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Chapter Text

A hush blankets the ballroom following the opening of the grand doors, presumably provoked by the identity of the late arrivals. It stretches out for long seconds, turning the moment far more dramatic than it has any right to be. The whole scene is almost amusing to Dick, but for the way the whispers start up, dripping with poison like the pearls and jewels around many a throat of those present. 

Then, a sharp, derisive laugh pierces the miasmatic air, and the moment breaks. Everyone goes back to what they were doing, making new acquaintances and resparking old friendships. But Dick finds that he has suddenly lost his joyful mood. 

He angles himself just slightly, and that gives him a straight look at who it was who unwittingly presented themselves to be picked clean by the vultures of the ton. 

The Wilson family are nobles of decent standing; a military family, they have always been both feared and respected for their unwavering service and countless contributions to the crown. Alas, that changed upon the homecoming of their latest addition. 

Rose Wilson, found and brought into the fold not even a year ago, is General Wilson’s youngest, only fifteen when she was taken in. She is, unfortunately, also very much illegitimate. 

“Stop that,” Jason chides as he none too lightly pinches Dick where others couldn’t see. “Whatever you’re thinking, I can assure you it’s a bad idea.”

It’s only at Jason’s warning that Dick realizes he’s frowning. But he can’t help it. Rose doesn’t deserve any of this. She is of an age to accompany her father to business dealings, to begin learning what it takes to maintain one’s holdings, and this is her first season. This may not be her debut, as she is no omega but an alpha, but it does not change the fact that she deserves to enjoy the graces of polite society. Without prejudice or unfair preconceptions. 

Then again, polite society has proven itself to be wicked, rotten from the inside out. 

“Dick!” Jason hisses again, grasping for the hem of Dick’s sleeve. 

But Jason is too late, because Dick is already moving through the crowd, weaving through the vicious matrons and prideful heirs with a smile and elegance in his every step. 

He has been burned before by the judgement of the court, and he refuses to allow such a thing to happen to this young woman who has done nothing to deserve it.

“Lady Wilson,” Dick says as he dips into a bow, shallow enough to not insult his house but deeper than is necessary for the difference in their stations. “Would you honor me with a dance? I’m afraid my dance card has remained empty so far. It seems that no one wants to dance with me tonight.”

To her credit, Rose is aware enough of her family’s current precarious standing to be wary of Dick’s offer. Dick doesn’t begrudge her for it; sometimes, gift horses should be looked in the mouth. 

She looks towards her father, who gives her a nod, before she holds out her hand for Dick to take. 

Dick’s timing is impeccable, even though he could not have planned it. The first song starts as they reach the dance floor, and Dick subtly guides Rose’s hands to where they should go, though her touch is so light they might as well be floating just above the fabric of his jacket. 

After just a few steps, it becomes clear that the Wilsons did not at all ready this poor girl for high society. Or, if they had attempted it, a deplorable job was done indeed. It makes sense, however; the Wilsons have always relied on their martial prowess and sterling reputation more than other skills to get by in this arena. Still, Dick can’t help but feel sad for how poorly prepared Rose is. Sad, and more than a little angry.

But Dick is a master at this game, and he’s only gotten better at it after his own brush with scandal a handful of years before. It was nothing of consequence, really—he and Wally had been caught together, without a chaperone, kissing with abandon. Their clothes had all stayed in place, no hands wandering where they shouldn’t. It was only because of the Wayne name and money that being caught with an alpha left Dick relatively unscathed. Still, the experience had soured his opinion of the lords and ladies that were supposedly his peers, whose fickle favour he first realized when it was suggested he might have fallen out with his adopted father. All that to say, yes, he knows the effect his dance with Rose will have and what to do to compound it.

“Why is everyone looking at us?” Rose asks in a low voice. 

Dick didn’t try speaking with Rose before since she was quiet herself. Scowling a little, too, though he thought it was because she might be concentrating on her footwork. As it is, Dick’s the one doing the leading as they dance.

Now, he smiles reassuringly at her, shooting her a wink before letting out a bright laugh. As they step in time with the music, smoothly avoiding colliding with the other pairs, he can see all the keen gazes turn colder with envy. He notices how Rose catalogues the change, too. 

“I’m afraid I’ve done you a disservice, Lady Wilson,” he admits, though the smile does not drop from his face, nor does his tone lose its playfulness. “You see, an omega should never approach an alpha for a dance, and we should have been at least formally introduced first. By a mutual acquaintance, perhaps, or the host of tonight’s party.”

Rose’s eyes nearly bulge in her shock, her mouth twisting into something hard and furious. “You set me up!” she accuses. “What have I ever done to you?!”

Dick can’t help but laugh again, only this time, it’s genuine. Rose’s fearless honesty is a breath of fresh air. He hopes that her guilelessness won’t be exploited, that the fire he can see burning in her eyes is never stamped out. 

“Don’t worry,” he says, his sincerity matching hers. “No one will say a word against you for it. This party is for my brother Jason’s coming out, and this estate belongs to our father. Anyone who doesn’t want to be thrown out should be careful not to be rude to me or to someone I consider a friend.”

This is not exactly true. No one will dare to wag their tongues about impropriety, but only because there is bigger news than that to spread. 

After the incident with Wally, Dick came to the abrupt realisation that he doesn’t much care for courting or getting mated. At least, not when the process is to be a spectacle, to be speculated upon and dissected. It doesn’t matter anyway if he remains unmated. His family would not suffer for it, not in wealth or prestige, and he himself is quite content to be a spinster. Thus, his presence during the season is practically decorative; accepting no dances and taking no callers, he is very clearly not on the market. 

But this move with Rose is a bold statement, and everyone must be aware of the ramifications by now. Richard Wayne is once again open to courtship. 

It wasn’t his intention, but Dick will have to toughen up and accept the repercussions of his actions. At the very least, he is thankful that courtships don’t necessarily lead to an engagement. And, at the same time, this farce would be helpful, because Jason does intend to get mated. 

Despite being the younger omega, Jason will be subject to greater scrutiny during his first season because of Dick’s nonparticipation. With House Wayne being so desirable, every alpha will throw their hat in the ring to try for Jason’s hand. This would be no problem, except that Jason would have to at least be seen to consider all these suitors, and this is not ideal as Jason already has an intended. 

The family have been busy the past few weeks to come up with a strategy to ensure Jason doesn’t attract the wrong kind of attention and that he gets to enjoy his season. But it’s become clear that the stress is taking a toll on him, his fear of misstepping and offending someone overwhelming everything else.

Regardless of how impulsive it was, dancing with Rose benefits Jason, taking the heat off him and putting it back on Dick. All the better that it also cleans the slate for Rose and the Wilsons, even if Dick shows no more interest after tonight.

“Why should I trust you?” Rose asks. 

Though she is questioning the value of his word, Dick is not insulted by it. Rose is a smart girl, that much is plain, and he looks forward to seeing how she well she does for herself, without the circumstances of her birth tarnishing her name and sullying her chances.

“See for yourself what happens later,” he tells her. “If I have truly wronged you, you may challenge me to a duel at any time, this I swear.”

“I shall be holding you to that,” Rose pronounces primly. 

They share a meaningful look at that, as if they are both privy to a secret only they know. It’s startling, how much camaraderie is there when Rose was so antagonistic only seconds before. But Dick doesn’t shy away from the intensity of their connection; he welcomes it. Yes, Rose will truly make for a good friend, younger though she may be.

“Until next time, then, Lady Wilson.” Dick bows as Rose drops into a respectable curtsy. Then, they part ways. 

Dick immediately flees back to the corner of the ballroom where his brothers are. The last thing he wants is to be intercepted by an enterprising alpha. That will come soon enough. 

Before Dick can say anything, Jason rounds on him, looking incandescent. 

“What were you thinking?!” Jason’s hands are viselike on Dick’s upper arms, and he shakes his older brother hard. “Why did you do that?”

Dick grimaces, but he tries to keep his tone unbothered. “You know why. I couldn’t not, Jason, not when it helps you too.”

Jason’s face turns redder, and for a moment Dick thinks he’s truly gone too far. But he hears Jason counting softly as he reins in his emotions so as not to explode in view of the entire court. 

“You’re an idiot,” he pronounces, but it is without heat. “I only hope you know what you’re doing, and that you don’t come to regret it.”

In direct contradiction to his words, Jason surges closer and wraps Dick in a tight embrace. Dick hugs his little brother back. In reality, he doesn’t know if he’s made the right choice, but how can it be a bad one, if it means that the weight will be lifted off Jason’s shoulders?

