was long gone. “I was told I could sit with you by Hans.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “Capon?”

He nodded.

She shifted, slowly picking up her long legs and moving them in front of her. “Then feel free.” She patted the seat.

Henry sat and tried not to be awkward about it. The corner with the lounges was somewhat immune to the music, loud enough to feel it in his chest but not so much that he needed to shout to be heard without leaning into her space. He still needed to sit somewhat close; enough so that he knew the reason he couldn't pick up her scent was that she was a Beta.

“Hi,” Henry said.

“Hi,” she repeated. She seemed to be amused by him.

He shifted awkwardly and wondered if standing by himself at the wall might actually be more comfortable. “So you know Hans then?” he tried.

“Of course, “ she told him, slinging an arm over the back of the couch. “I'm his best friend.”

“No, you're not,” Henry countered immediately.

Her eyebrows raised again.

“He didn't even speak to you,” Henry pointed out.

“In public? He isn't supposed to.”

“What?”

“That man is a walking PR nightmare.” She laughed and it sounded fond enough that Henry almost believed her. “One picture with him and I'll be dragged online for weeks.”

Probably true, but didn't prove anything. “He hasn't ever mentioned you.”

“Okay, well he's a bitch, I guess. I know who you are.”

It was Henry's turn to raise his eyebrows and wait for her to continue.

She shifted closer to him and leaned to speak quietly, one hand blocking her mouth from potential eavesdropping. “You're his cute little boyfriend from the Yards,” she said. “The one he can't keep himself from Courting even though it's so not his style. Henry.”

He looked at her with wide eyes. 

She leaned back. “You're surprised! Did you think he had no friends?”

“Well. No,” he said. There was… there was Sam, maybe. Probably John. And Katherine, unless employees didn't count? Fuck, employees probably don't count as friends. Unless you were Courting them and they were technically your Uncle and/or lawyer's employee. Hans did count him as a friend, right? 

“You're going to fry your brain, thinking like that.”

“It’s been a long week,” Henry said. “Sorry, I guess let's start over.” He offered her his wrist. “I'm Henry. Hans’... those things you said.”

She took his hand. “I'm Jitka. It's fun to finally meet you. I thought he was playing a joke on me for a while.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely. You've met him.”

“Alright, fair.” Henry took a sip of his drink; it was very lukewarm by now but that had never bothered him about beer before. “Are you here alone?”

Jitka shrugged one shoulder. “I like the vibes. And they're good about keeping the news sharks out.”

“I got drugged here last time.”

“What the fuck?” That made her put her phone back down. “Here, at Mongrel?”

“Yeah.”

“Shit. I bet Johnny lost his mind.”

“I don't really remember much.” The entire night was mostly a blur that had never cleared. He was more than happy to keep it forgotten at this point.

“I'm sorry. Security here is usually pretty tight.”

“It’s my fault,” Henry admitted. “I took a drink from a stranger.”

Jitka frowned and shook her head. “That's not your fault. Why would that be your fault?”

He opened his mouth to insist that he should have known better, but fell silent in the face of her expression. Henry simply took another drink and glanced away.

For a long while, they sat in comfortable silence and nobody bothered them.

--

Jitka looked up suddenly and Henry followed her gaze to see Sam standing there looking strongly displeased, scowling enough that Henry could see his pointed canines. “Henry.”

“Uhm, Sam?”

“You need to get your fucking brat out of my bar.”

Jitka sighed loudly and muttered to herself. Henry stood up and Sam turned to lead him across the club; the crowd moved out of his way like so many fish. 

“I swear I'm going to get his ass fucking banned,” Sam growled, and Henry started to suspect he might have to actually cross Sam from his mental list of ‘Hans’ potential friends’. 

“What happened?”

“I told you this before; he gets into fights. Spoiled Alpha nonsense.” Sam stopped at the same room they'd once tucked Henry into when he'd been incapacitated. There was crimson splattered on the hallway floor.

“Is that. His?”

Sam glanced down and swore again. “Unfortunately, no.” He reached for the door handle. “I'll unlock it, you can grab him. Capon, ” he called through the door, “back the fuck up .”

The door rattled in its frame as Hans threw himself into it. This was the Hans who shattered windows and ended up featured in the news.

“Okay,” Henry said, bracing himself. Sam unlocked the door and pushed it open before stepping back.

Hans hauled it wide open and immediately fisted Henry's shirt, wrenching him forward. Blood stained his snarling lip, his titanium teeth bared viciously; his eyes were dark and angry and Henry knew in one terrifying moment that Hans did not recognize him.

So Henry fucking shoved him backwards as hard as he could, listening to those fangs snapping shut as Hans stumbled back into the room. Henry hooked an ankle and kicked his feet out from underneath him, sending him sprawling onto his back with Henry on top of him. Henry had won their last scrap and he'd win this one too, because for all Hans’ bar fights and gym time, he'd not spent half the time wrestling in the dirt that Henry had.

