Chapter Text
Moran considered his strength to be his best attribute. It was this strength that made him useful for William’s plans, and it was his power that he had sworn to devote to his cause. If ever there were something William needed done, someone whom he needed killed, he could entrust Moran could finish the job without hesitation. Naturally, the former soldier took great pride in that fact.
But, every so often, there was one thing that would get in the way of all of that. The bane of Moran’s existence, as unavoidable as it was unbearable. That being, of course, his secondary sex.
Very few people could tell Moran was an omega at first glance. He’d the fortune of being born tall and broad, and carried himself with a certain relaxed sort of confidence that people expected from an alpha. Most fortunately of all, his scent was somewhere between fallen rain and metal, heavy in a way omegas rarely smelled. Amidst the scents of blood, sweat and general filth in a military encampment, no one had ever truly been able to get a good enough hint of his scent to pick anything out, and no one back at home save his father knew it, either.
That was Moran’s other stroke of luck; he’d presented very, very late, and when that small window of time for a young man to present his secondary sex was closing, Moran’s father had presented him as an alpha simply to avoid the shame of admitting he was a late bloomer. Moran’s father saw no issues with that; look at his son, muscular, athletic, a skilled hunter already. He’d thought Moran’s presentation as an alpha was a sure thing.
But then, it had not been, and so the Moran family, desperate to avoid the even worse shame of going back on their word, insisted Moran keep up this facade as an alpha.
Moran had readily agreed. He’d had to have been out of his goddamn mind to willingly open up himself to the discrimination omegas face. Sit at home until his father married him off to be someone else’s property? Absolutely not. The mere idea of it made Moran shudder in disgust.
But today, it was impossible for him to ignore the truth. His blasted heat was coming in, and it was hitting him hard. Things had been difficult for the Lord of Crime these days. Sherlock was turning up the pressure on them, William’s plans getting more and more elaborate to account for it all. There was hardly a moment of rest to be found. Just last night, Moran had dragged himself into bed after a particularly difficult night. It seemed there would be no end to the hired muscle of this particular aristocrat, and by the time backup arrived, Moran had been running out of steam, fast. Not that he’d ever admit it, of course, giving Fred a nod of acknowledgment but nothing else when the younger’s blades cut away a much needed path for Moran to escape being surrounded by their enemy.
Now, his muscles ached, his skin dotted with bruises. His prosthetic hand would need maintenance, and the knuckles of his other were split to hell and back. They’d all come out of this fight in rougher shape than usual, and normally Moran would simply be grateful to have avoided anything actually life-threatening.
Tonight, however, his secondary sex had different ideas. His heat, the blasted thing.
It was a common misconception that heats were always sexual. Alphas certainly like it that way, he thought with a brief sneer. The idea of one’s partner becoming so irresistibly attracted to them that they were sick with it and could do nothing but plead for their partner to relieve them…
Truly, Moran had gotten lucky to escape a traditional marriage. He’d fucked off to war before his father had the chance to change his mind.
No, Moran’s heat brought on something else; yearning. As he pulled the blankets further over himself, burying his face into the pillow, his heart felt like it was shattering into pieces with loneliness. Instinctually, he wanted nothing more than to get up and drag himself to the dining hall, where the rest of his pack would inevitably be having breakfast at this hour. After all, Jack was in the house now, and that old fuck was firm on his rules. He cooked when he cooked, and if someone (cough, Moran) missed it, then that someone (cough, Moran, cough) could go fend for themself in the kitchen later.
It was this deep urge for companionship that he hated so, so much. Under most circumstances, Moran could bear his own loneliness. Not with his damn heat cranking every emotional dial he had up to eleven.
The physical pain that came with his heat, he didn’t mind so much. Pain was more than bearable for Moran, and after the fight they’d had, his body was already aching anyway. It made no real difference aside from intensifying the feelings Moran was already experiencing.
He shifted in bed, dragging a second pillow to drag over the top of his head as his face pressed into the one he’d been lying on already and wished to disappear. Logically, he knew everyone was downstairs. Breakfast was most likely over, and so they’d retire to the lounge.
He could practically see it all in his head; William grading papers, Fred lurking quietly like a cat who was pretending it was a coincidence they were in the same room, Louis undoubtedly busying his hands with the nearest chore, Albert leaning back on his favorite loveseat and pulling everyone into conversation, Jack standing at the ready like the butler he prided himself on being. Nowadays, their group had grown. Bonde was there as well, happily indulging Albert’s every attempt to chat.
