Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Hank McCoy was one of those people who was naïve enough to believe that he could make a difference to the world, or the people around him. Hank still hadn’t given up his dreams of revolutionary science, but he needed to make a living, like any other bachelor newly moved to New York City.  

To make a living, he was busy tutoring for some wealthy family in West Egg, the same spot of the bay he lived. The family he tutored for lived in what could only qualify as a castle, with impeccable marble and charming ivy climbing up the walls. Hank’s house, meanwhile, was the humblest collection of walls that could ever be thrown together. But it kept the rain out, and was just drafty enough that that summer, it was still fairly cool inside. Mostly, he was treated to the sight of the enormous fortress that nearly swallowed up his little bungalow—fortress, castle, they all came to mind when one examined the structure. It was a hulking thing that surveyed an emerald lawn, with bursting flowerbeds and perfectly trimmed hedges. It was Lehnsherr’s place, not that he knew Lehnsherr— but someone named Lehnsherr owned the house. Of that he could be sure. 

Hank had only been in New York for a week and a half when he received the invitation, written in the carefully restrained hand of Charles Xavier, his distant cousin. Hank came from the pitifully poor side of the family, but Charles had always been a dear to Hank. Charles had invited Hank to dinner at the Shaw residence, at their manor that sprawled stylishly across the much more fashionable, old-moneyed East Egg.  

They hadn’t seen each other in years, not since Charles had been married off to Sebastian Shaw, and Shaw had whisked Charles away. Hank arrived at the house with little fanfare—the only ones to greet him at the gate are the servants. Even so, he felt amazed by the house as he walked up to it, buzzing with anxiety. It loomed over him, red brickwork and pearl-white marble columns, framed by the verdant green of the lawn. The front door was opened by the valets on either side, the buttons on their crisp suits flashing in the blazing sun.  

Hank stepped over the threshold with bated breath. A man turned at his entrance, a man who had been examining the enormous painting hanging forebodingly in the foyer.  

The man had a sharp, unforgiving face. His shining, arrogant eyes sized Hank up for a moment, and Hank had the distinct impression that the man was left wanting after the inspection. He stepped forward none the nonetheless and tried for a smile.  

“Hank McCoy. I’m guessing you’re Sebastian Shaw?” 

The man waited a long moment, eyes flickering over Hank’s attire, then tightened his jaw.  

“Yes, I’m Sebastian Shaw. You’re Charles’s cousin, aren’t you?” 

Hank extended a hand, and Shaw shook it with barely contained distaste.  

“Yes. From the poorer side of the family, of course, but cousins all the same.” Hank laughed a little as he said it, but Shaw merely looked him up and down once more, and inclined his head slightly, as if nodding that yes, Hank clearly fit the ‘poorer relation’ look. At that, Hank coughed awkwardly and averted his eyes from the man. He turned instead to the portrait Shaw had been examining with intense eyes.  

Charles was rendered in excruciating detail on the gargantuan canvas, sprawled across a divan with a pearlescent, shift-like dress on. Miles of creamy, freckled skin was on display, and Charles’s head was thrown back on the sofa, exposing his neck—and bonding mark. His eyes were closed, mouth open in a moue, eyebrows drawn together slightly, as if his dreams in this painted candid were troubled.  

Hank cleared his throat, and Shaw stepped closer, reaching out a hand to caress the gilt frame of the portrait suggestively.  

“Gorgeous, isn’t he? My little trophy husband.” Shaw’s words carried an undertone of possession that had the hair on the back of Hank’s neck standing up. He really didn’t know how to respond to such a declaration. It felt... improper, to comment on the physical appearance of someone else’s mate. So he wisely kept his mouth shut. Silence reigned for a long moment, before Shaw turned to Hank and beckoned with his head to the far end of the foyer.  

“Charles is expecting you. Let’s not delay any further.” He spat the words out accusingly, as if it had been Hank’s delight to impose on the hosts with his dallying, but that it could be tolerated no longer.  

Shaw led the way through the foyer to the far door, marching forward with his wide shoulders set stiffly. He seemed more cardboard cut-out than man. 

He threw the doors open with a vigor that sent them careening into the walls, but that wasn’t what had Hank stepping forward with his mouth hanging open. No, it was the state of the room beyond—as if he had stepped into one of those fugue-like states one sometimes enters between waking and dreams.  

The windows were open; pearlescent, sheer curtains blowing wildly about the room, like the veil of a bride caught up in a sudden gale wind. Wild, empty laughter echoed around the room, and Hank’s ears rang with the sound as his eyes fell on the back of a cream sofa, a pair of legs dangling over one arm scandalously. It was the same pale, creamy skin from the portrait, and Hank knew it was Charles. Two delicate, bottle-green shoes accented the feet that swung back and forth a little as they dangled. Shaw growled and stormed through the room, shutting up every window, killing the air inside without remorse. The curtains fluttered to the ground, and the laughter cut off immediately.  

Hank took a step around the sofa, treated to the sight of Charles sprawled across it, his head in the lap of another young man. The young man was perhaps the fiercest, scariest looking omega Hank had ever seen, and he quickly averted his eyes when the omega’s zeroed in on him, a frown etched deeply into his face. His scent was also harsher than a typical omega’s-- smoke and pine needles, which somehow worked with this bright golden hair, straight, honest nose, and appraising eyes. Charles turned at Hank’s approach, his face lighting up. He didn’t move from the sofa, but he did extend a hand to Hank, a simper on his face. Charles had one of those faces that you cannot keep eyes from, no matter how you try. One of those impossibly, helplessly beautiful faces that reflects a hundred different emotions back at you in an instant, with bright eyes and a bright mouth, red and wanting. It was no mystery why Charles had always been the golden boy of any place he had ever visited.  

“Dear Hank. Do they miss me in Chicago?” His voice, so high and lilting, had Hank stepping forward, eager to give Charles anything he wanted.  

“They’re terribly bereft without you, Charles. That city is so dark without you there to light it up.” 

Charles let out a titter, moving to rise languidly from the sofa. He stretched his arms out with a soft groan, plush lips parting around the sound.  

“We should go back, but well, New York suits us so well, and there’s the--” He broke off, as if he had swallowed his tongue. Fixing a smile on his face, he turned back to the sofa and waved a hand to the young omega reclining there, head tilted back, eyes closed. The omega radiated boredom.  

“This is Alexander Summers. You probably know him, from--” Summers cracked open an eye, shooting a glare at Charles. He held up a finger, and Charles puffed out a sigh.  

“Well, never mind all that then.” Charles turned back to Hank, and took both his hands in his smaller, softer ones. “Dear one, how lovely to see you again. It’s been too, too long. And you haven’t even met my son, have you?” 

Hank cleared his throat awkwardly, feeling the heated eyes of Shaw boring into his back, as Charles stroked a thumb over his knuckles.  

“No, never. How old is he now?” 

“He’s three. You weren’t there for his birth, but he was such a pink, screaming little creature--” 

Shaw grunted, and perched himself on one of the armchairs, raising a brow at Charles. Charles cut himself off abruptly, swallowing. He took a moment to recompose himself, then smiled brightly up at Hank once more. The omega dropped Hank’s hands as if he had a plague.  

“Pardon my rambling. It’s been too long, dearest. You’ve been gone too long.” 

Hank looked around, still feeling hounded by Sebastian’s eyes. “Well, there was the War--” 

Charles sighed hugely, rolling his neck out as if greatly put-upon. “Oh, that blasted War. I’m so tired of politics, it really is too much.” 

Charles threw himself vindictively back down on the sofa, bouncing a little on impact. His dress flounced up a little, showing creamy, unblemished calves. Hank didn’t know quite what to do with himself. Summers, meanwhile, circled them all. The other omega’s eyes were fixed on the ceiling, still affecting an infinite boredom. Charles looked askance at Sebastian, then back to Hank.  

“Of course, my husband only wants to talk politics these days, so I’m terribly outnumbered in the conversational battles at the dinner table.”  
Hank laughed awkwardly, while Sebastian huffed, ignoring the jab from Charles. He turned his critical eyes to Hank, leaning forward in the armchair.  

“So, McCoy. What is it you’re doing?” 

Hank put his hands behind his back, rocking on his feet nervously. “Tutoring. For some family in West Egg--” 

“Oh, West Egg.” Shaw exhaled disapprovingly. “Yes, it’s chock-full of all those New Money types, isn’t it? I’ve heard stories--” 

Summers finally interceded into the conversation, stopping in his circling around the room. 

“I know someone who lives in West Egg.” His blue eyes were intent on Hank’s face. “Do you know Lehnsherr?” 

Hank nodded, feeling a wash of ease at something he could, at last, contribute to the conversation. The topic of his neighbors—and their eccentricities—was something he could comment on.  

“I live just next door to him, in fact, though we’ve never met.” 

Charles froze on the sofa, mouth dropping open in a gasp. “Lehnsherr? What Lehnsherr? What are you--” 

The butler entered the room, bowing to the assembled occupants. “Dinner is served.” 

Charles stood from the sofa and hooked an arm through Hank’s, marching him from the room and out onto the veranda. It was lit up with candles at the table, and Sebastian and Summers trailed after, Shaw murmuring to Summers.  

Charles took his seat at the head of the table, despite Sebastian’s low growl at the gesture, and Hank sat down between Charles and Sebastian. Summers found his seat opposite Hank, and the table was complete.  

It was an intimate affair. The conversation floated around them, intangible, entirely worthless. Hank was certain he wouldn’t remember a word that was exchanged that whole night, until Charles finally set down his glass of wine and folded his hands together under his chin.  

“You know, Hank, we heard the silliest rumor the other day—didn't we, Sebastian?” 

Shaw had given up entirely on the dinner and was lighting a cigar. He grunted carelessly, huge hands intent on the cigar and lighter. “I really couldn’t say,” He gruffed, and Charles sighed. 

“Yes, the silliest rumor. That you had been engaged to some girl, out West. And we wanted to know, well--”  

He said the next part in a rush. “Is it true? The engagement. My little cousin, about to be married?” 

Hank shook his head, swallowing too much of the wine in his hurry to get drunk, to get over this awkward, stilted nightmare.  

“No, you know I’m too poor. It’s just that, a rumor. I won’t be able to marry for some time, probably. Not until I inherit the family business.” 

Charles considered this response, and nodded, satisfied.  

“Well, that means that you can marry Alex, then!” 

Summers let out an indignant squawk, setting his fork down with a rude clatter.  

“Absolutely not! The season is happening, and I can’t afford to be distracted--” 

“It’s just not right, you know.” Sebastian tossed his lighter onto the table, and it thunked, killing all other conversation decisively.  

“The degradation of morals in our society. The way we let our omegas...” A pointed look towards Mr. Summers. “Run around, without guardians, without supervision. Out past curfew. Pursuing all kinds of... improper things.” 

Summers shifted in his seat, scent turning acrid. “Improper, you say? Go on then. Tell me directly if you have a problem with me.” 

The alpha took a long, languid draw of his cigar, while the omega’s jaw ground noisily.  

“That golfing you do—competing against alphas and betas alike. It’s just... unnatural.” 

Summers threw down his napkin, and made to stand. Charles intercepted him, tugging on his arm desperately.  

“Oh, ignore him! He always gets like this before he has a smoke. Don’t leave, we were all having such a good time.” This was a lie—it was perhaps the most uncomfortable, miserable dinner any of them had ever sat through. But they were in it now. Nothing was left but to see it through to the end, and try fruitlessly to forget it ever happened. 

Mr. Summers sat back down, still affronted. He pointedly turned his chair away from Sebastian, towards Charles and Hank. The action was so childish Hank had to hold in a hysterical giggle. He soothed himself with another generous swallow of the too-dry wine.  

The evening dragged on, and Charles was recounting a story of him and Sebastian on their honeymoon when the phone rang in the other room. Charles’s voice died, and he clutched the edge of the table with white knuckles. The butler stepped out onto the veranda, white gloves a beacon as he gestured to Shaw.  

“A business call, Sir.” 

Shaw rose from his chair with a groan, striding into the room without a word. The butler shut the door, and Hank pondered this separation of worlds as Charles started to drown himself in the wine. The omega turned his blinding blue eyes on Hank, searching for something.  

“It’s a delight to have you at my table, Hank. Have I said so, yet?” 

Hank stared at his cousin. Charles had never looked so small as he did then, as if all the life had been sucked out of him. Only the husk remained, a husk that Hank could finally see, after the facade had at last whittled away.  

“Many times. But you must get so many guests here--” 

Charles stood abruptly, dropping his napkin onto his pudding without a care.  

“If you’ll excuse me.” 

Charles stormed into the other room, shutting the French door and sealing Hank and Alex Summers off from the couple. Hank watched Charles as he stood in front of Sebastian, the alpha cradling the receiver of the phone in one hand.  

Hank looked across the table at Alex, twiddling his thumbs anxiously. “That Lehnsherr—he's my neighbor, you know,”  

“Oh, won’t you shut up? I’m trying to listen.” 

Hank gaped at the omega, who waved a hand in half-apology. “I’m trying to listen to them. Don’t take it personally.” 

He craned his neck where he sat, unashamed as he fixed his eyes on the room beyond. A hushed, heated argument drifted through the glass panes, but Hank couldn’t be sure what Charles and Sebastian were saying.  

“Why are you--” Summers cut him off again.  

“I want to see what happens.” 

“But why? Is there,” Another hand, thrust over the table to silence Hank.  

“Sebastian has another omega, somewhere in the city.” 

He was gaping again, but he couldn’t help it. “Another omega? You don’t mean...” 

Alex smirked, pleased to be in the know, where Hank was so thoroughly without.  

“I do. But you would think she’d have some manners, not to ring at dinner—don't you think? But she’s one of those...” He rolled his eyes. “Well. She’s just not from the same class as we are, you know?” 