And he was also clearly fucking wasted. More than that.

“Hans,” Henry growled, pinning Hans’ neck with his elbow to keep his teeth down. “Enough.”

Hans slowly let go of Henry's shirt. It had torn with the strength of his grip and gray fabric hung loose between them. He stared up at Henry, breathing hard and blinking slowly.

“Nice,” Sam commented, standing in the doorway. “We can muzzle him if you need.”

“Just- give me a second.” Henry did not want to drag Hans out of here visibly muzzled, secret back door or no. He had a sudden thought and carefully reached down to pat Hans’ pockets; he did have his own muzzle. Henry popped it from its case one-handed and then shoved it into Hans’ panting mouth. One problem solved. He shifted to let Hans have his head back and watched him continue to lie there, tongue tracing the muzzle lodged behind his teeth.

“Pet,” Hans grunted.

“What's fucking wrong with you?” Henry hissed.

Hans flinched and showed his teeth again.

“Did he take something?”

Sam laughed darkly. “Try and ask him.”

“Can't you sober him up- whatever you gave me last time?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because John isn't here,” Sam said, “and I don't fucking want to.”

Henry twisted to look at him. “I'll owe you.”

“You already owe me for not having the bouncers collar him and call the cops. That's all the favors I'm doing an Alpha like him.”

Henry sighed through his teeth and turned back to Hans. There was an awareness in his dilated eyes again, half-lidded and watching him. “Will you get up and walk out of here with me?”

“Yeah,” Hans answered, his voice rough.

Henry carefully climbed off of him and helped him to stand up. His hands were shaking, his skin flushed. Henry summoned the car and looped an arm through Hans’ elbow. “Come on.”

He paused to apologize to Sam. “Sorry. Thanks for grabbing me.”

Sam grunted. “He's lucky he has somebody to deal with him this time. Are you two really…?”

Henry pictured Katherine and John gossiping at the Arboretum gala and wasn't surprised that Sam also knew. “Yeah. We are.”

“For now, at least.”

Hans tensed and growled deep within his chest. “Say that to my face, you mangy-”

“Enough.” Henry shoved him. “Let’s go.”

The car was waiting outside the exit. Henry pushed him into the seat and sat across from him, setting the hotel as their destination. There were a lot of things Henry wanted to say, most of them unpleasant, but he bit his tongue. It would be no use talking to him like this, while he was unable to sit still or stay calm and while Henry was so irritated with him. They would both end up triggering each other into another physical fight. Henry knew his own scent was certainly primed for it.

Once they'd gotten to the hotel, Henry threw him into the shower fully clothed. Perhaps it was petty, but it did make Henry feel a little satisfied to crank the cold water on. “Sober up,” he said before having a little bit of pity and adjusting the panel to lukewarm instead.

Henry pulled his torn shirt off and dumped it in the trash. He hovered at the sink to wash the glowing paint from his arms and face. Hans was talking to himself, but with the shower and the sink running, Henry couldn't make any words out and he wasn't about to go ask him to repeat himself. Instead Henry busied himself with half a leftover sandwich from the fridge and eventually changed into more comfortable pants before finally checking in.

Hans had folded himself into a corner of the shower. Henry slid the glass door open and turned the water off. “Hans.” Hans looked up with red-rimmed eyes and Henry stepped onto the wet tile to help him stand up. They left his wet clothing in a soggy pile on the shower floor.

“Are you feeling better?”

Hans shook his head no.

“Unsurprising.”

Henry left him with a towel, handed him a bottle of water from the bedroom's mini-fridge, and then ditched him in the bathroom to figure his own shit out. Henry sat down onto the edge of his newly made bed and sighed loudly. He picked up his ring and twisted it in his fingers, thinking.

Things would settle down again; they would not always be this series of highs and lows. He had seen Hans’ regular schedules and knew that barring assassination attempts and unplanned Ruts, there was the possibility of a predictable, routine life ahead of him. This would pass. 

Bianca's ring wasn't very even, lumpy on the outside and smoothed by skin heat on the inside. If he made another one today, it would look much better; he could have done that at any time. Why hadn't he? For the same reasons they'd made it so long without being married, probably: comfort and routine and fear. Wasted time.

He wondered where he might find somewhere he could resize it to fit his own finger.

“Henry,” Hans whispered, standing at the foot of the bed wearing only damp sweat pants.

Henry set the ring back down. “Yeah?”

Hans moved around the bed to collapse between Henry's legs. He clung to Henry's thighs with trembling hands and could not look up to meet Henry's concerned look. “Please,” he said, still almost whispering. “Please don't leave.”

Henry laid one hand over Hans’; it was unsurprisingly cold. “I'm not leaving. Where would I go?”

“Anywhere. You could go home.”

“I don't have one to go back to.”

“You would make one easy.” Hans pushed himself closer, lifting on his knees until he could get his arms around Henry’s bare waist. “A home wherever you go. You should go. Please.”