“Here, Dickface.” A pen is pressed into his hand, along with the night’s programme du bal, after Jason breaks contact. “So you don’t completely embarrass yourself when the swarm descends.”

“Thank you, Jay.” Dick squeezes Jason’s hand in his. “Love you.”

“Oh, stuff it.”

For all that Dick may come to regret his impulsiveness, he can’t deny that it feels good right now. His little brother is happy, and that will always be worth the price he pays.

But then the first alpha comes up to him, and he can feel a chill come over him, numbing him even as pins and needles assault his fingers. But what’s done is done, so Dick has no choice but to accept every request until his dance card is filled, though he makes sure the one before supper is reserved for Tim. 

With the floodgates now opened, Dick resigns himself to a long and unpleasant season. 

###

Much of the next day is taken up by fittings. So many fittings. After all, an omega must present themself appropriately, especially when one is hoping to be courted. 

Dick has been getting by with just a couple sets of new clothes for the past few years, but for his unexpected reentry onto the market, he needs a completely new wardrobe. It’s fortunate that finances will never be an issue for Bruce, because his chequebook is required to outfit not one but two omegas this season. 

Suits, shoes, jewellery. They must all be of the highest quality and the latest fashions, as befitting the eldest of House Wayne. Added to that is the rush fee on the orders, so Dick can attend the next ball in all his finery. 

When they return, it’s to find that one of the parlours has been commandeered as a space to store the courting gifts that have come in as the day progressed. Dick whistles, inciting a glare from Alfred for his deplorable conduct. He expected some gifts, as they are only a matter of course, but he didn’t expect so many of them. 

Jason starts wading through them immediately, only to be directed away from the mass and to a coffee table on the side. 

“Those are yours, Master Jason. The one from Lord Harper is on top.”

Dick smiles fondly at the sight of Jason lighting up when he finds the gift. It’s no surprise that he takes it out and puts it on, ignoring everything else, propriety be damned. 

Meanwhile, Dick halfheartedly picks up the intricately wrapped boxes at random, largely setting them aside after checking for the sender. A bitter taste rises at the thought of having to sort through them all and picking some to keep. Well, they’re all for him to keep anyway, but it’s expected that he use some of them—even rotate through them—so as to avoid showing favour to one suitor over another. At least before any true commitments are made. 

Out of nowhere, he recalls the heavy weight of a gold necklace around his neck, the brand of fingers on his waist. He drops the box he’s holding, and there is the unmistakeable sound of something fragile breaking. But Dick doesn’t care. 

“Dickie?” The way Jason says his name tells him that this isn’t the first time Jason has tried using it. “Dickie, are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m just fine.” Dick dregs up a carefree grin, unsure if it’s at all able to fool his brother. “Butter fingers.”

Dick picks up the fallen gift and unwraps it properly. Inside is a music box, and instead of a ballerina twirling within, there’s an acrobat on a trapeze. Well thought out, perhaps, but a double-edged sword. And Dick isn’t in the right frame of mind to feel anything other than vindicated that it broke. 

He shows it to Jason, who pulls a face. He doesn’t look as worried anymore, though he keeps glancing at Dick while he works through his other gifts. 

Mechanically, Dick starts going through his gifts too, if only to show Jason that he truly is feeling fine. 

There’s nothing out of the ordinary, and the bore of it easily puts Dick back in a state of relative peace. Accessories, jewellery boxes, they’re all the usual suspects for a first courting gift to show intent. Even a collar from an audacious alpha isn’t too surprising. 

The next gift his fingers find is small, which quickly piques his curiosity. Alphas generally subscribe to the worldview that bigger, bolder, and more expensive is better, with courting gifts being the best application of this concept. This, the smallest item in the whole pile, should be overlooked, dismissed with a scoff as an insincere offering. 

Dick practically rips the box open in his haste to reveal what’s inside. 

It’s another velvet-lined jewellery box, but the lid isn’t embossed with the name of the typical shops or brands. In fact, the wooden box looks handmade. Nestled within is a pair of silver cufflinks engraved with his initials. Plain but classic. Decent but disappointing. 

The card that comes with it is signed by General Slade Wilson, which explains the situation a little. This isn’t a courting gift, though it came with the others. As the card says, it’s a thank you, for last night, surely. Dick has no doubt that the Wilsons will be invited to any and all events now, what with Dick having approached Rose of his own accord. 

A polite gesture, but unnecessary. Dick has never liked bullies anyway. 

When he moves to put the card away, he notices more lines of writing on the back. He reads them and feels his brows scrunch together. 

Put the sleeve buttons together and then pull them apart. I hope you won’t have cause to use them as such, but it’s good to have nevertheless. We are thankful for your intercession; anything you require, we shall do our best to fulfil. 

Puzzled, Dick extracts the cufflinks from the box. When they are in close proximity to each other, the pieces snap together gently, as if magnetised. He holds one in each hand and pulls, intrigued by the resistance that greets him. Between the links, a length of wire appears, thin but sturdy. A concealed garrotte. 

Laughter bubbles out of Dick’s mouth at the realisation. Slade gave him, an omega, a weapon! How marvellous!

Who would have thought that General Wilson would be so forward-thinking? Then again, he has always struck Dick as a man who is more practical than traditional, not letting prejudices cloud his judgement. Dick admires that. 

An idea starts brewing, and the more he thinks about it, the more attractive the idea becomes. Yes, Slade will do nicely. He will do very nicely indeed.

Chapter Text

If you ask him, Slade would tell you that he’s the furthest thing from noble, and so, he doesn’t belong within the ranks of the titled. Of course, he would readily admit that nobility is quite rare among the gentry, so perhaps he should fit right in. 

That has never been true, however. 

Court politics are beyond him, though he understands enough not to end up as a target. Most of the time, he is content to play the brute and fit into the narrow expectations others have of him. It leaves him at the edges of society, with no one thinking of him as a threat yet no one foolish enough to challenge him. He belongs, that much is undeniable, but he doesn’t fit.

The mating game is a conundrum that is the worst of the worst. It had been a scandal back in the day when he had chosen a beta rather than an omega, but other people were the only reason there was any trouble. Courting etiquette is simpler with betas, but they still exist, and they had followed all the rules of the process. Thus, his and Adeline’s mating had been beyond reproach. And when their union produced not one but two healthy alpha boys, there were jokes among the alphas that they should all find a beta to mate. 

And although he loathed the way the idea was treated as folly, Slade agreed wholeheartedly with it. If it had become fashionable, at least he would not have to be at this ball tonight. 

But while Slade may have successfully wrangled Rose onto the peerage roll, her position is far from secure. Without any social clout, she could be ostracised, backstabbed, or mistreated in any number of ways. And though Slade has been teaching her to fight, some battles are not won by brawn alone. Therefore, they are all of them in London during this year’s season. 

It was only at the party celebrating the coming out of Jason Wayne two nights before that Slade realised how badly the odds were stacked against them. With the kind of response their mere entrance had elicited, one would think that Rose was an indiscriminate killer, not just born out of wedlock. 

For whatever reason, the eldest Wayne omega had interceded. Beautiful, charismatic, accomplished, he is undoubtedly the most desirable omega in the land. Because of this, his perceived interest in Rose turned the tables nearly instantaneously. Even before the pair had moved but three feet away, people approached and pretended as if they were all old chums.

It was sickening, but ultimately what he wanted. 

This waif of an alpha standing before him, though, Slade’s not sure portends any good news. He recognises Timothy Wayne, certainly, but he doesn’t understand why he’s here and suggesting that Slade ask Richard Wayne for a dance. 

“Just one dance,” he persuades, as if Slade would be doing Richard a favour by accepting, as if Richard would ever be starved for options. 

“You’ll have to make the introduction,” Slade replies gruffly. It’s a ridiculous notion, because Slade doesn’t know Timothy from the man on the street, but it will suffice. That the Waynes are playing by the rules now means something is afoot, and knowledge is a weapon just as much as a sword is. 

When the introductions are dealt with, Slade only stands there instead of doing what he was asked. As enticing of an omega Richard is, no good will ever come from anyone who schemes this way. 

“Why send your brother? Why didn’t you just ask me as you did my daughter?” His tone is sharp, accusatory, wholly inappropriate directed at an omega. 

Rather than gasp or, God forbid, cry, Richard looks pleased, like he’s won a bet. Good, he’s not the simpering sort and won’t lower himself to act like one. Just as Slade had assessed, Richard knows what he’s doing and he’s not going to let anyone stand in his way. 