Moran’s heart longed to join them, but in his head all he could think about was the shame. He had no damn clue how many of them even knew he was an omega to begin with. Nothing got by Will, he was certain of that. But everyone else?
Moran had trained too damn hard, devoted too much of his life to turning his anger into strength that William could wield, to let them see this hint of weakness. The way Bonde and Fred looked to him for guidance when they were unsure, or how hard Jack would be on Moran knowing that he could take it, the way when there was conflict that needed settling people would listen to him…
Would finding out he was an omega change that perception of him in the eyes of his loved ones? Or worse, would they insist on coddling him?
There was no goddamn way Moran was going down there. Nope. Not a chance. He’d ride this out in the privacy of his own bedroom, wrapped up in his own scent. Dammit, his own scent… he hated it more than anything right now.
Normally, it was fucking great! It let him pass. But right now it smelled putrid to him, his stupid omega brain demanding to know why it wasn’t currently being intertwined with the scents of everyone else in his pack.
Did they miss him? Did they even notice he wasn’t there? Or worse, were they annoyed at him? Did they think he was evading chores again?
Get yourself together, Colonel! The fuck is this pathetic whining? He thought to himself, gripping the pillow on top of his head tightly in his frustration. If that old man wants you to do some fucking chores, he’ll come up and drag you out of bed himself.
That idea should have been horrifying. Jack was a tough love sort of mentor who had absolutely no problem throwing Moran around like a sack of potatoes, and somehow even in his old age was still more than capable of it (he’d never admit it, but Moran was actually a fan of the roughhousing. Jack never actually hurt him).
Today, though, his stupid fucking omega heart wanted that. If Jack were to come up here, it’d be because his pack noticed he was gone.
As that infuriating neediness grew stronger, Moran grew more and more frustrated by his own desperation for the ghost of affection. The deeper its grip on his psyche, the harder he mentally thrashed to be rid of it. He must look pathetic, curled into a tight ball underneath his blankets, having shifted from lying on his stomach at some point undoubtedly so that he could breathe between the two pillows on either side of his head. He was pathetic, resisting with every bone in his body the urge to nest.
No one could see him like this. Even if Will and potentially anybody else knew he was an omega, that was one thing, but the thought of anyone seeing what it turned him into when his heat inevitably took hold was a step too far.
It took a great amount of strength to drag himself out of bed, but he managed, touching down on the cold, hardwood floors of his bedroom. His body felt too heavy for him to bear on his own, longing to sink into someone else’s arms and be held, but he dragged himself across the room anyway, cringing in pain with every step.
In the Moriarty Household there were countless security precautions, including the particularly difficult locks on their doors which Moran now clicked shut. It wouldn’t truly keep the others of the Moriarty Household out, of course. Between the well-guarded master keys, Bonde’s affinity for lockpicking and everyone’s ability to simply knock down a door in case of a true emergency, anyone could get in if they truly needed to. In this household, locking one’s door was more like a request for privacy that could be easily circumvented if the need (or, frankly, desire) arose.
Moran hadn’t even turned away from his door when he heard the sound of footsteps coming down the hallway, approaching his door at a relaxed pace. Judging by the sound, it was exactly the old man he’d wished would notice his absence. The one time in his life Jack was being cooperative with Moran’s inner wishes, and it was the one time Moran didn’t actually fucking want them to come true.
“Hey, Moran!” Jack’s voice was booming, carrying through the door. “It’s your day to do the dishes. I’m going to give you one damn chance to come outside on your own.”
Though the door muffled Jack’s scent considerably, every member of the Moriarty family honed their senses, including their sense of smell, to the extent that such a thing was hardly a problem. Jack’s scent was rather sophisticated, smelling of bourbon and mahogany. If one really stood and looked for it, then traces of the true Jack the Ripper began to appear in the metallic undertones of steel blades, as if his time in the war had clung to his very scent. Moran, too, carried with him the scent of gunmetal after the war that grew stronger in his time by William’s side, a similarity with the old man that Moran would deny priding himself on if pressed. He’d rather die than admit his admiration for Jack.
That old man was a pain in the ass, and he’d chosen the worst possible time to become Moran’s problem. Moran’s smugness when Jack rattled the doorknob lasted for only a short second before he heard the sound of a key plunging into a lock.
‘Dammit!’ He’d forgotten that, since Jack was now here to assist Louis with the housekeeping, he’d been afforded one of the master keys and was happy to abuse that privilege if doing so would make Moran’s life hell in the process.