Hank knew, though he didn’t share the same prejudice. “So, Sebastian is unfaithful to Charles? And Charles... knows?” 

Giving him an incredulous look, Alex shifted in his seat, as if to rise and move to the door, intending to press his ear to the door shamelessly. But at that, Charles and Sebastian had returned, and Charles was flushed with frustration, wringing his hands together over and over.  

“The interruptions are over now—I apologize. And Sebastian is sorry too, aren’t you?”  

Charles looked at Sebastian pointedly as the alpha resumed his seat, and Sebastian gritted his teeth, but tried for a smile. It was a grimace. “Terribly sorry. Where were we?” 

Hank reached for his wine glass, content to let the others carry on the bulk of the conversation without his input.  

“The degradation of morals, wasn’t it?” 

Charles tittered, while Sebastian turned white with anger.  

“Something to that effect, wasn’t it, Hank?” Charles turned to Hank for reinforcements, though Hank was already deep into his second glass—and not eager to add to the teasing at Shaw’s expense, considering the man looked like he’d shoot Charles in the mouth for any more comments.  

Hank shrugged and held up his now-empty glass for one of the valets to swiftly refill. At Hank’s refusal to contribute, Charles deflated in his seat, pouting viciously.  

“Well, if we want to talk about the degradation of morals, we can talk about how many of the men back home left their omega children, can’t we?” 

Alex dropped his fork in surprise, and pursed his lips, looking across the table at Hank. Hank was ready to bolt, dinner be damned.  

He was grateful then, that the phone rang again. The table froze, as if molasses had been poured over the scene. Charles wasn’t even glaring at Sebastian anymore—staring past him, into some past moment where Sebastian hadn’t humiliated him so flagrantly.  

None of them could ignore the incessant, shrill ringing of the phone. Shaw’s ‘other omega’ was there with them, in all but physicality.  

Shaw stood once more and excused himself. Upon his removal from the table, Charles retreated as well, storming from the veranda and out onto the yard.  

Hank set his wineglass down, looking toward Alex for any help. The omega only shrugged, returning to his steak with a voracious appetite that felt... absurd, given the way dinner had fallen apart.  

Hank stood from the table and trailed after his cousin.  

Charles had wandered far out into the yard, stumbling when his low kitten heels caught in the grass. He finally collapsed on a low brick wall that framed a bed of peonies. As he arranged himself, he looked up at Hank pitifully.  

“I must be some kind of sight for your eyes, dear one. I’m sorry to treat you to such a... display, at dinner. My husband delights in humiliating me, you see.” 

Hank had no words. He sat beside Charles, and Charles slipped a slender arm through Hank’s, squeezing his hand softly.  

“I hope you don’t think too poorly of me, Hank. Seeing me like this...” 

He trailed off, gesturing to his dress, hand dropping halfway through the motion, as if it too was too much for Charles to maintain.  

“I must seem so different from the omega you remember, back in Westchester. But you must understand--” His voice failed, and Charles stared out at the rolling waves of the bay. His eyes were the same depthless blue as the water.  

“It’s easier this way. Sebastian is... easier this way. If I put on the personality of a good, obedient omega. One of those ditzy, brainless creatures, you know.” 

Hank swallowed, lost for words. What could he say? That he was sorry? Well, that much was true—he was sorry. Omegas didn’t have many options, especially not one from Charles’s background, with his breeding. He was more a prized breeding mare than a person, a person with the ability to say no, to make their own decisions.  

And for that, Hank was terribly sorry.  

“But don’t you have your son, Charles? Something to hold onto, amid all this...” There was no... suitable word—no, that was wrong. There was no kind word, because there was no word that was kind to describe the kind of life he suffered with Sebastian.  

“Oh yes, David. He’s... he’s so young. And it’s almost worse, having him. Because all I can think about is how he’ll be treated by Sebastian when he gets older.” 

Charles rested his head on Hank’s shoulder, exhaling deeply.  

“Do you know, I hope he’ll be an omega.” 

Hank looked sideways at Charles. “Truly? That’s...” 

Charles squeezed his hand harder, and his scent turned acrid, bitter. 

“That’s the best thing for him to be. A beautiful, stupid, obedient omega. Life is easier that way.” 

He heaved another huge sigh, and moved to stand. He refused to relinquish Hank’s hand, so Hank was pulled upright with him.  

“And now you see how cynical I’ve become. I had hoped to put on a pretty face for you, so you wouldn’t worry, but, well,” He shrugged, then finally dropped Hank’s hand.  

They had drifted back up to the golden edge of the house, spilling out onto the inky void of the lawn.  

Charles looked back over his shoulder, eyes drooping in defeat. Hank had never seen such a miserable expression from the man, and he was struck with helplessness as to how to remedy it.  

“It was wonderful having you, dearest. You’ll have to forgive my rambling. I’m so terribly silly at times, you know.” 

Sebastian’s silhouette hovered at the open veranda door, and his shadow stretched across the lawn, elongating as it fell across Charles’s face, the end of it just reaching Hank’s shoes. Hank looked from Sebastian’s darkened, unreadable face, to Charles’s sunken one. Any genuine emotion on the omega’s face had shuttered. He nodded, smile pulling stiffly at the skin of his face.  

It had been the most miserable night of his life so far.  

And the summer had only begun.  

x  

Sebastian didn’t see him off as he got into his coupe, but Charles hung onto the door, the simper firmly fixed back on his face, though his eyes were cold. Empty, robin’s egg blue shells set deep into his face.  

“Come again, dearest. It’s always such a delight to see you.” 

Hank nodded, hands itching as they clasped the wheel. Charles finally relinquished the side of the car, retreating a few steps as Hank peeled away from the house and back up the drive.  

He didn’t bother watching the looming red brick of the house disappear in his rearview mirror.  

Night had truly swept over the mansions of West Egg when Hank trundled home to his glorified shack, parking the car under the garage and wandering around the lawn, the generous quantity of wine he’d downed at dinner wrapping him in a warm cocoon. He was about to content himself with a seat on the porch as he enjoyed the buzzing of the cicadas, before movement though the trees distracted him. Hank stood shakily, eyes tracking the shape of a man on Lehnsherr’s dock.  

It must have been Lehnsherr himself, with the way the man ambled comfortably across the lawn. Hank took a step forward, opening his mouth to introduce himself. He could use the conversation he’d had with Alex Summers as a convenient segue, by informing the man that they had an acquaintance in common.  

Yet he stopped short as Lehnsherr stopped at the edge of his dock. The man reached out a hand, and Hank watched, fascinated. Even from across the lawn, Hank could tell the man was trembling with some kind of passion. Hank followed the reach of the man’s arm, as it stretched toward the water. He couldn’t make out what the man was reaching for, the only thing visible through the fog of the bay was the blinking of a green light from the other side—perhaps a light at the end of another dock.  

By the time Hank turned to look at Lehnsherr, the man was gone.  

Chapter Text

Hank McCoy had the displeasure of finally meeting Shaw’s ‘other omega’ two weeks later, when the alpha invited him on a visit to the city proper. A ride in Hank’s beat-up Dodge wouldn’t do, so the pair of them ended up in the first-class carriage of the train taking them from Long Island into the heart of Manhattan. The car was not ventilated, and Hank was nearly overwhelmed with the concentrated scent of so many alphas, betas, and omegas. He leaned heavily against the wall, tempted to stick his head out of the window for some relief—though he wasn’t bound to find any as the train rattled through the valley of ashes.  

The valley of ashes was a gray, desolate place, churning out gray, desolate things. Hank surveyed the landscape as the train trundled through the clouds of smog, as it climbed hills of ash, and descended into the depths, all of it created by ashen men, powderier than the fine substance that covered every inch of the place. Every one of them looked like they’d simply dissipate and be blown away from a faint gust of wind.  

The train ground to a stop in the middle of this valley, and Sebastian froze in his seat, straightening after a moment. The alpha had seemed sullen the entire ride, refusing to engage in conversation with Hank—and leaving him thoroughly confused as to why he’d even been dragged along for the afternoon. 

As the train lurched in place, Sebastian rose from his seat, dragging Hank up by the arm.  

“Come on—we're getting out.” 

Hank looked around cluelessly as the alpha pulled him gruffly off the train.  

“But this isn’t even close to our stop, Sebastian—we've still got at least fifteen minutes until we even get into the city--” 

Sebastian waved a hand and ignored Hank, storming down the powdery hill of ash toward the road that snaked along through the valley.  

“Keep up, McCoy!” 

Hank followed over the low formerly white picket fence that separated the climb to the tracks and the road. There were only a handful of buildings this far from the city—some kind of roadside restaurant, one empty for rent, and one with a sky-blue storefront, ashen dust framing the edges of the front-facing windows. As they drew closer, Hank pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and studied the sign above the shop. Frost Clothiers, it declared, though the print had faded considerably from the sun.  

Sebastian pushed inside without a care for how his broad shoulders sent the door ricocheting, nor the way it caught Hank squarely in the chest. He grunted but said nothing, choosing instead to grind his jaw and open the door with more care.  

The store was filled with racks of clothing—finely tailored suits of suede and plaid, plus swathes of midnight black tuxedos on one rack, and shelves of top hats, all perfect for white tie galas.  

Sebastian wandered through the racks, before he reached the back counter. Hank trailed after, stomach roiling with unexpected tension. He didn’t know why they were there, but it had his skin on the back of his neck clamming up.  

The alpha slammed his palm down on the bell on the counter, tapping his foot impatiently. Footsteps clattered down the spiral staircase tucked at the back of the shop, and the pair of them looked up to watch the descent of a woman dressed in the most tightly fitted dress Hank had ever seen. She reached the bottom of the stairs and looked at Sebastian for a long moment, before the edges of her lips turned up, only slightly. She seemed a little bemused at their appearance but suffering under no greater emotion or affection for the man before her.  

The woman was blonde, cut into the fashionable flapper hairstyle, and accentuated with a diamond hairband. Her dress dipped low across her immaculate, alabaster skin, the white fabric of it making her own skin look like moonlight. Her eyes were intensely blue, and her scent was crisp vanilla, amber and incense. Hank licked his lips nervously, averting his eyes to stare at the suits. The woman’s scent was so sensual it had his canines itching, even as she slunk toward Sebastian, fingering a hand in the buttons of his suit jacket.  

“I knew you’d come see me sooner or later. You never can keep away.”  

Sebastian leaned in, rumbling lowly. “And why would I? You’re a treasure,” Before the two could move any closer, the omega froze and looked over Sebastian’s shoulder, eying Hank.  

“Who is this? You know I don’t like guests.” 

The alpha turned and gestured with his head to Hank, lingering on the man for a fraction of a second before returning to the omega.  

“This is McCoy. He’s--” 

Hank interjected, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m his wife’s... cousin.” 

The omega stilled, hands tightening on Sebastian’s shoulders.  

“Yes, my wife’s cousin, Hank McCoy. Hank, this is Emma Frost.” Sebastian’s scent had turned into tar, and Hank retreated a half-step. But the woman only nodded, tossing her head and sighing softly.  

“Yes, how is that wife of yours? Still unsatisfying?” 

It was Sebastian’s turn to sigh. “Let’s not discuss it. We’ve just come in from Long Island on the train, and we’re headed into the city. I want you to get on the next train, after us.” 

He slipped a handful of bills from his pocket into her hand, which she grasped easily, tucking it into the folds of her dress with a smirk.  

“And you’ll buy me whatever I want?” 

Sebastian nodded, wrapped around the woman’s finger. He turned halfway, regarding Hank coolly, finding him wanting, but heaving hugely. “Call your sister. She might like him.” He waved a hand dismissively at Hank, and Emma frowned, but shrugged.  

“Fine by me.” 

Sebastian, for all his lack of decency, at least made Emma ride in the next train car as they boarded the rattling thing, snaking along the tracks towards the sprawling city. Hank figured Sebastian only made his mistress sit apart from them to preserve his own image, and not for any care of how rumors might reach Charles.  

Hank contemplated tossing himself from the train window, but upon serious consideration of the possibility, decided the window was too narrow to fit himself through. So, his fair share of suffering would be extended for however long this outing lasted.  

Frost had thrown a pure white fur stole over her shoulders upon their departure, and bought three magazines in the shop at the station when they finally reached the city.  Then a little tin of mints, and a gleaming tube of lipstick.  

She applied the sensuous red to her lips in the window of the shop as Sebastian hailed a taxicab.  The three of them piled inside, Hank watching the steel fingers of brand-new skyscrapers reach toward the blue sky quilted with white patchwork clouds above them. As they circled Central Park, Frost tapped on the cabbie’s shoulder.  

“Stop, if you will. I want to get something.” 

Sebastian grunted in protest, but said nothing as the woman rolled down the window and the car idled for a moment.  

A man was selling dogs in a basket on the road, and Emma gestured him toward the car. The puppies were all squealing in the basket, hopping up and down, demanding attention.  

“I want a dog for the apartment, Sebastian.”  

The woman stared at the alpha for a moment, her mouth set firmly. She would not waver, and Sebastian waved a hand after a moment, growling, the sound reverberating in the car.  

“Do what you want.” 

She turned back to the man and appraised the puppies for a long moment.  

“I want a white one, if you please.” 

The man dug around in the basket and pulled out a dingy white puppy by the scruff. He handed it over to Frost, and she held it up for a moment. The omega turned it this way and that, examining it closely.  

“It’s not one of the loud, barking ones, is it?” 

Sebastian huffed in amusement, shaking his head at her question. “They’re all like that.” 

Emma frowned deeply, but set the whining creature on her lap, fishing in her coin purse for a moment.  

“How much for it, then?” 

The man tapped his foot decisively for a moment, before grunting, “Ten dollars, ma’am.” 

She pulled out a twenty-dollar bill, and the man’s eyes bulged as she tossed it at him.  