“You should know how important appearances are,” Richard points out. “As an omega, I cannot be seen to do a great many things. And so, I can only act through intermediaries. Don’t play coy, General Wilson. I’m sure you’re interested in what I have to say.”

Slade barks out a laugh. “Say it, then. You know I’ll listen.” He doesn’t mention the offer he made, sent along with the gift the day before. 

“What fun will that be?” Richard flutters his fan daintily, teasingly before his lush mouth. “You wouldn’t deny me this small request, would you? It’s a simple trade, really. You will discover my devious plans, and I will get my dance. What say you, sir?”

Slade snorts, but really he wants to sigh. “Which dance did you have in mind? Be warned: I haven’t done this in ages.”

When Slade leads Richard to the dance floor for the dance he requested, he can feel the looks at his back stinging harder than any knifewound he’s endured. It’s a testament to how long it’s been since he’s been at the mercy of the ton, because rather than feeling the scuttlebutt slide off him like water off a duck’s back, he’s… uncomfortable. 

He wants to blame it on the omega before him; his younger age, the stark disparity between them in social standing, their incompatibility, all these factors must fuel the gossip, bringing it to a higher boil. Except, when Slade tries to do the tallying up, he realises something horrifying. In the eyes of society, they would not be a poor match at all. It inspires an urge within him that he recognises as violence. 

“What do you want?” he asks without courtesy or preamble, but he’s ignored as they bow to each other as the music starts to play. 

“I want you to pay attention to your footwork, General Wilson. That hurt.”

Slade refuses to feel guilty about stepping on the pretentious omega’s toes. He warned him that he hasn’t danced in a long time, but Richard had insisted.

He does as told, but takes it as a challenge instead of an order from a too-bold omega, and the more he focuses, the easier he finds the skill coming back to him. Matching the omega’s fluid grace is impossible, but he manages to at least stop making mistakes. He twirls Richard and smirks when the omega laughs almost breathlessly. 

“Holding out on me, General Wilson?” Richard teases. “One might take offence.”

It’s charming, and Slade can see how easily Richard could wrap anyone around his little finger, but he crushes any such foolishness before it can wreak real havoc. To fall into this omega’s trap would be a grave oversight. Better to focus on business, because omegas always want something, especially from alphas. He should have known that Richard would extract payment for his aid the other night. Slade is only being proven correct now. There is no good faith in this arena, only profit. 

But even as he actively closes himself off, trying to avoid getting tangled up, he can’t deny that he is disappointed. 

“I’m only doing as bid. And speaking of doing another’s bidding…” Slade raises an eyebrow. At this point, he would really like for Richard to get to the point. He’s never been a patient man, and he’s gone along with this without protest for far longer and far more easily than ever. 

“Would you court me?” is what Richard says, infuriatingly off-subject again. 

Slade considers the question earnestly. Richard is attractive, smart, and far from guileless. The latter might as well be an inherent nature of omegas, but Slade has always thought that everyone should be armed with some deviousness. Only, Richard doesn’t hide behind the appearance of being weak, and Slade can admire that. 

Without conscious thought, Slade’s eyes flit to Richard’s wrists. He can see the sleeve buttons he rushed to finish making gleaming there. He preens internally, alpha instincts overpowering him. 

Still, he replies, “I’m flattered, my lord. But courting is a younger alpha’s game.”

Richard’s laugh is like the tinkle of glass. “You’re not that old, General Wilson, don’t make yourself out to be.” The tease is playful, but Richard’s demeanour turns abruptly sober with his next words. Real. “In any case, you would not need to do it seriously. Only but create the illusion of it, and I would be in your debt.”

A promise from the eldest omega of House Wayne is a hefty prize, easily misused. If Slade did not know better, he might think that Richard is desperate. But what could he ever want that would not be in reach for someone such as him? He could mate a prince if he so desired. All he had to do was bat his eyes. 

“Why?” he asks, rather than strain himself concocting suppositions. “You could have anyone you want.”

Richard’s eyes bore into him, startling in their intensity. There is determination there, burning bright,  but also a deep well of bitterness, of rage. What has happened to this omega, who should by all means be sheltered by his position and wealth? What hurts has he suffered?

“What if I don’t want to belong to anyone?” 

Ah, that would explain it. Everyone knows that Richard effectively took himself off the market a few years ago. It’s why there’s such a huge fuss about him being available again. If nothing else, Slade can understand Richard’s reluctance to be mated off. After all, for all that it’s dressed up, courting for the hand of an omega might as well be the negotiation for the purchase of a pretty broodmare. 

“Then why put yourself in such a position?” It can hardly be for Rose’s sake and nothing else. They have no prior ties to the Waynes and much less Richard, whether in business or otherwise. “You’ve successfully kept out of it before.”

Slade expects some prevarication, more smooth distractions, but Richard readily confesses, “My brother. If I do not participate, he will be subject to all the attention that would otherwise be aimed at me.”

In a smaller voice, likely not meant for Slade’s ears, he adds. “Not all of it good.”

That still does not explain why Richard needs Slade for anything. Unless…

“You mean for me to be a shield.”

Richard nods. “You are a formidable alpha, one anyone would think twice about challenging. There isn’t a need for any official claim, of course. Just your interest—a dance at every event, a few house calls, perhaps the occasional promenade at a park—should suffice.”

“But what’s stopping them from going back to your brother?”

“Let me worry about that.” Richard’s tone is back to its synthetic sweetness. “Now, would you join me for supper, my lord?”

###

For all the civility they claim to be possessed of, they are all of them creatures ruled by instinct. Once Slade agrees to Richard’s plan (for how could he not accept?), something primal wakes in him, a beast that croons that he must have Richard and that rumbles in joy that he has taken the first step. 

He resolves to overcome it, aware that he must take caution not to fool himself along with those watching—and there are a great many people watching. In this more than anything else, he must not lose his head. 

The rest of the night becomes a test of his discipline, which he had thought to be honed keener than a sword. 

Though Richard has no true intention to accept the courtship of the alphas who present themselves before him, he cannot show favour to Slade. And so, he dances the night away with alpha after alpha, smiling at them and joking with them as though they have a chance. Acid gnaws at Slade as he watches this, even as he reminds himself that Richard is not his. 

When he makes a call at Wayne Manor, Slade is told by their butler that, “Master Richard is sparring with his brothers.” There is no other comment as he’s led to a sitting room to wait, no indication that this is out of the ordinary or an indulgence the duke allows due to his eccentricity. 

Soon, Richard steps into the room, two of his brothers following behind. He wears a light coat, but that is his only concession to propriety. Even in his own home, Richard is woefully underdressed. 

These a light sheen of sweat upon his skin, making the bronze of it gleam. He sounds slightly out of breath as he says, “Good morning, General Wilson! You remember my younger brother, Tim? And this is the youngest, Damian.”

It takes a great amount of restraint to keep his gaze upon Richard’s face, which should not be a hardship at any other time. But if he only lowers his head slightly, he would be gifted with the sight of Richard’s thin shirt sticking to him, nearly sheer from his exertions in the watery sun.

“Good morning,” he responds stiffly. Were he a younger man, his body’s natural responses would disgrace him in this moment. It would be a great insult to Richard besides, along with being unfair. He had asked for Slade’s aid in earnest; he should not take it as permission for anything else. 

“I apologise for calling at an inopportune time. Perhaps I can amuse myself in your library as you freshen up?”

Richard’s face becomes stained with the most alluring shade of blush. He looks down at himself and pulls his coat closer around himself. Beside him, the young man—aged no more than thirteen—glares at Slade viciously. 

“I’m terribly sorry, my lord. Of course. Your suggestion is an astute one. I shall have to trouble you to wait.” With that, Richard quits the sitting room. 

Neither of the younger Waynes accompany him, and Slade is left in the library alone with some tea and biscuits. He absently walks through the stacks, not actually perusing the books there, just letting his eyes skip over the spines. 

The door opens sooner than Slade expects, and rather than Richard, his father the duke enters. 

Despite not having had many dealings with the man before, Slade knows that Bruce Wayne is far more shrewd than he presents himself. The charade isn’t something Slade can claim to understand, but he’s thankful that the duke sees no need for it in his own home. 

“Do have a seat, General Wilson,” the duke invites. “I don’t think we’ve ever had the chance to interact much before.”