Under normal circumstances, the time it took to unlock the door would’ve been time enough for Moran to hide, but his heat slowed his reflexes and made him yearn for the company of the mentor whom he secretly looked up to. The door began to open before Moran had any time to hide, and he began to think for once in his damned life, his best bet was to do the damn dishes without kicking up all the usual fuss with an escape attempt that he knew would only buy him time.
Most heats, Moran spent alone or with the company of random women in bars, just to satisfy his need for touch and the scent of another, even if he knew that sex wasn’t what his instincts really wanted. That left him completely unprepared for the wave of Jack’s scent that the opening door wafted into his face. Strangers’ scents were one thing, a bandaid over a much larger issue, but his stupid omega brain smelled Jack and instantly recognized a pack member. It didn’t help that this was his mentor, a pain in the ass that at the end of the day Moran could rely on in a way he could lean on no one else. Jack was his elder, and older pack members looked after younger ones. It was a fact of life Moran accepted as the elder of most everyone else in the Lord of Crime’s ring, yet something he rarely ever called upon Jack to receive in return.
“Hiding away when there is still work to be done? Louis and I worked very diligently to prepare breakfast for this many people while you were sleeping in. Naturally, this means that the responsibility of cleanup should fall to-”
Moran’s blood ran cold when he saw Jack pause mid-sentence, sniffing the air a few times before looking around Moran’s room.
The colonel didn’t need to ask to tell what Jack was looking for. He smelled Moran’s heat in the air and was looking around for the source, having not yet connected the dots. That look of uncertainty lasted only a short second, the old man’s senses still sharp as they’d ever been.
“That’s your scent, isn’t it, Moran?” Jack asked, the question coming down on Moran like an executioner’s axe. There was no way of denying it; the pillows and blankets had all been pulled onto one side of the bed when Moran curled up, implying he’d been alone all night. Jack also knew, for all of Moran’s messier habits, he took painstaking care not to let them impede the Moriarty Plan: never once did Moran take a partner into the manor. The risk a stranger posed of getting into something they shouldn’t was too great, and Jack knew Moran knew that. Lastly, the window was shut and the windowsill cluttered with an ashtray, matchbox and an empty liquor bottle, none of which seemed to have been recently touched. It couldn’t have been opened and set back into place in the time it took Jack to unlock the door, even if he accounted for the time Moran had to act when he heard Jack’s footsteps. Everyone else in the manor was undoubtedly still downstairs. Lastly, Jack knew Moran didn’t prefer sentimental partners in bed and had standards about consent. It was very unlikely he’d even be interested in an omega in heat at all.
In short, everyone else was downstairs and Moran had clearly brought no one else in. There was no one else left for the scent to belong to but the colonel himself.
Moran braced himself, though he wasn’t certain for what. Jack didn’t seem the type to denounce him on the spot, but surely his way of thinking about the colonel would be changed. Did Moran come off fragile now? Helpless? Unworthy of Jack’s teachings, because his secondary sex rendered him incapable of reaching the heights Jack expected? Were they going to begin treating him the way they treated Louis, as something to be protected even when he clearly despised it-
Jack grabbed Moran by the shoulders, and the colonel froze. It was plenty normal for Jack to simply drag him to the location of his currently neglected chore and keep him there until he caved and did it, but this felt different.
He wasn’t sure what to think until he was pulled in close, a hand on the back of his head directing him to hide his face in the crook of Jack’s neck. Against his better judgment, Moran’s eyes slipped shut. His logical brain suspected some sort of trap; Jack was fond of making a point about the dangers of lowering one’s guard. His omega brain caved in an instant at the cradling of his mentor, taking charge so suddenly Moran felt frightened at his own powerlessness to resist it.
Jack was warm and sturdy and reliable and above all else, a part of Moran’s pack. Moran would always owe William for his salvation, but it was Jack who had taken those pieces of a broken soldier and stitched a powerful assassin together. Jack’s training in both the art of killing and of being a butler had given Moran a sense of structure that he would have certainly drowned without. Loathe as he was to admit it, he’d needed Jack.
And his damned omega brain was convinced he needed him again now. Before he knew it he’d wrapped his arms around Jack in exchange, fingers shaking as they dug into the back of his coat like his mentor was going to slip straight through him if he didn’t maintain a tight enough grasp.
Jack broke the silence first, tone scolding without its usual harshness.
“Dammit, Moran, there were times when I started to suspect, but I never thought you were this stupid. Look at you. How damn long have you been neglecting yourself?”