“Keep the change to buy more dogs.” Frost rolled up the window and pointed a finger at the cabbie.  

“Drive. I’m tired, I want to be home.” 

The secret apartment Sebastian kept for Emma was in the West Village, on the third floor. Sebastian had his arm firmly wrapped around the omega’s waist by the time they exited the rattling elevator, Hank trailing after the pair as they moved through the front door. He hesitated on the threshold, leaning against the molding and flexing his fingers. His stomach had been roiling for a while now, nerves setting him to tremble slightly. This whole affair had him thinking of Charles’s sunken face again.  

And he didn’t want any part in contributing to his cousin’s misery.  

Frost was prowling around the apartment, the little puppy stumbling clumsily after her kitten heels. Sebastian noticed Hank’s recalcitrance and marched over to the front door.  

“McCoy, what are you doing? You coming inside or what?” 

Hank worried his lip, shaking his head. “I think I should... I think I need to go. I’m not comfortable--” He broke off and shot a pointed look at Frost as she flounced around the apartment, shedding her fur stole on the cream-colored sofa.  

“Charles is my cousin. And I don’t want--” 

Sebastian narrowed his eyes and clapped a hand on Hank’s shoulder, pulling him over the threshold and not quite pinning him to the wall.  

“Listen here, McCoy. You don’t want to insult me, do you? And you don’t want to insult Emma? What’s the harm in staying? Don’t you want to meet more people in the city? Stay. Meet Emma’s sister. Live a little.” 

With that, he herded Hank into the living room, almost tossing him onto the sofa. The bedraggled dog had somehow climbed up there, and it found its way into Hank’s lap, mouthing insistently at his finger. It squeaked angrily upon finding no milk, and Hank ran a distracted hand down its tiny body as he watched Sebastian and Emma giggle together on the opposite sofa. He reclined his head back, staring up at the eggshell white of the ceiling, dreaming ardently of being anywhere else.  

Emma pulled away and simpered, slinking off to dial the phone.  

“I’m calling up the gang. Azazel, Victor, my sister, whoever’s free.” 

Sebastian had nothing to contribute, merely nodding and closing his eyes. He had his legs spread, arms across the back of the sofa. He looked like a man who had everything he could ever want, but had never had to work a day in his life to get it.  

And Hank felt a sudden, vicious seizing of hatred as he stared at the man from the corner of his eye. He ground his teeth, tamping down the feeling before it could leak into his scent. The last thing he wanted was a confrontation with an alpha that was bigger than him, and notably less even-tempered than Hank.  

Hank had been drunk only twice in his life, and the second was that night. Emma’s sister arrived to much fanfare, trailed by two alphas that sized Hank up the same way Sebastian did, finding him wanting. Emma took her sister around the soldiers and marched her over to stand in front of Hank. Frost’s sister frowned at Hank, but held out her hand daintily for Hank to kiss.  

“Cordelia Frost. And you are?” 

Hank moved to stand, but Cordelia pushed him back down on the sofa, throwing herself across his lap with an enormous sigh.  

“I’m-- I’m Hank. Hank McCoy. I’m sorry but could you--” 

Emma put her hands on her hips, smiling a little when one of the newcomer alphas came up and pecked her swiftly on the cheek.  

“Delia, look how you’re torturing the poor thing. Why don’t you leave him alone?” 

Cordelia shrugged, though she did slide off Hank’s lap to recline sensually across the arm of the sofa.  

“You always want all the alphas to yourself, Emma. Can’t you share with the rest of us?” 

Frost waved a hand, laughing incredulously. “Please! I don’t want that one. But we have Azazel and Victor here, if you really need someone to hang off of.” 

Cordelia hummed, eyes wandering over the two strange alphas as the men perched on the opposite sofa.  

“...I suppose. But I like his glasses.” 

Emma scoffed but turned on her heel and pointed to the paler, dark-haired alpha.  

“Azazel! Why wasn’t I told about the Hellfire party happening at the end of the month?” 

Azazel shrugged, taking a swig of the glass of brandy Sebastian had wordlessly handed him at the door.  

“You ask Sebastian. You know that I’m not the circus master, only one of his monkeys,” 

Sebastian stared at Emma, leveling an eyebrow at her.  

“You’re telling me you would have come, if you had been told about it?” 

Emma scowled at him, taking a generous drink of her martini. “If only to make sure you’re not seeking out some other omega to spend your time away from your suffocating wife with.” 

Snarling at that, Sebastian stalked toward her, finger pointed at her chest, accusation burning in his eyes.  

“I told you not to bring him up when we’re together, didn’t I?” 

“Then what do you want me to talk about, Sebastian?! How about when you’re going to make good on your promise to marry me, huh?” Cried Emma hysterically. Sebastian smacked her across the face, and she went reeling, sent careening into the sofa. Her martini was lost in the fray, rolling across the carpet, gin darkening the bottle-green fabric. Azazel caught her hastily, but she pushed him off with a shriek. She stood up and rounded on Sebastian.  

“I want you out. Get out!”  

Sebastian didn’t listen, merely pulling Emma into the bedroom and slamming the door shut behind them. Their ensuing row was the background to Cordelia turning to Hank, one eyebrow raised.  

“Have you been in New York long?” She looked him up and down, appraising. She had deduced quickly that he wasn’t a native, and Hank shifted awkwardly in his seat.  

“Not long. I’m originally from Chicago, you know.” 

Cordelia stared at him for a moment, then shifted her eyes down to her emerald green shoe, tapping against the floor.  

“Oh, how interesting,” Her voice was dead. “And where are you living?” 

Hank tried for a smile. “Over in West Egg.” At last, he had caught her attention.  

“I went to a party in West Egg last month. At a big house, one that looked like a European castle. Thrown by a man named Lehnsherr. Do you know him?” 
Staring at her, Hank laughed a little incredulously. “Know him? He’s my neighbor. I live just next door.” 

Cordelia leaned in; voice conspiratorial. “Have you met him? Lehnsherr, I mean.” 

Hank shook his head, crossing one foot over the other. “I haven’t had the pleasure. I don’t know much about him, to be frank.” Cordelia’s eyes lit up at the admission, and she lowered her voice further, as if she feared to gossip too loudly—as if Lehnsherr might hear them, all the way across the city. 

“I heard that he’s a cousin of Kaiser Wilhelm. Or was it a nephew? I don’t remember—anyhow, he threw the most extravagant party I’ve ever been to. There were at least three different movie stars there.” 

Before he could even process this startling information, Sebastian and Emma reappeared. She had changed into a blood red gown, shedding the white dress like a chrysalis. Her hair was pulled up to show off the pale column of her throat. Sebastian loosened his tie, one arm slung carelessly around Emma’s waist.  

“You making nice with McCoy, Delia?” 

 Cordelia frowned at him, drawing away from Hank the second Sebastian laid eyes on them.  

“We’re just gossiping. Nothing more than that.” 

Sebastian grunted in response, eyes roaming over to Azazel and Victor, the two smoking cigars languidly.  

“You two better be careful, before you go and get mated. You don’t want to be stuck like me. With some boy that fucked half of New York before we were married. And now, he’s the most expensive little brat.”  

Hank held in a growl, standing abruptly. He didn’t want to sit through this misery, especially coupled with the vile insults hurled at his cousin. Sebastian was on him in two steps, arm slung around Hank’s shoulder and marching him out of the room.  

“I’m getting this one a drink.” 

Once in the miniscule kitchen, Sebastian ransacked the drawers. He withdrew from them with a crystalline bottle, amber liquid swirling welcomingly inside.  

He turned to face Hank again.  

“I can see it on your face—you want to get roaring drunk.” 

Hank postulated for a moment, eyes skirting around the room before landing on Sebastian once more.  

“It’s not that I don’t want to get drunk--” 

“Perfect!” With that, Sebastian shoved a glass into Hank’s hand, filling it generously with at least four fingers worth of whiskey.  

“Drink up, Hank, drink up,” Sebastian tipped the glass up, unyielding until Hank lifted it to his lips. He took a small sip, but Sebastian was still unrelenting, and forced Hank to take a longer and longer draft of the whiskey before finally releasing him. Hank coughed, the whiskey burning as it slid down his throat. Alright the world was warmer, softer and sweeter around him. He reluctantly smiled at Sebastian, who grinned at him.  

“There you are, my boy. Now, let’s go see Emma and what she’s found to complain about now,” 

He slung an arm over Hank once more, after he had filled his own glass with whiskey that sloshed dangerously as they sauntered back to the living room.  

Emma had moved to stand on top of the table with her sister, the pair of them dancing, arms slung over each other, champagne thrown carelessly from the flutes in their hands as they spun, dancing idly to the blaring jazz from the gramophone in the corner.  

Sebastian threw himself upon one of the empty chairs, and Hank propped himself up against the wall, nursing his whiskey and blinking slowly. Sleepiness had him firmly in its grasp now, and he stared around at the apartment, the photograph hanging proudly on the opposite wall drawing him into its surreal grasp.  

The world floated by as the hours drifted in and out, the grandfather clock on the side table chiming midnight, then one. When it rang out for two in the morning, Hank startled. Azazel and Victor were passed out on the couch, Cordelia shouting from the balcony, dancing aimlessly and sending kisses to passersby on the street below. Emma and Sebastian were lounging together on one of the chairs. The dog was whining quietly in one corner, and Emma seemed entirely disinterested in it after it had barked and barked at the door for an hour, before piddling pathetically by the couch.  

He only lasted another thirty minutes at the secret apartment Sebastian kept for Emma Frost, before stumbling his way to the train station. It was a cool night as he waited on the platform, already nursing a headache.  

The train carried him back to his modest shack in the shadow of his notorious neighbor’s sprawling castle. He cast eyes over it for only a brief moment before shutting his front door, eager to kick off his shoes and sink into his sheets.  

The night had largely been a nauseating, unfortunate experience. And he had somehow ended up with the dog at the end of it all.  

Chapter Text

Lehnsherr’s castle was a funhouse every night that summer up until the doomed end—his garden hosted flitting guests, while they watered the roses carelessly with spilled champagne. Hank watched the guests come and go, watched the people golfing from the balcony of Lehnsherr’s yacht as it glided around the Sound, their riotous laughter reaching him even if all his windows were shuttered as he pored over his books in his home. Lehnhsherr’s yellow Rolls-Royce skirted to and fro, spilling over with guests as it shuttled them from the house to the city on weekends.

On Mondays, the staff picked up the pieces and reassembled them from the mess the guests had left after another of his countless parties, righting overturned statues in the garden, and sweeping away shattered champagne flutes on the veranda.

And those grand parties? Hank could only imagine the amount of money Lehnsherr was throwing away week after week. Caterers came down for each one, armed with trays of hors-d'oeuvre, honeyed hams caramelized and glistening gold. The main hall of the house featured a bar stocked with so many different types of liquor that most of the guests had no idea what they were. Then there was the orchestra, no expense spared—trumpets, trombones, saxophones, drums, a string quartet, all backing up the big star of the club scene at the time, Alison Blaire.

Heiresses traded kisses and mink stoles decorated pale necks, cars, bumper to bumper, crowding the drive and nearly running over the already drunk co-eds. Cocktails have already found their way into eager hands, and the orchestra is playing a serenade to the stars wheeling overhead, pale, icy witnesses to the riot of color below.

The party begins when Alison Blaire sidles up to the microphone, her navy-blue dress glimmering seductively as she surveys the crowd. Her low crooning sends the ladies out onto the dance floor, swaying in the arms of any young man who’s not yet roaring drunk.

Hank watched it all from the edge of his martini glass, vermouth sitting heavily on his tongue. Anxiety prickled the back of his neck, fingering the edges of the gilded invitation he had received. He had come to realize quickly that people were not invited to Lehnsherr’s-- word traveled about his parties, and people from every corner of the city poured into West Egg. Not a one of them had even met Lehnsherr; though if they had been so inclined, they would have found the task nearly impossible. The man did not make an appearance at the lavish parties he threw every week, and if he did, it was in blending seamlessly into the crowds, never announcing his presence.

And yet... Hank had been invited. His eyes flitted down to the invitation again, flipping it over to read the message written in a clear, strong cursive. Lehnsherr wanted to introduce himself to his new neighbor at last, and apologized for the delay in doing so—and would Hank be so inclined to attend a little gathering amongst friends, at Lehnsherr’s, that weekend, to rectify such a failing immediately?

So Hank found himself wandering around Lehnsherr’s sprawling garden, his neck slick with sweat, dampening the collar of his sapphire blue polo. He couldn’t help feeling on edge the entire time, horribly out-of-place and acutely aware of it. Just standing on the edge of the party and looking around nervously wouldn’t do, and so he had decided to ease the sharp edge of his anxiety with the soft, warm embrace of alcohol.

He wasn’t allowed to sink too deep into his martini glass before he spotted Alex Summers gliding cooly through the gardens. He was replete in a black dress that hugged his hips and kissed his calves, showing bare golden arms as he cradled a champagne flute close to his chest. Hank couldn’t bear to stand around foolishly, so he called out across the yard, waving a hand over-exuberantly towards Summers.

“Hello there!”

Alex Summers stopped dead, turning slightly to stare at Hank. He appraised Hank for a moment, worrying his lip in thinking. He meandered over after a minute of contemplation, and Hank tried for a charming smile. He felt sweaty, suddenly aware of how lean Alex was, how his body moved like a coiled panther, the sharp cut of his jaw and the clever blue of his eyes.

Alex leaned against Hank’s table, his dress dipping low to show off the jut of collarbones. Hank swallowed. “I thought you might be here,” Alex’s voice was just a little condescending, tinged with indifference. His scent was spiked as he looked at Hank, the air filled with the scent of pine needles. Hank felt himself flush as Alex rounded the table, his hand held out demurely for Hank to take. He pressed a kiss to it, and Alex withdrew easily, the hand falling to his hip. “I remembered—you live next door, don’t you? It’s a miracle you get any sleep, with this circus happening every night.”