The sentiment is expressed as though it’s truly such a shame that they haven’t been able to become friends before, even though they both know they’re only speaking to each other now because of Richard. Despite nothing being said, Slade already despises this conversation. 

“You must forgive me, Your Grace. I am not a man who is good with words. I would much prefer it if we can speak plainly.” Slade’s response is not only rude but also implies that the duke is duplicitous, hiding behind pretty words to confound and ensnare. Yet, he doesn’t seem offended by Slade’s directness. 

It doesn’t mean that he follows Slade’s lead, however. 

“I hadn’t heard anything about your interest in finding a spouse, General Wilson,” he says obliquely. “Have you been considering it for a while or was it fueled by impulse?”

Slade is not so skilled at reading between the lines that the duke’s meaning presents itself immediately. But the mildness of the duke’s tone, coloured by a concern he cannot quite hide, gives Slade a clue. Did you join the season with a mind to procure an omega or was it only because of my son?

As Slade has made no overtures to any other omega, the answer is clear. As a father, Slade can see why the duke might be wary. 

It makes Slade wonder if the duke has cornered the other alphas seeking Richard’s hand this way. Experience and instinct both suggest that Slade is the only one being given this treatment. But why? His age? His status as a divorcé? His family’s recent scandal?

If nothing else, the duke’s questioning undeniably informs Slade that Richard’s father does not know about his subterfuge. A frown tugs at his lips. Why hasn’t Richard shared his plans? It might not be the most acceptable or honourable thing to do, but his intentions are pure. Slade doubts the duke would fault Richard for his misdeeds when he’s only trying to protect his brother. 

It’s all such a conundrum. Were he not involved, Slade thinks he might enjoy picking the threads apart to see the greater pattern. 

“Richard is a fine omega. It is no strain of the imagination that one would find oneself taken by him.” 

The duke’s lips thin at the non-answer, and Slade can’t help but smirk. 

“I’m going to level with you, General Wilson.” The duke’s eyes smoulder with ferocity Slade such that has never before seen in him. All subtlety has been thrown out the window along with courtly manners, it seems, in the name of issuing this threat.

“Dick has no need for an alpha if he does not want one. I can provide for him for the rest of his life and keep him in comfort. But since he has chosen to try for a worthy match, I will respect that. In turn, I expect that his suitors show him the consideration he deserves and do everything in their power to ensure that he comes to no harm.” 

Slade is no stranger to alpha posturing, but this is the first time he’s been faced with such animosity in the defence of another’s omega child. There was so much concerned fretting when the duke had taken in an omega as a bachelor, along with some more sinister suggestions of the purpose to which an unmated alpha would want an orphaned omega. But Slade can see that there is no doubt the duke is a dutiful father. 

It’s this that causes the amusement to rise within Slade. Armed with the knowledge he likely should not have been privy to, Slade confidently responds, “Ah, but you know as well as I that Richard does not require anyone to intervene on his behalf. You have made certain that he can take care of himself—his person and his heart—have you not?”

The duke’s eye twitches. Slade knows how his words can be construed. Teaching an omega to fight is distasteful but not inexcusable; still, it could ruin one’s prospects. Absurd, really. Everyone should know how to defend oneself. If Slade had had an omega child, he would have trained them like his alphas children. But the duke doesn’t know that, or the fact that Slade has already armed Richard with something he could use to incapacitate him if needed. 

“Be that as it may, Richard is not alone in this journey. Should he find that he is tired of your attention, I expect his wishes to be respected. If not, as his family, we will ensure that you come to regret it.”

“I would expect nothing less,” Slade returns coolly. 

The door to the library opens again, and this time it is Richard who steps through. 

His eyes narrow when he spots his father, though the latter is smiling beatifically. “Bruce, what do you think you’re doing?” Indeed, the duke has raised no fools. 

“I don’t know what you mean, chum. I was only here for a book when I stumbled upon General Wilson here.” The duke looks at Slade as if daring him to imply otherwise, his gaze lined with steel.

The skepticism on Richard’s face does not fade. After a charged moment, he relents. “Alright then.”

“Apologies, General Wilson, for keeping you waiting. It’s such a pleasant day today. Perhaps we can take a turn in the gardens? Tim has offered to chaperone.” Richard turns to beam at Slade, more beautiful than any flower. 

Spurious as this courtship may be, Slade does not consider it a hardship to spend time with Richard. He makes his way to Richard and holds his arm out for the other to take. To the duke, he says, “Good day, Your Grace. I enjoyed our lovely conversation. Perhaps we can have another chat soon.”

Chapter Text

Ill-advised as Dick’s arrangement with Slade is, it works splendidly. Many of the alphas who professed interest in Dick had already withdrawn, choosing to focus their efforts on omegas with whom they have a better chance. 

Unfortunately, that means that those who are left are the kind of people Bruce has always told him to avoid. But still, it’s all fine in Dick’s books if it means that they will not be hounding Jason. In any case, all can be endured so long as she is not in London and cannot bother Dick any longer. 

Having Slade playing the part of his suitor also has an unintended upside. With the other alphas, Dick has to pretend to be receptive to their wooing of him, or at least not rebuff them directly. Since all of Dick’s cards already on the table, he doesn’t have to maintain a mask when he’s with Slade. He can just be, and it’s a blessing. Slade has become a sanctuary he can retreat to when the act becomes too much, a calm and safe bay in a terrible storm. 

With Slade, Dick is awarded the luxury of getting to know someone without the weight of expectations said and unsaid, doesn’t have to guard against whatever desires he might have. 

This is evidenced by the courting gifts that kept coming at regular intervals, all of them weapons that Dick could hide on his person in plain sight. A fan with a mechanism that extends blades from its ribs, a signet ring with a poisoned needle within, ear studs that become excellent projectiles so long as he practises to master the movement to launch them. Dick makes sure he has at least one of these gifts whenever he leaves the manor now. And it’s not just for his safety that he does so. The gifts bring him a sense of warmth and comfort, the very same feelings that the bloom at the thought of Slade himself. 

And he listens. 

Whoever has been guiding the Wilsons when it comes to Rose’s wardrobe is either malicious or last checked in with fashion trends a hundred years ago. Determined to give the girl a fighting chance among the sharks of the ton, Dick had decided to take Rose shopping. 

So, he’d gone to talk to Slade about it. 

He hadn’t thought too much about how it might sound, though, to go up to Slade and say, “I need to talk to you about something.” In all honesty, Dick didn’t even think that he tone was very serious. Yet, Slade devoted his full attention to the proceedings, sitting Dick down and keeping his eyes on him the entire time. It had made Dick’s heart feel fluttery for some reason.

Sometimes, though, Dick does think that Slade could put a little less stock in what Dick says. There is merit even in doing things one doesn’t like, insufferable as it can be. That might as well be the whole point of socialising with the peerage.

“Honestly, Slade. We can’t just leave this tournament. I’m winning!” Even though he’s bored to tears, would quite literally rather be anywhere else, and is lying through his teeth, he knows it’s a bad idea for any of them to leave, and that includes his own family.

Just because Dick once shared with Slade that the croquet tournament the royal family holds annually is a royal pain in the behind doesn’t mean they should try sneaking away from it!

When it’s next Dick’s turn, Slade comes up to him and angles his head down a little. Dick thinks maybe Slade intends to wish him good luck, but the slight quirk of his mouth warns Dick to be wary. 

“You realise that, if you aim for the king’s head instead, we can all leave early.”

Dick can’t help but snort. “I think what you’re suggesting is better termed treason.”

Leaving Slade and his dark chuckle, Dick makes his shot. He spends the next half hour resolutely trying to ignore Slade, but it’s a task that is nearly Herculean. It’s as if Dick’s eyes are magnets, seeking out the metal of Slade’s countenance. Dick doubles down by moving over to chat with his other suitors—as that is only fair—but he finds their conversation even more tiresome than the tournament. 

At the same time, he finds himself distracted by the hope that Slade becomes jealous of the time he spends with these other alphas. When he realises the direction of his thoughts, he’s horrified. After what happened, he never imagined that he would ever trust another alpha again, much less… feel the way he feels, for Slade. 

This epiphany should, by all means, inspire fear in him. Forbearance, control. He is an omega of high standing, after all. It will not do well for him to go pursuing an alpha. 

Even so, he cannot help but meander closer to Slade, who looks at him in that special, soft way he has never seen the alpha use with anyone else. 

Clarity is so potent, capable of changing so much without so much as a hint as to what’s happened. Has Slade always smelled this good? It enthralls Dick as soon as he gets close enough that he can pick up the alpha’s scent. 