Moran wanted to push back and bicker with the old man like he usually would, but the dam had broken and there was no going back. He didn’t have it in him to fight back this time, only to close his eyes in hopes it would stop the tears and ride out Jack’s disapproval. His scent was grounding in a way Moran didn’t think he’d ever felt before, and the whine that left Moran’s mouth when Jack pushed him away suddenly was a pathetic, small sound he hadn’t thought himself capable of.
Before he had time to get in his own head about how mad Jack must be to have shoved him away, the old man put his hand against Moran’s forehead as if feeling for a fever and shook his head.
“For fuck’s sake, kid. Look what you’ve done to yourself. You’re experiencing pack neglect.” Jack explained. He must’ve seen something confused in Moran’s eyes, because he went on to elaborate. The curse he let out in response to Moran’s lack of knowledge was something that would’ve made the colonel blush even on a good day.
“Did no one teach you about- of course not, not with your good for nothing father. Moran, we need packs, but just being in one is not quite enough. People who do not have the good fortune of finding packs, or at least mates, end up going through pack neglect. Their heats or ruts get worse and worse, to the point of intense physical and emotional pain. When was the last time that you indulged your instincts, young man?”
“What the hell are you on about?” Moran managed to say, though there was none of his usual fire behind the words. It took all his effort just to say it. “I’m fucking fine. I scent the others plenty and spend more than enough time with everyone.”
“That is as good a confession as any other. Caring for everyone except yourself is precisely what got you into the position you are now in. It is not enough to give, you must also take in return. How is it that you are simultaneously so ready to evade work, yet so giving to the point of self-destruction?”
Moran didn’t answer, doing his best to glare at Jack in an attempt at preserving his surely shattered reputation. Jack simply huffed.
“Moran, you must understand that if you continue to deny yourself your needs, you are only going to continue to suffer intensifying effects each heat. Your body will continue putting you through this in order to produce stronger scents of distress in hopes of attracting your pack to your side. Right now it is undoubtedly convinced we have been ignoring you.”
Again, Moran stayed silent. He could barely process what Jack was saying, let alone formulate a response. He had a dreadful fear that he knew exactly where the butler was going with this statement.
“You need your pack, Moran. You cannot continue to put this off.”
“No.” Moran finally responded, shaking his head vigorously.
“Why? What is it that you think will happen if you rely on them?”
By this point, there was no point in hiding from his mentor. Jack already knew, and the old man showed absolutely none of the forgetfulness that often came with age. His only hope now was convincing the old man that keeping his secret was worthwhile.
“If the others know I’m… this…” He couldn’t force himself to say it out loud. Saying the word made it real, in a way. “They’ll treat me like something fragile. Something pathetic that needs their protection when I should be the one wielding my strength to protect Will and the others. I am not weak. I do not need to sit there and be coddled like someone’s helpless wife.”
“If that is what scares you, then I have no further worries.” Jack said, which confused Moran for just a second before the butler bent down, grabbed Moran by the legs and stood up. The process of standing swept the colonel off his feet rather literally, the wind getting temporarily knocked out of Moran as he realized what was happening a second too late once again.
“Jack- you old fucking man, Jack, no, I mean it, put me down!” Moran snarled, twisting and thrashing with all his (currently very limited) might in an attempt to escape. But Jack was unfazed by this resistance of his, keeping one arm wrapped around Moran’s legs to stop him from finding any purchase to push off of and bringing the other to his back, pressing the colonel down against his shoulder to limit his range of movement further.
And, damn if the old man didn’t play dirty, the hand on Moran’s back patting gently, as if attempting to calm him despite being the very cause of his distress. The alpha released a soothing scent as well, something no one had done for Moran… ever, Moran realized suddenly. For some reason, that prospect made him tear up all over again.
His father had been ashamed of his son’s secondary sex. His companions in the military had been unaware. Moran’s suspicions that William knew were as strong as ever, but if it was the case, it seemed he had been willing to turn a blind eye since Moran did not come forward.
It is not enough to give, Jack had said. They were almost at the bottom of the stairs now. Moran’s fate was as good as sealed. He hated to admit that Jack’s words were ringing horribly true. That desperate part of him he’d always known was there yet longed to crush down had been given ground to stand on at last by Jack’s words, and now it was consuming him whole.
The loneliness suddenly felt crushing, and Moran couldn’t breathe. That was when they reached the door to the sitting room, where everyone must surely be.