Hank laughed weakly, he and Alex turning to survey the party. Alex opened his mouth to speak, wetting his lips, but two girls pranced up, arm in arm with each other.

“Sorry you didn’t win!” The one on the left simpered, bouncing on the balls of her feet. She was wearing a sunshine yellow dress, trails of chiffon curling around her shoulders. Her companion was in emerald green, that highlighted the copper of her hair.

Alex shrugged at the commiseration offered, smiling politely, albeit a bit forced. “Not my day, I’m afraid.”

The girl in green nodded, poking her friend in silent reprimand. “We just wanted to say hello. We met at one of these partes a month ago—but you probably don’t remember...” Alex interjected, pointing casually at the girl in yellow. “Yes, I remember. You’ve cut your hair since then.”

The yellow dress girl tittered, then flounced off after bidding farewell to Alex. At their departure, Alex turned back to Hank.

“I hope that’s the last one I have to deal with,”

Hank raised a brow. “The last what?”

Alex mused over his drink, eyes flickering over the guests. They never lingered long, and he was back to radiating boredom. Just like he had been at Sebastian’s-- Hank was quickly deducing that Alex was not easily impressed or entertained.

“The last person who apologizes for my loss at the tournament today. Another one and I might just strangle them.”

Hank stared at him for a moment, tilting his head to take in the omega. “You don’t like to be the subject of sympathy, do you?”

Alex whipped to stare at him, curls flying, sending another spike of that pine needle scent into the air.

“It’s the pity I can’t stand. And I know that’s what they feel.” His nose crinkled, and Hank had to suppress a smile at how adorable the action was—and thoroughly out of place with the rest of the man’s perturbed expression.

Alex downed the last of his champagne, then set the drink on the table with more force than was necessary. He rounded on Hank and took his arm in his.

“Walk with me. My escort is here, somewhere... he’s sure to have a fit when he sees you,”

Hank and Alex walked arm in arm around the garden, and when a tray of drinks floated by on the arm of a waiter, Alex helped himself to another flute of champagne. The pair of them brooded over their glasses as they meandered, the yellow twilight pressing in on all sides. Cicadas accompanied the cocktail music bursting out from the veranda, and Alex and Hank ended up at the table with the girls from earlier. They were at least five years younger than Alex and Hank, giggling easily at the weak jokes from the overeager men hanging around them. Alex introduced Hank to his escort, an uptight and possessive beta man that shook Hank’s hand too firmly, squeezing his knuckles and posturing as the alpha he so desperately wanted to be. Hank returned the rudeness with a small, polite smile, and he saw Alex take it in and edge closer to Hank in the meantime. He still radiated boredom, but now his scent had taken on a charred displeasure; he cared nothing for the escort meant to look after the lone omega, especially not when the man acted too protective of someone he had no attachment to.

Alex pressed closer to Hank as the night wore on, their seats closer together at the table than was perhaps proprietary, but with the others at the table chatting pleasantly, alcohol loosened tongues and forgiving eyes, the risk to Alex’s reputation was small. Hank could feel the length of Alex’s slender body against his own, and he swallowed, licking his lips as he shot a glance at Alex’s proud nose, his mouth puckered as he stared at the dancing couples.

“Shall we?”

Hank held out a nervous hand, and Alex considered it for a moment, before the edges of his lips curled up just a little. Alex slipped his hand into Hank’s, and they rose from their seats, Alex moving so smoothly and gracefully he might as well have been on strings. Alex’s escort sputtered when they sauntered away, staring daggers at them when Hank drew Alex close, hand coming to rest against the omega’s back. Alex stared down at Hank, his kitten heels and sinfully long legs putting him a few inches above the alpha.

They swayed back and forth, the jazz band serenading them as Alex leaned closer. His blue eyes reflected a thousand stars back at Hank, and Hank couldn’t think of pulling his eyes away.

The moment between them broke when the song ended, and Alex withdrew, flushing red in the dim light. Even as they turned to survey the rest of the veranda, the jazz band started up again in a Charleston—but Hank and Alex merely evacuated the dance floor, clearing the way for chattering, clumsy couples to take their place, their feet heavy and unsteady from the alcohol.

The rest of the night passed with them on the edges of the dance floor, Alex actively using Hank to shield himself from his unwanted escort.

Hank watched Alex’s profile, the way the lights shone, turning his skin into molten gold.

“Have you ever met Lehnsherr?”

Alex was nursing yet another glass of champagne; Hank had stopped counting after the third the omega drank.

“Me? No, never. I’ve heard... rumors,” His eyes flicked to Hank, then away. He tilted his head, weighing his words before continuing. “I’ve heard that he’s killed a man.”

Staring at the omega, Hank swallowed. “Killed a man?” Alex nodded; eyes now fixed on the bubbles rising from the champagne.

They began wandering back to Alex’s table, the two girls still there, arms slung over each other and heads tilted close as they giggled over something Hank couldn’t figure out. Alex’s escort was absent, but two other alphas had made themselves at home at the table—one that was so muscled his suit jacket looked close to bursting, with dark hair that curled into twin points on his head—almost like ears. He had a full beard, and Hank stared perhaps a bit too long at how strange it looked; full beards were not the style among their social circles. The alpha growled when he noticed Hank’s staring, and Hank averted his eyes immediately. The other alpha was tall and slim, the complete opposite of his companion. He was similarly dark-haired, but his skin was the color of milk, with deep purple bags under his eyes.

Hank nodded to the alphas, but only the latter nodded back. Alex skirted a glance over the two, sniffed imperiously, and turned from them without a word of acknowledgment.

“As I was saying—I've heard all sorts of nasty little rumors. That he was a German spy during the war,”

The full-bearded man coughed, leaning over the table and eyeing Alex with one furry eyebrow raised. “I fought with him in the American Army, Miss. He ain’t a German spy,”

Alex’s lips pursed, and he examined the offender with no lack of disdain.

“Then I’m sure the other rumor I’ve heard is at least true, if he served in the military.”

Hank cleared his throat, dragging a finger along the indents in his glass.

“What was the other rumor?”

Alex swallowed, pausing for a moment. “That he had killed a man.”

The air was charged after Alex’s statement, though the alpha that had spoken let out a low chuckle. “I’d say he’s killed far more than one, Miss.”

Turning bodily, Alex sized up the alpha, jaw clenched. “Pardon me—do we know each other, Sir?” The omega’s voice was glacial. The alpha smiled, taking Alex’s attitude in stride.

“I think I would remember you, Miss. My name is Logan Howlett. Just visiting New York for a while.”

Alex smiled condescendingly. “Seeing the sights, Mr. Howlett?” Logan’s sardonic smile had Alex smelling like charred pine needles. “Something like that,”

The other alpha shook hands with Hank, seeming eager to break the awkward spell that had fallen over the table. “Kevin Sidney. Nice to meet you.”

Hank smiled at the man, shaking his hand vigorously and then returning to his drink. He looked between the two alphas, tilting his head. “So, you’ve met him then? Lehnsherr?”

Logan nodded, but Kevin shrugged, looking around the party. “I’ve only heard about him. I worked in intelligence during the war. I’ve seen some things in the papers—but I’m not sure what to believe.”

Alex harrumphed, turning bodily to Hank to ignore the other alphas.

“Why don’t we go track our infamous host down so you can meet him yourself?”

The omega rose from his seat gracefully and walked arm in arm with Hank as they departed from the table, Hank offering a nod to the alphas before Alex pulled him away and up the veranda.

“We haven’t tried inside the house—maybe one of the staff inside can point us in the right direction.”

The house was only marginally emptier of guests bustling about, stumbling into columns and tossing liquor carelessly in their drunken stupor. Alex and Hank wove between guests, occasionally separating to navigate the crowds—but always coming back to each other. They made it to a mostly empty hallway, and Alex threw open the first set of doors he could find. He dragged Hank through, giggling a little. His face was flushed, pupils huge as he looked down at Hank.

“You’re looking for Lehnsherr, aren’t you?”

Hank couldn’t help the goofy grin at the way Alex sprawled across a desk, one leg hitched up suggestively. His dress fell across his golden, shapely legs, showing off his delicate pearl-laden slipper. “I thought that was obvious,”

Alex tittered and reached across the desk, tangling a hand in Hank’s belt and yanking him closer. “Well, you’ve found him. For I am Mr. Lehnsherr,” The omega’s eyes flashed, scent turning into something warmer, headier. It had Hank’s mind a little dazed, so much more potent than the alcohol.

“Mr. Lehnsherr, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” Hank said, voice a little hoarse. Alex leaned closer, and--

Before the two of them could go any farther, someone in the room cleared their throat.

“I do hate to interrupt—but I figured y’all would prefer to know that y’all weren’t alone.”

Hank fell backward, crying out in surprise and hands flying up to cover his face. “My God! I’m so—I'm so sorry, we didn’t see you--”

The man stepped forward, the dim light of the chandelier overhead finally illuminating his face. He was smiling ruefully, scratching the back of his head with a bit of embarrassment of his own.

“My fault. I should have said somethin’.”

Alex slid off the desk, eyes flickering with fury, and face bright red. He retreated a step towards Hank, eyes never leaving the stranger as he crossed his arms over his chest and cocked a hip out defiantly.

“Yes, you damn well should have. Were you hoping for a show, is that it? You’re some kind of creep that likes to watch?”

The man squawked, raising his hands and waving them frantically, eyes blowing wide. “No! No, I swear! I was on the second level—I didn’t hear you come in!”

Hank sighed, tugging on Alex’s arm in reprimand. “Leave him alone, Alex.” He turned to the stranger, trying for a smile, though it felt more like an embarrassed grimace.

“We were just looking for Mr. Lehnsherr. I don’t suppose you’ve seen him?”

The stranger shook his head, and Hank finally deigned to examine his surroundings. He and Alex had wandered into a massive library—dark and dim as it was, the shelves were made of wood rich and dark, overflowing with books. The room was so enormous that it had a second level, complete with a spiral staircase to reach the second floor, and even more bookshelves rising right up to the ceiling. Hank marveled at the collection—surely thousands of books, countless priceless volumes, and the room was just... empty. None of the partygoers besides themselves had wandered in. Hank supposed it was a blessing—the raucous, drunken clumsy hands were sure to damage such a valuable assemblage.

“Lehnsherr? No... I’ve never met the man. I was just brought here—my friends frequent his parties.”

The stranger stepped forward, the air melting into something a bit more genial.

“Remy LeBeau, at your service. And you two are?”

Alex frowned but maintained propriety, holding his hand out for Remy to kiss it politely—the due deference given to all omegas of his station.

“Alex Summers. And this is Hank McCoy.”

Hank shook Remy’s hand, smiling. “Nice to meet you.” Hank dug around in his pocket, procuring the gilded invitation and Lehnsherr’s scrawling note. “I was invited personally, you see. And so I’m just trying to track the man down—to pay my respects to our generous host.”

Hank handed the invitation over, and Remy scanned it, brow furrowing. “Huh. I wish I could help y’all, but I’ve never met the man either. I would try the bar? Or back outside—maybe he’s mingling with the guests.”

Remy gave the invitation back, and Hank tucked it away, nodding at the man with a small smile. “Thanks for your help. We’ll keep looking,”

Alex huffed but wound his arm through Hank’s, the pair of them leaving the library swiftly. When the double doors creaked shut behind them, Hank turned to the omega.

“Why’d you jump down his throat like that?”

Alex stopped walking, his eyes skating over Hank’s face. “I was upset he—well. Don’t make me say it,”

Hank stared at the omega, confusion twisting across his face. “What? I don’t follow--”

The omega’s scent grew warmer, headier, and Hank swallowed loudly, flushing crimson. “Ah. I see. Yes, well—a library at a stranger’s house is perhaps not the best place to abandon all propriety—” Alex tugged on his arm, marching off down the hallway. “Shut your mouth if you know what’s good for you, Hank.” But the omega’s voice was softer, all the harsh edges it usually had smoothed out into something... softer. Affectionate, now. It left a curling warmth in Hank’s chest that he decided to examine later.

x

The party had reached peak raucous, unhinged delight, like an automobile with the accelerator to the floor and the brake pedal entirely removed. Couples orbited the dance floor, single, fashionable girls flooding it and striking out their own rhythm with the accompaniment of the jazz band. The moon shone golden overhead, a pale specter overseeing the celebrations as young men hung themselves off the railings of balconies dangerously, raining whiskey and champagne down on the guests in equal measure—some on accident, though some on purpose—and it was all met with laughter, because everyone had reached the kind of drunk where everything and anything was hilarious. He and Alex were again at a table, seated with a young woman with silver streaks running through her auburn hair, every now and then dozing off, before jerking awake again. And there was a man at their table as well—Alex was on his right, and the unknown man was on his left. He was no older than thirty, with rich brown hair that was flecked with streaks of red when the light caught it just right. His eyes were a curious flickering, blurring the line between blue and green and grey to the point Hank had given up trying to classify it as just one color. His cheekbones were strong, jawline sharp—carved from marble. His expression was solemn as he surveyed the guests closely; as if searching for someone.

Alex turned to Hank, a rare, outright smile on his face.

“Having fun now?”

Hank had drunk... well. They weren’t exactly the size of fish bowls, but they had been the largest fingerbowls of champagne he had ever seen—and two of them were surely a poor choice, but he didn’t have to drive home, and so long as he could stumble to his lawn, he had indulged. As a result, the world around him was soft, warm, and infinitely enjoyable. He rolled his neck out, sinking back into his chair with a sigh and a lop-sided grin at Alex. “Yes. Having fun now,”

The man to his left shifted forward in his chair, his eyes finally flitting to fixate on Hank.