He becomes abruptly nervous. Will Slade be able to tell that Dick has feelings for him? Will he despise Dick for it, especially considering that Dick promised their courtship would only be a ruse? Dick’s face burns even as despair threatens to overtake him. Could Slade ever feel the same way about him?

Dick wants to think so, is buoyed by the hope that Slade’s care for him, his kindness, is earnest and comes from a place of true affection. Dick will simply have to ask. Never before has he shied away from what needs to be done. He won’t this time, either. Not when it’s so important. 

Resolving to do just that, Dick has just opened his mouth to speak when a hand clamps around his right forearm like a vise. His vision goes fuzzy, and he feels like he’s trying to breathe underwater. 

“Dick, watch out!” he hears Slade call distantly. 

But he’s already gone. 

Just like that, he’s back to that evening years ago, the one he can’t quite remember but can never forget. He doesn’t recall many details, but the flash of a memory now grips him, coming through clear as day. 

Her hand around his bicep, dragging him away from the party with its laughing guests and clinking glasses. Him groggily asking where they were going. Her pleased look as she said, “Somewhere private, omega. Somewhere I can do whatever I like to you, and you’re going to like it.”

Tears spring to his eyes, and Dick squeezes them shut to ward away the sting. When he thinks he can bear to face the world again, what greets him is the sight of his brothers and father around him, their faces etched with worry. 

They’re outside, with lush greenery all around them. The royal gardens. 

The croquet tournament, the revelation he had, Slade’s warning cry. He’s still not sure what happened, the images all muddled in his head. Had he fainted?

“Chum,” Bruce says softly. “Are you alright? How do you feel?”

Dick isn’t; he is still shaken and feels like he might shatter at the slightest touch. Thankfully, no one reaches out to make contact. 

Forcing a smile onto his face, he tries to reassure his family. “I feel fine. The shock must have gotten to me.” Whatever the shock was, it’s clear something had prompted his reaction. “I’m afraid my mind is a little fuzzy, though. What happened?”

“Someone hit their croquet ball a little too hard,” Tim explains. “It was flying right in your direction. General Wilson pulled you away, and you just… shut down.”

Dick looks towards Jason, his gaze desperately pleading, as he tries to ask without words whether he’s let anything slip. Jason must understand, because he shakes his head imperceptibly. 

Thank goodness for his brother, who understands and can be relied on to keep his secrets. 

“General Wilson helped you to one side and came to us when he noticed you weren’t responding. He’s been helping to keep everyone else away since.”

How chivalrous. At this juncture, Dick is more than certain of his appraisal of Slade as a gentleman, an exemplary alpha. It was himself that he had misjudged.

Dick is an omega damaged, broken, ruined. Whatever aspirations he has of making a good match and being mated are folly, daydreams meant for a younger and more innocent person. Dick has long ago lost his chance, robbed of it by someone who purported to love him. 

Slade is too good for him by far, he knows that now. He needs to end this before it begins, uproot his naïve ideas that he could ever deserve a happy ending. Let Slade be free to pursue someone better than him.

“I must thank him.” Dick levers himself upright, waving away his family’s offers of help. He will allow himself one last interaction with Slade, try to communicate how much Slade’s help meant to him, as well as how much he’s enjoyed Slade’s company. And then, he will say goodbye. 

###

The very next day, Roy proposes to Jason, and a party is swiftly thrown together to celebrate the occasion. 

Dick spends the afternoon writing formal rejection letters, thanking all his suitors over the season for their interest but ultimately turning them down. It will ruffle some feathers, since they are only halfway through the season, but Dick is exhausted. He can feel it in his bones that he will not be able to survive any more of this pretending, especially when he won’t have Slade to retreat to when he needs a moment of peace. 

When he gets to the letter for Slade, Dick stalls. He can barely write out the alpha’s name before he is crying, his soul keening for someone he knows he cannot have. In the end, he has Jason do it for him, and Jason even has to seal the letter for him, as the mere thought of pressing his ring into the wax makes him ache. 

It takes a long time to compose himself again, and then he has to attend Jason and Roy’s engagement party. 

There is toast after toast, but Dick is careful not to drink too much, defensive over the glass in his hand so that it is not tampered with. Luckily, though, none of his spurned suitors even come close to him. 

Except Slade.

The alpha approaches tentatively, as if worried that his presence would be unwelcome. Dick mourns the easy back-and-forth he’s had with Slade from the start, now strained by Dick’s rejection of him.

Or perhaps Dick is conceited for thinking that. As much as he wants to believe that there is more than just a transaction between them, that was the basis of their relationship from the start. It is more than likely that Slade is glad to be rid of him and the tedious role that Dick strong-armed him to play. 

“Could I speak with you?” Slade asks. 

Dick knows that he shouldn’t agree, but he finds it impossible to say no. He is like a man dying of thirst, and Slade is an oasis. 

“Certainly,” he answers, but the smile on his face is brittle. 

Dick leads them away from the ballroom, out of Queen manor to a garden bench. Should the conversation turn sour, Dick is prepared to sprint into the hedgemaze nearby, the one he’s knows like the back of his hand from a childhood spent exploring it with Roy and other friends.

“What did you want to talk about?”

“Do forgive me for being forward,” Slade begins with uncommon cautiousness. “But over the course of our acquaintance, I have gotten the impression that there was something growing between us, regardless of why we started this courtship.”

This is what Dick wanted to hear and, had Slade shared his feelings earlier, Dick would have been ecstatic. Now, though, he is grateful for all that transpired at the croquet tournament, even if he’d scared his family. Dick does not want Slade to cast his lot with Dick’s, not when nothing good will ever come of it. He cannot give Slade what he deserves. 

Dick glances away, unable to face Slade head on when he’s so filled with shame. He hates her ever more for it, and whatever aspect of himself that made her decide to choose him. 

“If anyone is at fault, it is I, General Wilson.” Dick swallows, the words like daggers in his throat. “I am sorry for having misled you. Truly, I do appreciate what you have done for me, but there is no need for it anymore. Jason is happily engaged.” 

“And I am glad for his happiness,” Slade drawls. Dick can almost taste his frustration in the air. “But what of yours, Dick? I understand that I am not an ideal alpha, especially for one of your standing, but I rather felt that you found my company agreeable.”

“No!” Dick blurts out, anxiety winning out against restraint. “You have been nothing  but kind and considerate to me, and I will not soon forget our time together. You have proved that you are an honorable alpha, and anyone would be lucky to be your mate.” 

Dick knows that he is contradicting himself, that he has brought forward no reasonable justification for his rejection. But there is nothing else that he knows to say. He cannot lie and say that he does not hold affection for Slade, but nor can he tell the truth and give away the true reason for his insistance. No, that would bring shame upon his entire family.

“Please, Slade,” he begs. “Leave it alone. I cannot be what you want.”

The look on Slade’s face is thunderous. By all means, it should terrify Dick and make him fear for his life, but within that storm he can also read sadness. Much as he would like to deny it, much as it also brings him joy, he can see that Slade isn’t accepting his excuses. 

Slade takes a singular step closer and reaches a hand out. He doesn’t touch, not until Dick leans forward to place his own face in Slade’s hold, caressing gently and tracing his thumb over Dick’s cheekbone. 

Dick shivers and wonders how much more intoxicating the contact would feel without the layer of Slade’s gloves in the way. 

“I do not claim to understand your reasons or why you deny yourself so.” A grimace twists Slade’s face. “And I am not so noble as you describe. But you have made your wishes clear and I will respect them. Should you ever change your mind, I will be here, waiting.”

Slade takes Dick’s hand and places a kiss on the back of it. Then, he is gone.

Chapter Text

Slade is too old to be afflicted by heartbreak, and yet that is the exact predicament in which he finds himself. It’s so senseless, too, seeing as every clue points to the fact that Dick harbours feelings for him. 

However.

It had already been a breach of etiquette for Slade to question Dick regarding the matter; he cannot do anything more. If he does, he would be a sorry excuse for an alpha. He can only leave the matter alone as bid, left to yearn from afar.  At the very least, he’s still able to see Dick at various events during the season. He does not consider doing so a means of prolonging his suffering, as his children describe it. It is a luxury. He won’t admit that he physically cannot wrench his gaze from the sight of Dick, as that would be too shameful by far.

Dick has been absent from events from the past two days, though, and Slade is beginning to worry. The observations from other attendees have confirmed that Dick was indeed expected to put in an appearance at this luncheon. 