“You're drunk.”

Hans buried his face against Henry's knee. “Go home.”

Henry brushed his hand through Hans’ wet hair. “Why don't you come up off the floor?”

“No.” Hans shook his head.

Henry bent down to grab underneath his elbows and forcibly pull him onto the bed. Hans did not fight him but went awkwardly limp instead; Henry backed himself up into the pillows, leaning against the bed frame, and managed to drag Hans up from the floor where he proceeded to curl uncomfortably in Henry's lap with his hands pressed over his face.

“That's better.”

“No,” Hans choked.

Henry gently stroked his back. Hans was shaking; crying, Henry realized, and there was only so many times Henry could remind himself ‘he's drunk’ before it felt terrifying. “I'm not leaving,” he repeated. “You need me.”

“You don't need me.”

“That's not true.”

“You don't,” Hans continued. He moved one hand to clutch Henry's pants and Henry could see how wet his face was, eyes scrunched shut. “You need somebody kind and good.”

“You're kind to me, Hans.”

“No. I'm mean and terrible and I should've died instead-”

Henry pressed his palm firmly over Hans’ mouth. Hans’ eyes flashed open and he finally looked up to see Henry's narrowed eyes. “Those aren't your words,” Henry told him sternly. “Don't repeat them.”

Hans’ eyes fluttered shut and he nodded against Henry's hand.

“We are both here now. It's better that way. Nod again.”

Hans did. Henry freed his mouth. Hans did not speak but unfolded himself to lie against Henry's chest. Henry slipped an arm around his back and Hans wrapped both of his arms tight around Henry. His heart beat incredibly fast. Henry felt his own hot within his throat.

“You're supposed to be happy in the dirt with pups running across the road,” Hans said hoarsely. His breath was wet against Henry's chest.

“You just told me I could make a home wherever I go.”

“Not like that. Not with me.” Hans sucked in a breath suddenly and scrambled to readjust until he could look Henry in the eyes, straddling his lap and resting his hands over both of Henry's shoulders. “Please,” he begged again, eyes wet and desperate. “I'm sorry.”

“You're-?”

“Sorry,” he repeated. “I know you don't love me, I'm sorry, but please,” Hans went on, and the more he begged the more he seemed to curl into himself until he could no longer meet Henry's wide stare. “Could you love me just a little bit? Please. Henry. Anything.”

Henry cupped Hans’ face in his hands and gently forced him to look up again. Would Hans remember this in the morning? Would he know if Henry lied to him? A white lie, a kind lie. A lie that could be true but wasn't yet.

No, drunk or not, Henry valued the matter of truths between them too much to spoil it. He would just offer Hans something else and hope it'd be enough for now. Anything, he'd said, still waiting for Henry to speak with such a pitiful, wretched expression.

“I want to be with you, Hans,” he said, voice low and serious. “Whatever that means.” And then he pulled Hans face close to kiss him in a way he hoped conveyed the same. 

Hans melted against his chest, and Henry held him tight.

They got caught on their way to the mansion two days later, stopped by a particularly bold paparazzi woman and her silver drone. Henry expected Hans to simply wave down Rattay security, because there was a legal line the scavengers could not cross, but Hans looked at her thoughtfully and motioned her closer out of the way of the main entrance.

“Your lucky day,” Hans told her, smoothing out his button-up shirt.

She immediately started with her scheduled questions. “Is it true that you're moving back into the Capon-”

Hans shook his head. “I don't want to talk about that.”

“What about-”

“Okay, be quiet.” Hans grabbed Henry's wrist and dragged him suddenly forward. “Look, this is Henry.”

Henry watched the drone's main camera shift, whirr, and focus on him. “Hi,” he said, caught completely off-guard.

“We're dating,” Hans continued.

The gossip reporter held up one finger and Hans waited for her to pull out a second hand held camera. Henry rolled his eyes.

“I'm Courting him,” Hans said. “He's very handsome.”

“Hans,” Henry grumbled. He could feel his cheeks warming. Theresa would send him embarrassing clips of this later. 

“This is your rumored bodyguard from the Yards incident?”

“Yes, but I'll have to hire somebody else soon. I don't think it's entirely ethical to employ your husband.”

Henry turned to give him an unamused look.

The woman lit up, absolutely delighted. She'd be disappointed in a moment when Hans chastised her for believing him. “ The Hans Capon is getting married?” she asked into her microphone.

“Absolutely.”

“Hans.”

Hans ignored him. “You're the first to hear of our engagement. Congrats.”

“And congrats to you both,” she said, camera down and her fingers tapping away on her phone.

“Hurry, Henry,” Hans said, turning into the doors. “I have a meeting in an hour.”

“She still thinks we're getting married.”

“Yeah.”

“She's probably already posting clips.”

“Yeah.”

“People will-”

“Will what?”

“What's happening right now?”

Hans laughed.