“Weren’t you in the Ninth Division during the war?”

Hank turned in his seat to examine the stranger and nodded sagely. “Yes-- in the Twenty-second. Infantry.” The man considered the words, nodding himself. “I was in the Thirteenth, all the way through. That’s how I know your face.”

He and Hank reminisced about the war, how terrible the food was, how hard it had been to get cigarettes, and yes, how good it was to be home. The man still sat leaning forward, affecting a kind of restless nervousness. His finger tapped a steady thrum on the white tablecloth. Hank noticed the lack of a drink in front of the man.

“I just bought a new boat—want to join me for a sail, out on the Sound?”

Hank smiled, already predisposed to like the man. He was solemn looking, yes, and perhaps too serious for the company surrounding them—but those curious eyes drew him in, and he had a surety of character and purpose that seemed right and proper in Hank’s eyes.

“What time?”

“You tell me what works best for you.”

Hank meant to ask the man’s name, but Alex leaned over at that precise moment, eyes narrowed at the man. “I feel I know you, Sir.”

The man eyed Alex, then nodded. “Yes, I think I know you. But I can’t place you.”

Hank interjected, looking between Alex and the stranger. “You probably know him from the papers. He’s a famous golfer.”

Alex rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide his small smile. “Not so famous.”

The man exhaled, nodding at Hank’s explanation. “Yes, that’s it.”

At that, they all settled back into the seats, and were silent for a moment, before Hank turned to the stranger.

“I’ve never been to a party like this—I don’t suppose you were invited? I actually was, you see—seems like I was the only one,” Hank procured his invitation, and slid it across the table to show the man. The man took it with a perplexed look on his face. “And I still haven’t met this man, Lehnsherr—I live not fifty feet from him, and I’d just like to--” The man held up a hand, turning the invitation over and then setting it back down on the table.

“I’m Erik Lehnsherr.”

Hank sputtered, fingers fumbling with his glass. “I’m sorry!” He cried, face turning red. Alex started to giggle at his shoulder. Hank licked his lips in embarrassment, words failing him. “I didn’t-- well! I swear I didn’t know--”

Lehnsherr shook his head, lips quirking up a little—it was clear he took no offense to Hank’s ignorance.

“No harm done, old sport. It’s my fault. I thought you knew who I was.”

Hank shook his head, the pleasant haze from his drunkenness fading in the face of his mortification. Lehnsherr inclined his head deferentially, and then smiled slightly—but his eyes softened at the action, the edges of his eyes crinkling up, the man’s expression infectious enough that Hank forgot his embarrassment, returning the smile with a full one of his own. He could feel the man’s warmth, the way he examined Hank and set him apart from the other guests—saw something in him that no one else did, and that the man regarded him with prejudice in Hank’s favor. He felt a little flustered at the man’s regard.

Before Hank could embarrass himself again, Lehnsherr’s butler materialized at the man’s shoulder.

“Chicago calling for you, Sir.” Lehnsherr stood, rebuttoning his suit jacket with aplomb, and looking down at Hank. “Pardon me. Enjoy the rest of the party—I will rejoin you later,”

Hank nodded, and Lehnsherr hurried off, the butler cutting through the guests efficiently for his master. Hank whirled to face Alex once Lehnsherr was off, and Alex inclined his head, raising a dainty brow.

“Well?” Alex shrugged, taking another long draw from his champagne. The omega rolled out his shoulders, swirling his champagne as he stared down into the golden contents. 

“Who is he?” Hank’s voice was laden with disbelief, but he couldn’t help it—the man was a miracle, a mystery.

“Just a man named Lehnsherr, I suppose.” Hanks scoffed at that, shaking his head. He couldn’t accept that answer. “Men like him—well. Let’s put it this way. Men don’t just materialize from nowhere, richer than God, and buy a castle on the Sound. He’s got to—there’s got to be something there,”

Alex worked his lip, eyes on the place Lehnsherr had disappeared into the crowd. “I don’t know much more than you. Perhaps you can ask him yourself. If he comes back,”

Hank thought about that, thought about the well-dressed man, his eyes, that smile. Perhaps he would ask.

He and Alex were chatting when, twenty minutes later, the butler returned.

“Miss Summers, Mr. Lehnsherr would like to see you,” Alex stared at the man for a long moment, eyes wide. “Me?” He rose when the butler nodded, smoothing out his silk dress. Hank stood too, but the butler shook his head. “Ah, just Miss Summers alone, Sir.”

Hank opened his mouth, but Alex laid a hand on Hank’s shoulder lightly, nodding at the alpha.

“I’ll come find you after. Don’t worry about me.”

Hank frowned but dipped his head in acknowledgement, and the butler escorted Alex out. He watched Alex’s slender form cut through the guests like a sailboat gliding easily over the Sound, his golden head still discernible even through the throne, courtesy of his unusual height for an omega.

An hour later found Hank idling away in the great hall of Lehnsherr’s castle, the last of the guests gathered together. Some were slumped against the walls, others passed out on the sofas, and one girl was sprawled across the grand piano. Hank had started to sober up at last, but he was still waiting for Alex, who had yet to appear from… whatever Lehnsherr had wanted with him.

He reclined against a column near the front door, head rolling back against the cool marble. He had hardly closed his eyes when the front doors were flung open, and the staff began ushering the party guests out. Hank trailed along with the last few stragglers, turning back every so often to glance up at the grand staircase—but still, Alex did not appear.

He could only wait so long on the veranda, watching the last few guests be chauffeured away in their large, shining automobiles.
At last, the clatter of heels on the tile had him turning, and Alex flounced out of the house with a gleam in his eyes. He fell on Hank with drunken eagerness, both hands landing on either of Hank’s shoulders.

“I’ve just heard the most incredible thing!” He whirled around, slinging one of those slim arms around Hank’s shoulders, and sauntering off down the veranda with Hank in tow. Hank watched the omega, his wide smile, the curious, mischievous glint in his eyes. “Yes, the most amazing—but oh! I promised, I wouldn’t tell. I shouldn’t tempt you, really—”

Just as Alex opened his mouth to continue, a car zipped up the drive, honking and the occupants waving profusely at Alex. Alex’s escort was among them, glaring daggers at the pair.

“Get a move on, Alex! It’s way past curfew! Your Aunt will throw me into the Sound!”

Alex huffed but hurried off, his arm slipping from Hank’s shoulders without prelude. He dashed to the car, dress whipping up around his legs and showing off his slender ankles. He slid into the car, and turned back to Hank once he was situated. He beamed at the alpha, waving both hands in a huge farewell.

“Hank! Call me! I’m in the phone book—let’s have tea next week!”

Hank smiled, waving back and nodding immediately. “I’ll call you! Get home safe!”

The car roared back down the drive, veering out of sight behind the enormous hedges that lined the property.

Hank felt eyes boring into him, and he turned slowly, only to meet Erik Lehnsherr’s unwavering gaze. The man was in front of the front door, a few feet above him, staring down his nose at Hank. He inclined his head towards Hank, a rueful smirk tugging up one side of his mouth,

“Sorry to keep him from you, old sport.”

Hank waved a hand, turning to face Lehnsherr fully. “Oh, that’s alright. I suppose…” Hank looked around, realizing just how few guests were left. “I should get going. Thank you for inviting me—I haven’t been getting out of the house enough, this summer.”

Lehnsherr’s smile grew a little at that, and he inclined his head. “Well, we will have to rectify that. Come and join me for a sail sometime this week, if you can.”

Hank nodded, retreating a half step into the gravel drive.

“That sounds lovely.”

He smiled at Lehnsherr, and Lehnsherr nodded at him, eyes still on his back as Hank cut through the man’s lawn to get to his house.

Hank woke with a vengeful headache the next morning, and with a faint uneasiness in his stomach when he remembered the searching look in Lehnsherr’s eyes as he had examined Hank.

Chapter Text

Hank was sitting on the porch with a teacup, Einstein at his heels, when Lehnsherr’s enormous Rolls-Royce rolled up his gravel drive. Hank stood at the man’s approach, dusting off his slacks and nodding to the alpha. Lehnsherr sprang out of the driver’s seat, coming around to lean against the gleaming grill. Hank had gone sailing with him at the man’s invitation and used his beach twice—but they hadn’t exchanged more than pleasantries, and Hank didn’t know anything more about the man than how he liked to throw large parties.   

Einstein set to barking, running towards the car before Hank could restrain him. Lehnsherr took the pup’s jumping and barking in stride, smiling as he bent to scratch the mutt’s ears.   

Hank took a step forward, running a hand through his disheveled hair.   

“Sorry about him—he’s young.” Lehnsherr waved a hand, flicking his eyes up at Hank, then looking back down at the dog. “No trouble, McCoy.”   

Lehnsherr strode forward a little, pulling his sunglasses off and tucking them into his suit pocket.   

“I thought we might have lunch today—if you’re free?”  

Hank swallowed, looking back at his house. He had no plans for the day, other than drawing up a few lesson plans for his students. Going out with Lehnsherr—well. Perhaps, if he accompanied the man, he could finally start to untangle the mystery that he presented.   

He turned back to Lehnsherr, who was waiting for him expectantly.  “Alright.”  

Lehnsherr grinned, running a hand over the wheel well of the automobile.   

“She’s gorgeous, isn’t she? Have you seen it before?”  

Everyone in New York had seen it. Hank nodded, taking a small sip of his tea. “Stunning. I’ve seen it in your drive. I don’t know much about cars, of course—mine is just an old thing—”  

Lehnsherr turned, smiling politely. “It’s all a custom job.” Hank felt his neck prickling at the awkwardness in the air, and he hummed, unsure what to say. “It’s stunning.”  

And it was—shining golden, the chrome of the bumper and the grill polished so it was a mirror, the spotless windshield catching and throwing back the sun’s rays. The seats were caramelized brown, and only a little warm when Hank slid in beside Lehnsherr. He had dressed hurriedly, throwing on a navy-blue suit and grabbing his hat and handkerchief before shutting the door to his house. Einstein was happy enough to be left with a bone, gnawing at it on the sofa.   

Lehnsherr turned the car on and it roared to life, and the man flung it into drive, the car surging forward with a quickness that had Hank clinging to the door in alarm. The man drove too fast, even as he maintained a stranglehold on the wheel the entire time, never for one moment letting it slip out of his control or go over the lines as they zipped down the roads and toward the bridge, into the city.   

Lehnsherr turned to him when they had slid over the bridge and were pushing through the crowded streets of New York City proper, his sunglasses back on and obscuring the look in his eyes. His mouth was set in a quirk of the lips, an expression that Hank couldn’t quite read.   

“Tell me, McCoy—what is your opinion of me?”  

What to tell him? Hank had heard all the nasty rumors. But for all his actual interactions with the man, Lehnsherr had revealed nothing. So, Hank only had the impression that he was yet another sinfully rich man who loved to spend his money faster than he could make it.   

Hank looked away, watching the people of New York milling about on the sidewalks as they passed, tapping his finger on the door, struggling to think of what to say.  

“Well—I don’t…”   

Lehnsherr cleared his throat, leg bouncing up and down as he fidgeted.   

“I’ll tell you the truth about myself, Mr. McCoy. See, I think if you can understand my background—you’ll understand the favor that I’ve asked of Miss Summers.”  

“Favor? What are you talking about?” Hank frowned, Alex’s roguish smile and glinting eyes flashing in his mind as he looked at Lehnsherr’s profile. He remembered Lehnsherr, talking to Alex for so long at the party the week before.   

“Oh, not to worry old sport—I know you’re having tea with him, later this week—and I asked him to talk to you about a small matter. But never mind all that now. I think if we can understand each other, and I can clear up some of the things people say about me, it will make everything easier.”  

So he was aware of all the things people said about him. Hank nodded, eager for the man to explain himself.   

“I come from a very wealthy family in the East—sadly, all gone now. After losing my family, I moved to England to study at Oxford.”   

Hank swallowed, watching the man lick his lips. Lehnsherr coughed out the words, as if they got stuck in his throat on the way up, or his mind had trouble conjuring them up—and Hank felt a chill run up his neck, wondering if perhaps all the nasty things people said about him were true.   

Lehnsherr skirted a glance at him, as if gauging whether or not Hank was prepared to call his bluff.   

“Where in the East?”  

Lehnsherr paused, then spoke. “Westchester.”  

“Ah! Yes, I’ve been.”  

“Oh?” But Lehnsherr had nothing else to say. Upon seeing that Hank wasn’t going to say more, he barreled on.   

“When my family died, I inherited all their money, as I was an only child.”  

The way he spoke! Hank wasn’t certain whether or not the man was having him on. The alpha was so removed from the words that they had no legs to stand on.   

“After that loss, I toured the world—spending my family’s money as quickly as I could, to try and forget the tragedy that had happened to me.” Hank could barely hold back his laughter now.   

“And of course the war.” Before Hank could blink, the man had metamorphosed into a war hero.   

“We pushed through the German line, just the men in my division, facing down their machine guns and their tanks. We advanced so far that we left the rest of the detachment behind, and when they found us, days later, we were drinking German beer in a frigid little French village, living like kings.”  

Lehnsherr proceeded to dig around in his coat pocket for a moment, before dropping something into Hank’s hand. Hank turned it over, running a finger over the words.   

“That’s a medal—only one of them I received. It’s from Montenegro. You know, on the Adriatic Sea?”  

“Yes, I know it.” Hank nodded, turning the medal over. It was… authentic. And on the back, printed proudly: Erik Lehnsherr, for Valour Extraordinary.   

“And this…” Again, a hand digging in his suit jacket. He produced a piece of paper, stuffing it into Hank’s hands. He examined the photograph, as Lehnsherr stared at the road, his voice still carrying to Hank over the roar of the engine.   

“A little souvenir of Oxford days. To remind me of all that I’ve done, where I come from.”  