“You know what this means, don’t you?” asks one of Dick’s ex-suitors, his tone sickeningly salacious. “The bitch is in heat.”

This kind of talk isn’t uncommon among alphas; in fact, the language being used is hardly the worst he’s heard. He himself had never before thought anything of it. But knowing that Dick is being the one talked about in this way, as if he was a common whore, sent rage coursing through him. 

“They say there’s something wrong with him,” another adds. “That’s why his courtships never go anywhere and why he’s so against them. He’s defective.”

The conversation continues with a short argument about whether Dick had ended his courtships before his heat as well, years ago. Someone interjects that the duke merely coddles his eldest omega, while another suggests that it is protectiveness at fault. 

“It’s a damn shame, that’s what it is!” one of them says. “Richard would surely have chosen an alpha if he had the chance to use one of their tokens during his heat.” The man leers as he brags, “I had just the thing planned, too. If he’d used mine over the others’, he wouldn’t have looked at another alpha again!”

“Forget the tokens.” The first speaker scoffs. “If there’s really something wrong with him, I know what will fix it! All I’d have to do is take my knot out and sink it in his—”

Slade punches the man before he can get all the words out. He doesn’t even realise he’s done it, his satisfaction and the slight sting on his knuckles the only sensations that register above his rage. 

“I dare you to say that again, you cur,” Slade spits out. “Insult Richard again and you won’t have any teeth left.”

The man scrambles up from the ground and tries to get into Slade’s face, but the others hold him back. 

“Who do you think you are?” he asks in a sneer. “You were rejected too. We all were! You’re nothing to Richard, and you certainly don’t have the right to attack or challenge anyone for besmirching Richard’s honour.” He pauses and grins. “If he even has any honour to speak of.”

The man may be right about Slade being out of bounds, but he doesn’t care. He will duel anyone who is foolish enough to say anything against Dick in his presence. And even if his opponent doesn’t accept a fight, he will beat them black and blue anyway. 

And that is exactly what he intends to do. He surges forwards, his fist already raised, only to be pulled back by Dick’s father. 

The duke is strong, which Slade would never have guessed from looking at him and how he acts. He does not pretend to be bumbling as he drags Slade off, only letting him go when they are far away from the alphas who were thoughtlessly dishonouring Dick. 

“Why did you stop me?” he demands. “That’s your son they were talking about!”

“My son would not want you intervening on his behalf.” The words cut deeper than a knife. “Your courtship with him, along with that of those mongrels, is done. Would you go against his wishes and act in such a way that suggests he belongs to you?” he asks shrewdly.

“Of course not. Dick is his own person, and no one can tame a spirit like his.” Slade wouldn’t want to, in any case. 

He brushes himself off, belatedly regretting that he nearly got into a tussle. Dick had bought him this suit when they were out shopping for Rose. It would be a crime to have it become bloodstained, even if in defence of Dick himself. 

“I suppose I should thank you, Your Grace,” he says wryly when he notices the duke is still there. 

“Don’t strain yourself on my account.” The duke’s usual absent-minded demeanour is back. “For what it’s worth, I do think you’re the best of them. Not great, and I would certainly prefer someone younger for Dick, but he is the one who should choose.” 

The duke sighs. In a voice likely not meant for Slade to hear, he adds, “I only wish I knew why he didn’t.”

Slade stands in place, somewhat shell-shocked at the revelation. He has suspected that Dick is holding himself back, for whatever reason, but this is the first instance of proof he has of it. And, coming from the omega’s father, who would only want all the best for him, it should hold weight. 

Even so, it leaves Slade in the same position as before, only more tortured now that he knows he and Dick can have better and be happy together. 

###

The letter is deceptively innocuous, but its mere presence should be impossible. Therefore, it stands to reason that it and its contents are suspicious. But Slade cannot ignore it, for the Wayne emblem at the corner of the envelope might as well be a symbol of hope. 

Slade has been invited to Wayne Manor, though the purpose is not mentioned. It simply asks that Slade present himself whenever convenient. It is also not signed by Dick, but Tim. 

He goes anyway. 

Alfred doesn’t comment on the situation as he leads Slade through the manor. They go past all the usual spaces and to a wing Slade has never been in before. His eyebrows lift in surprise, but still Alfred says nothing, as if bringing a stranger to what must be the manor’s family wing is normal. 

The room they end up in is clearly a hastily made up bedroom, but Tim and Damian act like it’s a drawing room. There is a fire roaring in the hearth despite the weather and a game of chess set up right by it. 

Tim stands to greet him when he enters the room. 

“General Wilson, I trust you’ve been keeping well? Please join me for a game.”

Though Damian glowers at him like an intruder, there’s still no acknowledgement that anything is amiss. It’s as if this is a typical social call, one of the many Slade made while courting Dick, with Tim playing chaperone and Damian there to spend time with his family. Dick’s glaring absence is the elephant in the room.

They play in near silence. A weaker man may be tempted to fill it, as the quiet is a ravenous thing, begging to be fed. But Slade knows he will get no answers by asking questions. Young as Tim is, he is far more mature than his years, with a spine of steel and a deep well of patience. 

Slade and Tim are both playing a game, and it isn’t chess. At some point, surely one of them will break. 

The interior of the room was warm before Slade stepped into it, but with Damian’s occasional stoking of the fire, it’s getting unbearably stuffy. He adjusts his cravat to try and loosen it, but it’s the wrong move, because Tim says primly, “It’s quite chilly in here, isn’t it? Damian, get General Wilson a blanket.”

It’s so hot in this room that they might as well be in the pits of hell, but Damian retrieves a blanket as if he’s ever listened to a word Tim says in his life. Said blanket gets thrown over Slade’s head. 

Slade tugs the damned thing down and away, but it gets wrenched back over his shoulders. 

“We wouldn’t want you to catch a cold now, do we, General Wilson?” Damian challenges. The boy looks as if he’s ready for war, or rather, to stand there so as to keep the blanket in place. 

“Your turn, General Wilson,” Tim says, breaking the tension between them.

As Slade makes his move on the board, Damian deftly tucks the blanket more solidly around him.

“A cold would be the last thing I catch,” he complains. There’s no way the boys don’t feel the heat; they’re sweating just as he is, though they’re valiantly enduring it. It won’t be long before it starts to smell in here. 

That’s when it clicks. Getting it to smell is the point. The Wayne brats are trying to get his scent. 

He looks up and finds a vent high up on the wall nearby, covered by an ornate cover wrought beautifully with leaves. Dick’s room must be right next door, the vent allowing air to flow between the two rooms. 

Asking Slade for a token, even simply an article of his clothing for Dick’s use during his heat, would be risky enough, seeing as Dick has rejected his suit. Even if Slade would never let slip about the matter, word might get out, the servants could talk. Bringing him here is infinitely worse, though. It puts Dick himself at risk, should he force his way into Dick’s private chambers. 

There’s a huge amount of faith at work here, trusting that Slade is an upstanding alpha, one who cares more for Dick’s wellbeing than having Dick himself. 

When Slade glances away from the vent, he finds two sets of eyes gazing intently at him. The boys look grim, their postures stiff. It’s as if they expect Slade to expose them and leave in indignation at being tricked or substantiate their worst fears. 

Slade looks at the chess board instead and sighs. He topples his king and asks, “Another?”

The tension loosens, but the stifling heat doesn’t abate. At least he knows what’s going on now, and he’s no longer waiting for some kind of confrontation. He wonders how long the boys will keep the ruse going, especially now that Slade himself knows. How long will they try to keep him here and how will they know if their scheme has resulted in success?

More pertinently, what necessitated this skulduggery in the first place? Heat can be trying, or so Slade has heard, but able to be soothed by the scents and companionship of family. There is typically no need for outside influence. 

Quite the contrary, omegas are often hidden away during this vulnerable time, their families wont to close ranks to protect their own. More than that, Dick is a fiercely opinionated and independent omega, willing to ask for help but not to compromise when it comes to his convictions. And he has already impressed upon Slade that he wants nothing to do with him. 

“I take it that Dick is unaware of this afternoon’s activities,” he observes lightly.

“Why should he be?” Tim replies matter-of-factly. “I am the one who invited you, General Wilson, because I enjoy your stimulating company.”

A roundabout answer is no less an answer, even if it is not one that Slade wants to hear. He should be thankful that he has gotten this much. But that doesn’t mean he won’t push his luck. 

Slade comes straight out and asks what’s on his mind. “Is he well?”

“My older brother is in wonderful health.” Tim’s smile is strained. “Thank you ever so much for asking. Perhaps we should focus on our game?” 

A scoff comes from Damian, who is again messing around with the poker. “Richard is being obstinate.”

“Damian,” Tim hisses. “Mind your tongue!”

“I am not wrong!” the boy insists. “Richard is suffering for no discernable reason and yet will not ask for something that can easily provide him some relief.”

Tim does not deny it, but his calm and cold exterior has cracked. “Keep quiet, Damian. Dick will be very cross with you when if he finds out that you’ve aired all his dirty laundry so. General Wilson’s capacity in this house is as a guest, nothing more.”

“But—!”

“Tim is right,” Slade says, interrupting the brothers’ squabbling. He’s heard enough—in fact, he’s heard too much. He does not want to invade Dick’s privacy this way, does not want to exploit Damian’s misguided sense of righteousness. “Whatever circumstances staying Dick’s hand are irrelevant. He has made his decision quite clear, and I believe it should be upheld, not undermined.”

Slade regards them both, making sure they are listening. “Unless you would like to inform him that he should have no say and allow alphas to dictate how he should live his life?”

Damian settles, though he looks no less sullen for it. 

Dick’s family cares for him very much, so much so that they would go behind his back in an attempt to ease whatever troubles he’s going through. For all that he has no right to, Slade wants the very same. Unlike Tim and Damian, whose judgement might be clouded by the belief all young people share that they alone know best, Slade knows he cannot betray Dick’s trust, even if it might bring about that which might do him good. 

And so he sits and plays chess, valiantly withstanding the suffocating balminess in the room. 

As the clock ticks the minutes away, Slade starts to pick up a sweet floral scent underscored by thick honey. 

Dick’s scent. 

Dick’s heat scent, which is intoxicating and the best thing Slade has ever smelled in his life. He inhales deeply, as if to commit it to memory. Because honestly, will he ever get this chance again?

Damian vacates his station before the fire and attempts a menacing look. 

“I think it’s high time General Wilson returned home. He’s overstayed his welcome, don’t you agree, Timothy?”

Tim sniffs none too delicately, his nose wrinkling as he catches on. “It’s hardly been an hour. Maybe we should wait?” But he looks unsure. “Then again, the prolonged exposure… will mean that we will be able to get to know you better.”

The pivot is fooling no one, but it is appreciated all the same. Slade is no traditionalist, but it makes all the difference knowing that Dick himself likely has not approved of this escapade. 

Loath as he is to admit it, Slade feels torn as well. He wants to stay if he can be of help, even though the experience will be a tantalising agony. Not to mention how this will affect Dick once he finds out about it. Will he feel mortified at what’s been done in the name of helping him while he’s in such a sensitive state?

Slade can easily say to hell with propriety, but he would never dream of doing anything to injure Dick’s pride.

For once, he cannot for the life of him identify the best course of action. 

A knock sounds at the door, and Tim rises to get it. A hushed conversation commences, Dick’s scent strengthening the longer the speaker stands just beyond the door.

When Tim returns, he looks much relieved. “That was Jason. All is well,” he reports. To Slade, he asks lightly, “Would you be interested in playing cards next? I think Damian is bored watching us play.”

They’re falling back into code, it seems, but Slade doesn’t mind it. At least now, he can be certain in knowing that he would be doing the right thing in staying. Has Dick’s family’s blessing to do so, in fact. All that matters is that his presence is helping, and he will never regret that. 

After too many games during which Slade learns the Waynes are very sore losers, Slade’s clothes are nearly sopping wet. Alfred offers him a change of clothes, which he readily accepts. He spares a moment while changing to mourn them, knowing that he might never get the clothes back again. But that’s fine, since he was planning on leaving at least an article of clothing anyway. 

He also stays for supper. 

The duke wears a stern expression at home, Slade has learned, in sharp contrast to his inept persona in public. Tonight, he looks even more constipated than usual, but he doesn’t chew anyone out because of Slade’s presence. It means he knows and is allowing it, even if he may not like it. 

In another life, this could have become his normal. Suppers with his in-laws, Dick beside him and happier for the time spent with his father and brothers, slowly integrating into this rambunctious family. He doesn’t dare to think further than that. 

But there is no reason this cannot still become a reality. Slade is, after all, not the sort to mire himself in melancholy and wait for problems to untangle on their own. 

He will give Dick the time he needs, and he does need it—hell, Slade needs it—but he will not stand by. The ball may be in Dick’s court, but Slade will damn well make sure something is done with it. 

Because today means something. That Dick’s condition was ameliorated with Slade’s scent means something. They mean something. And so does Dick’s reluctance. But by God, Slade will do his best to impress upon Dick that Slade is willing to fight and work through whatever’s causing it.

Chapter Text

It’s always jarring when his heat breaks. For days, his mind is muddled, as if layered with a disruptive haze, too occupied by his discomfort and need. 

Dick shifts around in his nest, disgusted by the state of thin shift he’s in, which is rumpled and tacky with his sweat. A bath is what he needs, then some clean clothes, so that he will feel human again. He needs a reminder that he is human, not just a creature beholden to his biology for a week every couple of months. 

As the soapy, scented water melts his aches away, Dick tries to recall more specifics about his ordeal. It started off badly, much more badly than usual, his entire body prickling from the yearning he felt. 

Cuddling with his family has always helped, but he remembers rejecting everyone but Jason. And though Jason devoted nearly all his time to staying in Dick’s nest to soothe his symptoms, he felt like they were getting worse despite everything. He wanted, so so desperately, something he could not name. Left with no recourse, he remembers how he whined and keened from it. 

Dick’s face heats from the sheer embarrassment of it, from how helpless and demanding he’d felt. The only relief came after… after…

He scrambles out of the bath and dresses haphazardly, not even bothering to dry his hair properly before rustling through all the items that make up his nest. There, lying on the mattress with the scent materials of the rest of his family, are items that belong unmistakably to Slade. 

Devastation rolls through him like a wave, making his knees go weak. 

No, this cannot be happening. During his heat, there was a point when something had broken through the blur of malaise and turned his agony into something more bearable, more like the usual symptoms that plagued him. Dick had recognised it as Slade’s scent, so potent that Slade must have been in the room with him. Seeing as that’s impossible, Dick had dismissed it as a flight of fancy, conjured in a moment of weakness. 

But now…

Dick clutches the shirt in his hands tightly, his emotions whipping up a storm within him. There is the anguish and anger of feeling betrayed by his body, which has seemingly latched onto Slade as being someone safe; there is the the mix of gratitude and mortification at what his family must have done to obtain Slade’s clothes; there is vindication that his judgement of Slade as a person was sound. 

And above all that, there is wistfulness. 

If everything had gone differently, if he had been more careful with his drink that night, if he had met Slade before he met her…

Dick shakes his head, scowling ruefully at the path his life had taken. There’s no point in indulging in these fantasies. Better to root himself in reality, in the here and now, and work from there. There is still happiness to be found; he’s perfected the balance of what he has and what has been taken from him to navigate through life without falling into a pit of despair. 

If nothing else, just knowing that there exists an alpha so honourable and true who might love him, would do so much for him, gives him joy and gratitude to have known him at all. 

Dick might not be able to have Slade, but that doesn’t mean he has to cut himself off from the alpha entirely. In this, he can surely find a suitable middle ground as well. 

###

It seems like the sum total of the ton is attendance at tonight’s ball, but Dick can’t seem to locate the one person he wishes to see. Dick sweeps his gaze over the crowd again, skipping past every individual once it’s clear they are not the one he is looking for. 

A moment of doubt seizes him. What if they’ve scared him off, him and his wild family? None of his brothers would confess to what they’d done to obtain Slade’s clothes beyond the fact that they’d done it. They are all of them smart, immensely so, but often lack tact when they want immediate results. What if they’d done something unforgiveable?

Dick decides that standing in place is doing him no good. He should find another vantage point from which to conduct his search. However, it will be a challenge to do so without being waylaid by some noble or other. He is shirking his duties as host—as the eldest omega of the household is always considered a host of an event organised by their family—by being so distracted, but Dick doesn’t much care. He’s given enough to the sharks of society thus far in the season, and he doesn’t intend to give them anything more. 

Bracing himself, Dick steps away from his shadowed little corner and has his path blocked nearly a second later. 

“Dickie,” Jason calls. “There you are! We’ve been searching high and low for you.”