Hank worried the edge of the photograph, and for a moment, the man became real to him—all the wealth, the curiosities, the lilting, ill-fitting turns of phrase all made sense. In the next moment, Hank remembered again the look in the man’s eyes, the night of the party he had been invited to.   

What to believe? But... the medal and the photograph were authentic. Perhaps the man was simply awkward socially—he wasn’t comfortable sharing the past that he had tried to distance himself from?  

“I wanted you to understand who I was, so that you understand the request I am going to make of you today. I didn’t want you to think that I was just some...” He didn’t finish his sentence, and Hank could have filled in the gap with any number of things that might have fit.   

“You’ll understand my request this afternoon.”  

“At lunch? Why not just ask me now?”  

Lehnsherr waved a hand, the car surging around an idling bus.   

“Oh, no, not from me. From Miss Summers. I learned you two are having tea together.”  

Hank frowned, neck growing hot. What was the man playing at? How did he know such things?  

“Are you... involved with Miss Summers, in some way?”  

Lehnsherr chuckled lowly, shaking his head. “No, old sport, no. I’ve simply enlisted Miss Summers with this matter.”   

He felt a prickling of annoyance at the idea of his date with Alex being co-opted for whatever Lehnsherr wanted him to do. He was already regretting agreeing to do anything for the man.   

Lehnsherr grew silent as they charged through the crowded streets, spine straighter than a pole and jaw tight. Hank intermittently turned to examine his fearsome face in between flashes of the city passing around them, hand still tapping at the frame of the door, leg bouncing from restlessness.   

Lunch passed without Hank learning much more about Lehnsherr, other than that he kept a careful eye on everyone in the dimly lit, smoky saloon, and seemed to have an endless encyclopedic knowledge of every single alpha, beta, and very rare omega they encountered. He would incline his head to Hank and whisper lowly the identity of any that wandered by their table and inclined their head to Lehnsherr respectfully. Nearly all in that dusky place paid deference to Lehnsherr, and Hank watched the exchanges with curious eyes, cataloguing everything. Lehnsherr asked about Hank’s summer so far, gray eyes fixed on him as Hank talked about the students he tutored, the dog he had ended up with, and the omega he had gotten involved with back East.   

Two whiskeys in and Hank was swaying his head back and forth to the sultry notes of the jazz band crooning in the corner, and Lehnsherr had only a coke in his hand, his tie loosened minutely. He still radiated tension, even as he affected a lazy sprawl in the chair.   

It was the third time Hank scanned the darkened room that he noticed dark eyes on him, the shine of a signet ring on a finger that beckoned in his direction. Hank swallowed, leaning toward Lehnsherr.  

“Would you come with me? There’s someone I must greet. If only for politeness’ sake.”  

Lehnsherr nodded, sliding to his feet gracefully and tightening his tie, jaw tight as he slid hands down his suit, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles. Hank followed suit, keeping his glass in hand as he wound his way through the tables towards the booth on the far side of the room.   

Sebastian Shaw was reclining back in the booth, Azazel and Victor Creed on either side. The alphas straightened at Hank and Lehnsherr’s approach, and Sebastian set down his glass.  

“Hello. Well, I didn’t expect to see you in this temple of virtue, McCoy.”  

Hank’s smile felt wan, as he dipped his head to the trio.   

“Yes, well—I'm just here with my neighbor, getting lunch. Do you know Erik Lehnsherr?”  

Hank shuffled a step to the side, extending an arm to introduce his companion. Lehnsherr stepped forward, locked eyes with Sebastian Shaw, and went still. A vein in his jaw ticked.   

Sebastian leaned forward, extending his hand, and Lehnsherr shook it only for a second, before dropping the man’s hand and retreating a step, eyes harder than diamond.   

“Erik Lehnsherr. I think I’ve heard of you, Mr. Shaw. Oil, right?”  

The words are perfectly cordial, despite the ice they’re carved from.   

Shaw frowned, but nodded. “Yes. I’m afraid I don’t know you, Mr. Lehnsherr. What do you do for a living?”  

Lehnsherr smiled tightly. “I’ve got a rather diversified portfolio, Mr. Shaw. I would hate to bore with the details.”  

Before Shaw could respond, Lehnsherr turned to address Hank. “Hank, I’m afraid we might have to cut our lunch short—I've got business to attend to back on Long Island, you see.”  

The alpha bowed infinitesimally to Shaw, Azazel, and Victor, then returned to their table, standing stiffly. Hank blinked for a few moments, offered his excuses to Shaw, and retreated to stand beside Lehnsherr.   

“Let’s leave, McCoy. I’ve lost my appetite.”  

Hank nodded, following the man with a curl of anxiety sitting in his chest. He felt like a chastened schoolboy as he trailed after Lehnsherr.   

The sun was blinding as they stepped out from the dimness of the saloon, and Lehnsherr prowled to the car, sliding inside and gesturing to Hank.   

Hank paused for a moment, then joined him in the car, picking at his thumb nervously.   

“Is something the matter? Have I done something--” Lehnsherr held up a hand, turning the key in the ignition with a vengeance.   

As the engine roared to life, Lehnsherr threw the car forward, muscling onto the street, headed back to Long Island.   

Hank tried again to speak, swallowing loudly, but Lehnsherr spoke first.   

“I would prefer to keep away from Sebastian Shaw in the future, McCoy.”  

He stuttered for a moment, staring at the man as he white-knuckled the steering wheel. Still, that vein in his jaw jumped and flexed.   

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, Mr. Lehnsherr. I do apologize—Sebastian is married to my cousin. I felt obligated to greet him.”  

Lehnsherr nodded, the car careening through the streets of New York, heedless of the barrage of horns honking that followed them. “I understand that. I...” The man swallowed, hands tightening on the steering wheel. It was plain he was not used to apologizing. “I’m sorry for my reaction, Mr. McCoy. I hope you don’t think poorly of me because of it.”  

Hank looked at the man, curiosity prickling him. There was something about Lehnsherr, some hidden something that he couldn’t guess at, and that only drew Hank in closer, desperate to get at the mystery. Hank was still inclined to reserve judgements—especially considering Erik Lehnsherr hadn’t done anything particularly egregious to him. He was simply another rich man that Hank knew.   

“That’s all right. It was getting stuffy in there—and well... I’m not the biggest fan of Sebastian, anyhow. My cousin--”  

He trailed off, but Lehnsherr had gone stiff in his seat. Hank didn’t want to over confide in the man, but he didn’t want Lehnsherr to think he wanted to pay any deference to Sebastian Shaw.   

“I am no great friend to Sebastian Shaw, Mr. Lehnsherr. I don’t frequent his company, unless it’s to see my cousin.”  

The alpha turned his head minutely to look at him and dipped his head. “I’ll just drop you off at your house, yes?”  

Hank tried for a small, reassuring smile. “That would be perfect, thank you.”   

The drive back to Long Island happened in silence, but for once, Hank felt at ease sharing a silence with someone else, instead of being paralyzed by anxiety, hunting for words to break it. Lehnsherr was an easy man to share the moment with, and Hank found himself eager to spend more time with the man, eager to uncover his curiosities.   

That afternoon, Hank met Alex Summers for tea, and after asking, a little annoyed, what sort of favor Lehnsherr required of him, the omega finally explained everything.   

One fine morning in October, when the air had just turned crisp and Alex had retired his shortest dresses for warmer clothing, he skipped down the sidewalk, the sun beaming down and coloring his skinny shoulders. He was just passing Charles Xavier’s house, two years older than Alex, Charles was the prettiest, most popular omega in all of Westchester—so pretty that alphas shoved each other out of the way to dance with him first at all the courting balls.   

Charles was hardly seen out of deep, sapphire blue gowns, with a matching roadster that always had the convertible top down so his long brunette curls could wave in the wind.   

That day, Alex spied Charles’s roadster parked at the curb, and the omega was curled up in the driver’s seat with a lieutenant that Alex didn’t recognize. Alex went entirely unnoticed, until he had passed the car by a few feet. Then, Charles lilting voice called to him.   

“Oh, Alex! Come here, won’t you?”  

Alex stepped close to the car, his hip leaning into the metal warmed by the sun. “Hello,” he said easily, eyes flitting from Charles to the stranger. He was wearing a plain officer’s uniform, his cap set off to the side on the caramel leather seat. The stranger looked at Alex for half a second, then his eyes bounced back to Charles. Alex flushed a little under Charles’s gaze, because of all his omega peers, Alex liked Charles the most. Charles tilted his head, eyes flashing. They were a brighter blue than the cloudless sky overhead. “Are you going to make bandages today? With the Red Cross?”  

Alex nodded, finger running along the rubber seam of the car door. “Will you tell them I can’t make it today? I’ll see them another time,”  

He nodded once more, and Charles’s smiled. “You’re a doll, Alex.”  

All the while, the stranger’s eyes never left Charles, and Alex felt his heart flutter; every omega wanted to be looked at like that, and even five years later, Alex remembered the man, and that look—it was Erik Lehnsherr, though Alex wouldn’t recognize him when the two crossed paths again.  

Nineteen seventeen came and went, and all the officers at the local camp got sent off, and a new group filtered in. The next year, Alex acquired a few admirers of his own, though he was bored of them all, too focused on golfing to mind any alpha that dogged his steps.  

He stopped seeing Charles so often—Charles stopped attending the courting balls, and nasty rumors were hissed between guests about what he was up to. The one that circulated like wildfire was that Charles had tried to sneak off to New York City to say goodbye to a soldier being deployed and had to be bodily dragged back. According to gossipers, he didn’t speak to his family for weeks after being thwarted.  

By the time the war had ended, Charles was back to his happy self, dazzling beaux and spending money on new dresses, eager to live again now that the war had ended. Come June, Charles married Sebastian Shaw of Chicago, who gifted the omega a diamond necklace worth three hundred thousand dollars.  

Alex was a bridesmaid, and when he visited Charles’s room to prepare him for the rehearsal dinner, was shocked to find Charles curled up in the bathtub, a bottle of scotch tucked into his arm. His beautiful, beaded dress hung off one shoulder, hair torn out of its ringlet curls.  

A letter was crumpled in his hand, and he had tear tracks leaving rivers of mascara running down his face.  

“Tell ‘em, Alex. Tell ‘em I won’t marry him.”  

Alex reluctantly stepped close to the tub, eyes going wide. He was scared—he'd never seen Charles, or anyone, like that. He lowered one knee to the floor, careful not to crease his dress.  

“Charles, what are you talking about?” He couldn’t quite keep the fear out of his voice. Charles rolled his head back on the edge of the tub, eyelids fluttering, and lips pursed in a confused frown.  

“Something’s... happened. Tell Sebastian he can go away. I don’t want to see him anymore. Tell him to go back to Chicago.”  

Alex shook his head immediately, leaning closer to stare at Charles, heart beating faster and neck slick with sweat. “I can’t do that, Charles. The wedding is tomorrow—I don’t think—I can’t...”  

Charles smiled dizzily up at him, a film of tears over his eyes. “Yes, you can. Tell him I won’t marry him. I just won’t do it...”  

Before Alex could hear any more, he stood and backed away from the tub, turning to hurry out of the room.  He could hear Charles beginning to cry quietly as he rushed out into the hall, colliding bodily with Charles’s maid. The girl recoiled back, but Alex seized her by the shoulders.  

“Help me! Come quick.”  

Together, they pulled Charles upright, smoothed out his dress, and started pinning his hair back into place. Charles refused to let go of the letter, snarling at Alex when he tried to take it, and instead tucked it down into the bodice of his dress, so the paper pressed against his heart.  

An hour later, Charles was pulled together, held upright by the insistent arm Alex looped around him, and marched down to smile for Sebastian Shaw and practice for the wedding.  

The next day, Charles nodded and smiled when people came up to congratulate the new couple, Sebastian Shaw’s arm a condemning weight around his waist. The diamond hung heavy between his clavicles; the chain icy against his skin.  

They sailed off for their honeymoon at the end of the wedding, and Alex didn’t see Charles for four months while the new couple celebrated. When they finally reunited, Alex was holidaying in San Diego, and Sebastian had booked the biggest suite at a beachside hotel to spoil Charles. It was almost startling to see how Charles got nervous whenever Sebastian left his sight, fully overcome by the hormones a newly bonded omega is subjected to. They’d sit together on the beach, Charles with his feet in Sebastian’s lap, as the alpha massaged the soles tenderly.  

A week later, Sebastian ended up in all the papers because he’d crashed his car at night—and he’d been pulled out of the twisted lump of wreckage, along with an omega maid from the hotel.  

Come April, Charles had his little boy, and they settled in Chicago after their tour of Europe. Charles was extremely popular in Chicago, and he moved with a lively, wild crowd. Charles was all the more distinguished from them because he didn’t drink in public. After the publication of Sebastian’s infidelity in San Diego, Charles never again showed affection to his husband in public, not ready to look a fool for the alpha. And Alex couldn’t blame him.  

“Do you remember, when I mentioned Lehnsherr, that night on East Egg?”  

Hank nodded, and Alex stared down into his teacup, swirling it idly. “It was the first time Charles had heard Lehnsherr’s name in five years, mind you. As soon as you had gone home, and I had retired to bed, Charles came to my room. He roused me and made me tell him everything I knew about Lehnsherr—which wasn’t much, at the time. Just the rumors I had heard, and Charles had gone stiff, hand tight on my arm.”  

Alex lifted his head, raising a hand to rub at the scent gland on his neck. “It wasn’t until Lehnsherr pulled me aside at the party, and explained everything to me, that I recognized him as the officer that had been sitting in Charles’s car.  

“It is strange, certainly.”  

Alex leaned into the warmth of Hank as they waited on the curb outside the cafe, and Hank turned his face away slightly to hide his furious blushing.  

“Strange? What is?”  