Jason looks and sounds uncommonly cheerful, but Dick can tell it’s forced. There’s something going on, and Dick would bet that it’s none of it good. 

“Where’s the fire?” he asks, resigned. Slade will have to wait. In any case, it would not do for him to come on too strongly with his overtures of friendship. As it is, his actions will be seen as him blowing hot and cold, and he doesn’t want to give Slade the wrong idea. There is still no chance of anything romantic between them. 

“What fire? There’s no fire.” Considering the antics he’s been caught in, Jason should really learn to lie better. “I have no clue what it is you’re speaking about, big brother.”

Jason caves with a singular level look from Dick. 

“Alright. Come with me.”

They leave the ballroom and move in the direction of the main entrance, so Dick thinks the issue must be with a newly arrived guest. That’s why he’s not suspicious at all, even when they stop at one of the sitting rooms that is supposed to be closed for the ball. 

“In here?” Dick asks, frowning.

Jason nods, expression so grim that Dick assumes it must be a huge problem they have on their hands. Maybe some duchess noticed that another guest is wearing a similar cut or colour of dress. 

Dick sighs and promises, “I’ll deal with it.”

Turning the handle, Dick opens the door. But before he can step inside, he’s shoved forwards and sent stumbling. Before his face can make close acquaintance with the floor, however, he’s caught in someone’s strong arms, his cheek pressed to the fine weave of his vest. 

Behind him, the door slams shut. Through the barrier, Jason shouts, “Talk things out like adults, you cowards!”

Dick can feel the blood drain from his face at the connotation. And, indeed, he finds Slade holding onto him when he looks up. “General Wilson!” He startles, but doesn’t manage to jolt out of Slade’s hold. When he tries harder to move away, though, Slade lets him go easily. 

He bangs at the door, but it’s of course locked. “Let us out, you brat! You’re going to be in a world of trouble.”

Silence is his only answer. 

Turning back to Slade with a grimace, Dick tries to create some levity by asking, “Did Jason get to you too?”

“Tim, actually.” Slade doesn’t seem to be very angry, which reassures Dick while confusing him. The alpha sounds almost fond. “Accosted me before I was even through the front doors.”

“I’m very sorry for my brothers, General Wilson. I’ll make sure they get what’s coming to them.” He’s not above tattling to Alfred. “We don’t have to talk. I’m sure they’ll realise what a bad idea this is and come to let us out soon enough.” It’s not like they have much to talk about, in any case. After the last time, Dick wouldn’t want to speak with himself either. 

“Actually, Dick,” Slade says as he takes a small step closer, “I would like to talk. There is still a lot I feel I must say to you.”

Dick’s heart jumps to his throat, almost suffocating him with how hard it beats. There’s a floaty feeling in his chest that he doesn’t quite dare to name. “Oh?” he asks, hoping he sounds more coy than terrified. “Not all of it bad, I hope.”

Slade’s expression turns so serious, his tone so earnest, when he says, “Dick, I would never think anything bad of you. You mean so much to me, I would truly rather hurt myself than let anything unpleasant befall you, even if it is only cutting words aimed your way.”

Dick takes in a small, sharp breath. He cannot endure this, the weight of Slade’s regard too heavy, too underserved. He doesn’t want any of it, not even just words, when he knows he will ultimately be shunned once Slade learns the truth. He cannot take the risk of Slade saying something that will jeapardise a future friendship.

“I don’t—I can’t—” Dick takes a deep breath to pull himself back together, but he still feels like he might shake apart. “Whatever you have to say, General Wilson, I’m not sure it’s a good idea to unleash this Pandora’s box.”

“Would you deny me the chance to say my piece?” Dick flinches despite Slade’s mild tone. “Would you do us both this disservice?”

Gentle fingers under his chin tilt his head up and wipe the tears spilling from his eyes. In the softest voice Dick has ever heard come from him, Slade asks, “What are you so afraid of? Tell me, so that I might vanquish it.”

There’s a lump so big choking him that Dick can’t do anything but shake his head. 

“Nevertheless, this is something I must do.” Slade’s eye is ablaze with his conviction, and Dick can’t help but get caught in it. “Richard Grayson-Wayne, would you honour me by allowing me to court you? It will be done right this time, with the purest of intentions.”

There’s a buzzing in Dick’s head that doesn’t seem to relent. He doesn’t understand why Slade cares so much about this, about him, that he would not give up on him. It makes Dick feel as heartened as he feels guilty. 

“You would change your mind if you knew,” Dick whispers. “You wouldn’t think so kindly of me anymore.”

The secret was one Dick thought he would bring with him to his grave, but it appears now that it is the only thing that will save Slade from making the biggest mistake in choosing him. He will bring shame to his house by doing this, but he cannot imagine Slade to be so cruel as to use the knowledge against him. 

Gathering his courage, Dick stutters out, “I—I am not…” Dick swallows, fighting to finish his sentence and have the deed done with. “I am not untouched.”

Slade’s forehead creases as he frowns. “What you did with Lord West is hardly so dishonourable. It does not change anything. Dick—”

“No! You don’t understand!” Enraged by Slade’s ignorant confidence, Dick steps backwards and away. “She bedded me. She drugged my drink and despoiled me. I am not worth anything now.”

Silence grows thick in the air. Some vindictive part of Dick says, Good, now he knows not to involve himself with a used and dirtied omega. 

“She raped you.” The words are tinged with anger, but it is more of a statement than an accusation. “Why wasn’t there a trial? She should have been punished for her crimes against you.”

“Do you really believe she would have been brought to justice?” Dick lets out a bitter laugh. He’s thought about this over and over, weighing the odds and the cost to the reputation of his house even as the disgust and rage churned within him. “It was my word against hers.”

“That doesn’t mean it would not have been worth it to accuse her. Your father—”

“He doesn’t know. No one knows. Only Jason, and the only reason for that is because he was the one who found me. She was long gone by then.”

Gone, but only from the scene of the crime. She’d taunted him, sent him a collar with her name on it, waiting for him to give the sign that she could rightfully take him as hers, as she must have planned. After all, begetting a child out of wedlock would have destroyed his good name and that of his family. It was fortunate that Dick had the means to ensure her seed would not take. 

Still, that did not mean he could have prevented her from bothering him if she’d wanted to. Dick can only be grateful that her ambitions were not limited to him and his name alone, and that she had tired of waiting and gone to the Continent to seek her fortune there instead. 

It’s the one consolation he has held onto all this time to get him through every day, the fact that he might never see her again.

“You have suffered greatly. This injustice should not be allowed to stand; I will kill her for it, if you but tell me her name. I swear it.” 

Incongruously, Dick feels a dark, sick sense of satisfaction from that. It should appal him, this un-omega-like thirst for violence and revenge, but he allows himself a scant moment to revel in the bliss that someone would do this for him. 

But it’s only a dream, as is any future with Slade.

“That is not your concern. This is my cross to bear, General Wilson, it is a private matter. You—”

“No,” Slade interjects, cutting Dick off for the first time ever. “You are the one who does not understand. It could be my concern, my right to seek retribution from her on your behalf, if you were my mate. I don’t care how long it takes for that day to come; even if it doesn’t, I will still uphold my promise. You have my word.”

Slade reaches for Dick’s hand, and Dick is too weak to disallow it. He rubs circles into the back of Dick’s hand, a comfort even through the layers of gloves. “You still owe me a debt, do you not?”

Dick nods woodenly. Anxiety pulls taut within him in anticipation of Slade’s next words. He doesn’t want their courtship to become an obligation, something Dick owes him. But the favour Slade asks is not that. 

“Give me time. Time to prove to you that what she did to you doesn’t matter to me, that I love you regardless. Like I said, your worth is not tied to your virtue. You are unmatched in your grace, your values, your everything. You are not ruined; that you smile and greet the world so bravely day after day is evidence of your strength, and no one could possibly do anything but admire it.”

Dick glances at Slade and, seeing nothing but sincerity in him, starts to breathe a little easier. He was sure from the beginning that Slade is an extraordinary person, but he never could have dreamed the extent of his peerlessness. 

“And if I am never convinced of it?” he asks tentatively. He knows he shouldn’t push it, that he might be jeopardising his last chance after all too many chances Slade has given him. But he needs to be sure. 

“Then I shall keep trying. I am a patient man, Dick,” Slade assures. “All I need is time.”

It feels impossible. A daydream of someone far more young and naÏve. Dick should know better. Still, he wants to believe. And so, he says, “Alright, I accept your courtship.”