Hank waved a hand in front of him. “Everything. The fact that he ended up just across the bay from Charles, after everything. It’s such a coincidence, it’s bizarre.”  

Alex shook his head. “No, no—not a coincidence, Hank. Lehnsherr bought that house on purpose. He threw all those parties, attracted all that attention, as if hoping Charles might wander in one night. When that didn’t work, he started asking people if they knew Charles. I was just the first person who knew him.”  

“Oh.” Hank wasn’t quite sure how to respond—Lehnsherr suddenly seemed real to him, materialized from the ether of his formless, suave wealth into someone with dreams, desires.  

Finally, a taxi slowed for them and Hank opened the door for Alex, sliding in after him. Alex sighed contentedly, sinking into the leather seat and crossing one ankle over the other.  

“Long Island, if you please,”  

“He wants you to invite Charles over for tea.”  

Alex breathed it out softly, and Hank tapped a finger against his thigh, mind working. “Why not just have you invite him over?”  

“You live next door to him—he wants Charles to see his house.”  

“Ah. Of course.”  

“He nearly abandoned the idea when you introduced Sebastian to him, but I reassured him you aren’t all that fond of the man.”  

“And what about Charles?”  

“Don’t tell him about Lehnsherr—just plan to invite him over for an afternoon.”  

“Does Charles even want to see Lehnsherr?”  

Alex stared at him. “He deserves this. You’ve met Sebastian. Doesn’t he deserve better?”  

Hank sputtered, but he nodded hurriedly. “Well, yes! But he’s married—they have a child together. And what’s Lehnsherr hoping to achieve?”  

Alex wiggled closer, and the warmth of his body had Hank’s mind grinding to a halt.  

“I can’t say. But it’s such a small thing, to invite Charles over, and have Lehnsherr... just be there.”  

Before Hank could reply, Alex worked a hand around his neck, a smirk playing around his face. The omega inched closer, and their noses brushed.

“This is a little overdue, isn’t it?”  

Alex brought Hank to his face, and Hank couldn’t help but agree—it was overdue.  

Chapter Text

As the taxi trundled up Hank’s gravel drive, his eyes were glued to Lehnsherr’s carnival house of a castle, light blazing from every window—presumably for another wild party. Yet when Hank peeled himself out of the taxi and it rumbled off, the house was silent. Hank wandered closer, to the strip of paving that acted as a path between their houses. Lehnsherr was standing there, in the space between a couple of trees. His hands were in his pockets, eyes locked on the silhouette of the house. He stiffened at the sound of Hank’s loafers crunching among the detritus on the path, turning slightly, his shoulders relaxing as he met Hank’s eyes.  

“Ah, Mr. McCoy. I should have known it was you.”  

Hank shrugged, stepping beside the man and taking in the enormity of the house, imagining how Lehnsherr might view the marble, the limestone facade, the twisting arches and gables.   

“Just me.” He cleared his throat awkwardly, eyes cutting to take in Lehnsherr’s stone face. “What are you up to?”  

Lehnsherr tilted his head, lips pursed. “Just looking into some of the rooms. It has to be perfect.”  

Hank raised a brow, but Lehnsherr wasn’t looking at him. He had turned back to the house, assessing every inch of it.   

“It’s beautiful.”   

The alpha stared at the house absently and nodded. He seemed to be a million miles away, and Hank coughed slightly, causing Lehnsherr to turn toward him.   

“Did you want to come in for a drink? The house is empty, for once.”  

Hank shook his head, scratching the back of his neck in a futile attempt to release a bit of the nervous energy he felt. “It’s late for me,”  

“What about a swim? I haven’t used the pool all summer,”  

“I have work in the morning. I’m sorry,”  

Lehnsherr waved a hand immediately, eyes brimming with eagerness, looking nearly luminescent in the dim evening light. Hank sucked in a breath.   

“I talked to Miss Summers. I’m going to call Charles in the morning—and I’ll invite him over to my house,” He blurted it out in a rush, and Lehnsherr could only blink for a few seconds, before a slow smile spread across his face.   

“Are you sure, old sport? I don’t want to inconvenience you.”   

“What day works for you?”  

“You set the date—I'll be there. I don’t want to be any more trouble than I already am.”  

“Well, what about Wednesday?” It was Monday now, and Hank didn’t want to prolong the matter, considering how Lehnsherr was nearly vibrating with excitement before him.   

“That’s perfect, McCoy. Perfect.”  

A moment passed, and Lehnsherr turned from Hank to survey Hank’s humble, nearly pitiful house.   

“There is one thing...” He swallowed, fixing the sleeve of his jacket nervously.   

“Well, old sport—you don’t make much money, do you? I only mean—”  

Hank couldn’t help but smile a bit. “No, not very much, I’m afraid,”  

Lehnsherr nodded for a few seconds, mind working. “I don’t suppose you’d mind if I...”  

He fumbled for a moment, then continued. “Would it be alright if I spruced up the place? I’d pay for every bit of it, and it’d be done Wednesday morning. I just want it to be perfect for--” Trailing off, Lehnsherr turned beseeching eyes to Hank.   

Hank’s smile grew. “Well, I can’t say no to that. Just... allow me to pay you back, somehow.”  

The other man held up a hand immediately, shaking his head. “You already have given me more than you can know.”  

Hank fell into bed eagerly, Einstein curling up in the crook of his leg. He had left Lehnsherr on the path between their houses, the alpha still staring into the lit windows of his house, expression unreadable.   

He called Charles up the next morning as he drank his coffee. Charles answered with a breathy sigh, and Hank could imagine all too clearly the over-bright look in his crystalline eyes.   

After extending the invitation, and Charles had accepted it, Hank paused for a moment, the receiver of the phone heavy in his hand.   

“Don’t bring your husband.” His voice was a mixture of warning and bargaining.   

A little, choked-off laugh on the other line. “Sebastian? Of course not.”  

Wednesday came in a rush, and rain was pouring down when Hank rolled out of bed to let Einstein out into the yard. Someone puttered up the yard as Hank was standing on the porch, eyes fixated on the grey, thick clouds hanging overhead. Hank turned to greet the man and raised an eyebrow at the lawn mower and garden shears he dragged forward.   

“Mr. Lehnsherr sent me over here to tidy up the garden.”  

Hank stared at the man for a moment, then nodded. “Go right ahead. Just let me get the dog.”  

Hank wrangled Einstein back into the house, and the two of them watched the gardener mow the grass and trim the hedges into tidy bundles of green branches. The man hustled off with a tip of his hat to Hank, and Hank hurried to his car, ready to make a quick dash into town to buy snack cakes and flowers for his afternoon guests.   

Hank returned with a bouquet of peonies tucked under his arm and a box of cakes to find Erik Lehnsherr looming on his porch. Hank stepped forward with a half-smile, though it faded when he took in the deep shadows under Lehnsherr’s eyes. The alpha was wearing a navy-blue suit and golden tie, a white lily resting cheerfully in his buttonhole. Hank frowned a little, opening the front door for Lehnsherr to proceed him into the house.   

And then Hank stopped dead at the greenhouse that had erupted in his house in his short absence. Lehnsherr stepped alongside him, scratching the back of his neck, a little embarrassed.  

“Is it... too much?”  

Hank blinked for a few seconds, taking a single step forward, treated to the sight of Einstein standing on his hind legs to stiff at the bouquets and vases of flowers scattered on every surface of the house.   

“Well... let’s hope Charles doesn’t have a pollen allergy.”  

Lehnsherr sighed, pressing a hand to his eyes. “I’m sorry about this, McCoy. I just—it's been five years, and I—” Hank held up a hand, putting his other on Lehnsherr’s shoulder.   

“It’s all right. Charles will enjoy it, I think. It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”  

Lehnsherr said nothing, only swallowed thickly and nodded.   

The pair of them turned back to the front door, and Lehnsherr peered out of the window, chewing his lip. Hank looked out for only a moment, before cutting his eyes back to examine the profile of the alpha beside him.   

“The grass looks good, don’t you think?” Hank wasn’t sure quite what to say, only eager to fill the tense silence between them.   

“Grass? What grass?” Erik stared out at it, then nodded, though Hank wasn’t sure he saw anything at all.   

After another moment of standing at the window together, Hank managed to coax Lehnsherr back into the living room. Erik sat stiffly in the leather armchair, bouncing his foot and cutting his eyes to the front door every other minute. Lehnsherr only lasted about twenty minutes before he stood abruptly, refastening the button of his suit jacket and brushing back his hair with his jaw clenched.   

“I’m going home, McCoy.” His voice was thick with uncertainty, even as he turned toward the door, his spine ramrod straight.   

“Why? What’s wrong?”  

“He’s not coming! I don’t want to wait like a fool—” He moved to check his watch, and Hank noticed his hand shaking imperceptibly.   

“He’ll be here, it’ll be alright, just—” A honk sounded outside, and Lehnsherr retreated a few steps, eyes fixed on the door.   

Hank held up a hand to attempt to steady him, then hurried to the front door.   

Charles’s lovely blue roadster trundled up the drive, the convertible top up for once, though the rain had petered off, with only the leaves shedding the last few drops of rain.   

The car stopped and Charles hopped out eagerly, his dress swishing cheerfully around his ankles. Hank rushed out to meet him, a smile pulling at his cheeks. Charles looked returned to his old self, at least marginally, out from under Sebastian’s shadow. He was clad in a snow-white dress with a feathered trim, a string of pearls around his neck that he fingered as Hank held out a hand to kiss. His dark curls were pinned up and he had diamond pins scattered through the auburn hairs that caught the light and threw it back when he turned his head.   

Charles beamed at Hank and kissed his cheek with a slight purr, his scent blossoming with happiness.   

“You have a charming home, Hank. Do you like it here?”  

Hank shrugged as he took Charles by the arm and led him to the house.   

“It’s what I can afford. The dog makes it a little homier.”  

Charles looked at him eagerly, one side of his smile pulled higher than the other.   

“You have a dog?”  

Hank led Charles up the first couple steps and opened the screen door for Einstein to barrel out. The pup dashed to Charles immediately, yipping and wiggling his entire backside, tail blurring with the furiousity of his excited wagging. Charles laughed at the dog’s excitement, bending at the knees to scratch behind his ears. The dog licked his hands, prancing in a circle around Charles, then dashing back to Hank, jumping up against his legs.   

“Sorry about him—I don’t have too many visitors, and he’s still young, so training is...” Hank waved a hand in an explanatory gesture, and Charles stood, his entire person changed as he radiated happiness.   

“No trouble at all, dearest. He’s a treasure. I’d love one, but Sebastian--” Before Charles’s face could fall into melancholy, Hank swept in and took the omega by the arm once more.   

“Put all that behind you for now.”  

Charles smiled wider, leaning into Hank’s body with a trilling purr. “Say no more. I’m glad to get out of the house. Thank you for inviting me.”  

“Tell your chauffeur to drive around for a bit. You won’t need him for a while.”  

Another giggle, though Charles dutifully turned around to wave at the chauffeur. The man nodded and drove off, while the pair of them stepped into the foyer of the house. Hank helped relieve Charles of his capelet coat, hanging it on the coat rack with a flourish. Hank hung back as Charles meandered down the main hallway and turned the corner into the living room. Hank heard him let out a little gasp, and he smiled to himself, imagining the reunion between Erik and Charles. Then, Charles’s high, amused voice.   

“Hank, dearest—don't take this the wrong way—but are you in love with me?”  

“In love with you? What are you talking about—” He trailed off as he finally followed Charles into the living room, to find no trace of Lehnsherr. Charles was sniffing a bouquet of white roses on a low table, and he turned at Hank’s approach with a cocked eyebrow.   

“Are you quite sure? This is... a rather romantic gesture, wouldn’t you say?”  

Hank blushed, face heated as he nodded, flustered. “Well, of course, but it’s not my--”  

The ringing of the doorbell cut through his scrambling, and Hank turned toward it like a magnet. He rushed to the door and opened it. Lehnsherr was there, standing on the porch like a man possessed. His hands were clenched into fists, eyebrows pulled down over his eyes, mouth set into a purse so tight it looked like he’d never speak again.   

“Christ, man! What are you doing out here?”  

Erik didn’t respond. He muscled past Hank, barreling down the hallway like a freight train, only to pull up short upon rounding the corner. Hank hurried after him but stopped when he heard Charles let out an aborted gasp.   

Hank could barely hear the sound of a choked laugh over the racing of his own heart, and then Charles’s voice: “I’m certainly glad to see you again.”  

Another pause, and Hank wanted to eat his own hand from the awkwardness. Finally, Lehnsherr cleared his throat, his voice strained as he spoke.   

“I’m glad to see you as well.”  

Hank had nothing keeping him in the hall, and so he finally braved entering the living room. Lehnsherr was looming over Charles, standing backed against the mantel with his hands shoved into his pockets, affecting a calm he clearly didn’t feel. His scent had turned charred with anxiety, and he stared down his nose at Charles where the omega sat stiffly in a low armchair, his ankles crossed one over the other.  

Hank stood there idiotically for a moment, before he settled himself on the sofa, flicking his eyes from Charles to Lehnsherr and back again.  

“We know each other,” those steely eyes darted to Hank, then turned back to gaze down at Charles, distraught. Charles met his eyes with anxiety, chewing his lip unconsciously as he withstood Erik’s regard.  

Charles nodded, wringing his hands together and clearing his throat, his voice nearly a whisper.  

“It’s been several years since we last encountered each other.”  

“Five years this August.”  

The way the words leapt out of Lehnsherr’s mouth had them all pausing for a long moment, and as the silence reigned, Hank pondered the redeeming qualities of a catastrophic house fire befalling them any minute.  

Hank plastered on a smile instead and excused himself to go put together the tea tray. Lehnsherr accosted him in the tiny kitchen, his eyes wild with desperation.  

“Mein Gott! I’ve made a mistake—McCoy! I’ve made a mistake,”  

Hank stared at him in bafflement. “What are you talking about?”  

“This was a mistake. I didn’t think—I just wanted to see him again—” He trailed off, shaking his head. Hank’s heart slowed a little, and he held in a chuckle. He didn’t think Erik would appreciate Hank laughing at him, especially not now.  

“You’re just embarrassed. Charles is embarrassed too. It’s natural!”  

Lehnsherr froze, and he exhaled a shuddering breath. “Charles... is embarrassed?”  

Hank nodded, and he placed his hands on either of Lehnsherr’s shoulders, turning him bodily toward the living room.  

“You’re being absurd. Charles is in there alone. Just speak to him.”  

Erik stood there for a long moment, sucking in a breath. Then he squared his shoulders and strode back to the living room, his scent no longer stinking so strongly of anxiety.  

Hank decided to excuse himself out the front door, sitting instead on the porch with Einstein curled up at his feet, watching the rain come again and collect in puddles on his freshly trimmed lawn. He spent a half hour examining Lehnsherr’s castle, taking in the ivy crawling up one side, the servants tidying up the garden, mind far-away, imagining what Alex Summers was doing at that moment.  

After that half hour passed, the rain had ceased. The sun reached pale, golden fingers through the canopies of the trees to warm his face as Hank stood, ready to return to witness the reunion he had left.  

There was a hush over the house as he stepped inside—the conversation from the living room not reaching the kitchen as he lingered there awkwardly. He made a real ruckus in the kitchen, hoping to alert them to his return, petrified of walking into something he could never unsee, but it seemed they hadn’t even heard him smashing pots together in the sink when he finally stepped through and into the living room.  

Lehnsherr was kneeling, one knee on the rug before Charles, who was still in the low armchair, though he was leaning toward Erik now, and Hank could see the quirk of a smile on his face. Lehnsherr had both of Charles’s hands in his own, much larger ones, and Hank startled to see the utter transformation of the man’s face. All the harshness had been softened, his eyes wide and open as they stared at Charles adoringly, radiating a kind of utter calm and surety that Hank marveled at. Had it only been half an hour, truly?  

All their embarrassment was gone, and Hank nearly blushed at the sheer warmth of their scents as they mixed in the air. Charles’s mascara had run a little down his cheeks from tears, but Lehnsherr took a handkerchief in his hand and dabbed at them gently, one side of his smile pulling upward when Charles giggled at the gesture.  

The pair of them jumped when Hank cleared his throat from where he stood, and Lehnsherr retreated a few inches from Charles, though the softness of his expression remained.  

“Hello, old sport. We were just catching up.”  

Charles nodded, looking swiftly between Hank, then to Erik, his voice breathy. “Five years is an awfully long time, you know.”  

Hank nodded in agreement; just grateful he hadn’t walked in on something truly improper.  

“The sun is out, if you’d like to see the garden,”  

Erik stood, tucking his handkerchief back into his jacket and backing up a bit to allow Charles to rise from the armchair gracefully, a smile on his pretty face.  

“I want to invite you to my house, if the both of you would humor me,”  

Charles’s smile grew, and he took a step forward eagerly.  

“I’d love to. Hank?” He turned back to raise a brow questioningly at Hank, and Hank twiddled his thumbs nervously. “Are you sure you want me there? I don’t want to... intrude.”  

Erik met his eyes evenly, his smile warm and affectionate, even for Hank.  

“Of course I do, old sport. Both of you there, getting the royal tour. What do you say?”  

“Well then, how can I say no?”  

At that, the pair of them laughed, and moved eagerly to the front door. Hank trailed behind, watching as Erik placed a hand on the small of Charles’s back, the way he inclined his head to close the distance between them, conscientious of how much shorter Charles was than the alpha, even with the omega in his kitten heels.  

The sun shone on the pair of them as they stepped out onto the lawn first, with Hank still observing. He had never seen the expression on a single other person that Erik wore as he looked down at Charles—as if the omega had hung the moon, the stars, and created the very air he was breathing.  

It was enough for Hank to think that perhaps, bringing them together again was the right thing to do—that he hadn’t doomed them all with the action.  

Chapter Text

“You live there?” Charles pointed a slender finger at the hulking structure, and Erik nodded down at him.   

“All mine. What do you think?”  

Charles worried his lip, the space between his brows scrunching as he considered it.   

“It’s beautiful but—” He turned to Erik, face turning solemn. “How do you live here? All alone?”  

Erik wrapped an arm around Charles and rubbed his hand up and down the omega’s arm softly, reassuringly. “Not to worry. I keep it always full of people. I’m surprised you’ve never been to one of my parties, even accidentally. All of New York seems to show up at my front door once the sun goes down.”  

They didn’t take the shortcut from the beach to the back of the house—that wouldn’t do, for Charles’s first time seeing it. Lehnsherr led him around to the front drive, to the wrought iron gates of proud, roaring lions, and the bursting bouquets of riotous jonquils and orange blossoms. Erik picked an orange blossom to tuck behind Charles’s ear, and Hank smiled at the way Charles beamed and giggled, murmuring his thanks to Erik softly as the alpha wrapped an arm around him again.   

The gates swung open without even a sound, and the three of them wandered through, Erik leaning down every now and then to whisper in Charles’s ear. Hank could only hear the high, crystalline laughter of the omega from whatever Erik said, and that was enough—he hadn’t seen his cousin so happy since they were children. And perhaps not even then.   

The marble steps leading up to the front door looked strange, almost eerie without the rustling of silk skirts and the tap of leather loafers, the crush of bodies all eager to take advantage of Lehnsherr’s free liquor.   

Even as they wandered through the airy rooms, the ceilings soaring high above them and portraits looming down to stare at them as they strolled by, Hank kept expecting them to stumble upon another of Lehnsherr’s wild parties, to hear the explosion of trumpets and drums of the jazz band and the smash of champagne flutes under careless, drunk, feet. Instead, the only sound was the tinkle of Charles’s laughter, the low, satisfied rumble of Erik’s voice, and the clatter of Charles’s kitten heels on the marble tile.   

Up the enormous, winding staircase presented them with bedrooms bedecked in floral wallpaper in maroons, and lavender hues, with rich velvet furniture—and most impressively, each bedroom had a bathroom attached. Some had sunken baths in the center of the bathroom, and the sight of them had Charles chuckling, declaring cheekily that he’d love a good soak.   

Lehnsherr’s bedroom was their final destination, and Hank marveled at the oak paneling along the west wall, the other three walls covered in emerald green wallpaper. The room was enormous, with caramel-colored sofas, and Charles reclined on one of the sofas immediately, slipping off his kitten heels with a sigh. He flexed his delicate toes as Erik poured himself a glass of bourbon. The alpha courteously passed a glass off to Hank, and Hank took it with a smile. The three of them sat like that for a moment, Erik staring in wonder at Charles unceasingly, at the way Charles left a stain of red lipstick on his martini glass, the way the omega leaned back on the sofa, exposing the long, pale column of his neck. After another minute, Erik showed them the ceiling-high shelves of silk shirts, suits, and slacks surrounding his king-size bed. Erik climbed up onto the rolling ladder and began to toss shirts down onto the bed where Charles had sprawled across, the omega giggling and shrieking as he was buried in silk, satin, and linens. But the giggling turned into deep, chest-heaving sobs, and Erik stopped immediately, the smile dropping from his face as he rushed to comfort Charles on the bed.   

Hank stepped forward to help how he could, but Erik waved him off, murmuring hurriedly to Charles, but Charles was nearly inconsolable, his face buried in the fabric, so all Hank could hear was his strained, tortured voice, repeating over and over; “It’s alright, it’s alright. I just—I've never seen such beautiful shirts.”   

And Erik could do nothing but rub his back up and down, shaking his head frantically, as if, by sheer force of will, he could break through the wall that separated himself and Charles caused by time and distance. As for Hank? All he could do was watch from the corner of the room, his stomach sinking with each wracking sob of Charles’s that echoed in the room.   

It took a while for Charles to stop crying, but he downed his martini and leaned into Erik’s side as the three of them stared out into the rain falling outside the bedroom windows—the very rain that was stopping their tour of the grounds.   

“You can almost see your house,” Erik pointed, and Charles squinted out the window. “There. Across the bay—at night, I can see the green light that shines at the end of your dock.”  

Charles sighed as he leaned against him, and Erik bent to press a kiss to Charles’s forehead, his eyes distant, focused on the dock hidden by the rain and mist. The green light had been his one connection to Charles—the reminder that one day, he would have the omega back in his arms; and thus the light has become something he gazed at with reverence, an enchanted object. But now, the green light served no purpose, and the only enchanted object left in his life was currently in his arms. His dream realized.   

Hank walked around the room, meandering into the small alcove of the bedroom with a desk fitted into it, windows encircling the space. There were framed photographs on the desk, and one of them was a middle-aged woman with a boy tucked into her side—the boy looking stern, and so similar to the one who had stepped up behind Hank.  

“Is this you? Who is the woman?”  

Erik’s voice was strange as he moved past Hank to the desk, sitting down with his eyes fixed on the photograph.   

“My mother, old sport. She died when I was quite young.”  

Charles brushed past Hank to lay a hand on Erik’s shoulder, letting out a soft, soothing purr. Erik turned to kiss Charles’s hand gratefully, then turned back to the desk. He dug around in the drawers for a moment, then pulled out a stack of newspaper clippings, letters, and photographs. Charles let out a quiet gasp at seeing them.   

“You kept--” Erik turned to look at him, and the two of them intertwined their fingers. Erik’s voice was reverent as he stared up at Charles.   

“Of course I kept your letters. They were all I had when--” He broke off so quickly it was like he’d swallowed his tongue.   

Charles said nothing, but the unsaid hung just as plainly in the air either way. When you married someone else, Erik had meant. Hank reached out to clap a hand on Erik’s shoulder, and that startled the alpha out of his reverie.   

Charles stretched forward to brush his fingers over the letters, fingers pausing on the news clipping about his marriage to Sebastian, about how it was the most extravagant wedding ever seen, and their plans to tour the whole of Europe after the wedding. The omega sighed, the sound burdened with melancholy.   

“All our letters from the war...” Charles plucked one off the desk and held it close, eyes running over the page. After clearing his throat, he began to read aloud softly.   

“My darling, I pray every night that you come home to me, that you survive this dreadful war. I’ve never been religious, but the thought of losing you has me waking up in a cold sweat at night, holding back a scream. Please, Erik, come home. Come home to me...”  

Erik and Charles swayed in a small circle, the exuberance of their dancing dying as the night wore on and the sun set. Hank was exhausted, sprawled across a pile of cushions the servants had assembled in the enormous great hall for them to lounge on after dancing. Hank stared at the couple through slow-blinking eyes, sleep beckoning him with a sweet siren song. Charles whispered something to Erik that Hank didn’t catch, but Hank couldn’t miss the way Erik stared down at Charles—still with that look. That look that he couldn’t believe Charles was real, and in truly in front of him, in his arms. Hank wasn’t sure what was needed to convince Erik that this was all, and not some rose-colored dream he’d wake from in an empty bed, still reaching for the green light across the bay.   

Hank sighed, rolling his neck out and throwing himself to his feet with a groan. It was time for him to get home, considering he had work in the morning. As he walked toward Erik and Charles, the pair separated, though Erik kept a hand on Charles’s waist, reluctant to break contact.   

“I think Charles and I need to leave. It’s getting late. Thank you for having us, Erik.”  

Erik nodded, and they clasped hands respectfully, Hank smiling at the alpha. He hadn’t been sure what to think about the man, considering the enigma he presented, but seeing the way he so clearly worshipped Charles, it was hard not to be endeared by the man. It was impossible not to be prejudiced in his favor, especially juxtaposed with the boorish Sebastian.   

It was Charles’ turn to sigh, and he nodded. “Yes, I must get back to Sebastian. And to David--”   

Erik stiffened let out a scoff, though he tightened his jaw immediately, as if he hadn’t meant to react that way—especially when it caused Charles to reel backward as if he’d been struck.   

“I’m sorry, is something wrong, Erik?”  

Swallowing, Erik retreated a step, and he looked at Charles seriously.   

“You married that man, after I shared with you things that--” A breath, and Charles let out a tiny gasp. The room felt palpable with tension to the point Hank was expecting an explosion. He shrunk into himself, wishing for all the world that the floor would open to swallow him whole. He didn’t want to witness the blowout that was coming.  

“I married that man because I was forced to! You think I had a choice? You know how the world works! You aren’t naive!”  

Charles surged forward, eyes blazing with unholy fury, looking like blue flames. He grabbed Erik’s lapel of his perfect suit in his small hands and tugged the alpha toward him, lips pulling back to show off his short omegan fangs.   

“You abandoned me! You went off to the war and you left me alone, and you dare to blame me for the way the world works—as an omega, you know I have no choice! And I have a son! A son, Erik! What do you think can happen between us?” 
Erik licked his lips, sweat glistening on his brow as he stared down at the omega, face so hard it looked carved from stone.  

“We go back to the way it was. Charles, you know I love you—we can leave Shaw behind and start over the way it was five years ago. You leave that man, that man that you don’t love, and you marry me! Don’t you want--” 

Charles shrieked at him, pummeling his chest with tears streaming down his cheeks.  

“You can’t repeat the past, Erik! It’s done! I can’t believe you’re still—you're still--” He took a huge, gasping breath, and staggered back a few steps. Erik followed swiftly, but Charles threw up his arms to ward off the alpha.  

“You haven’t changed, Erik. I don’t know why I expected you to.”  

Erik stared at Charles, the look of abject devastation on his face hard for Hank to see, and he averted his eyes after a few minutes.  

“No, I’m not the one who has changed, Charles.” His voice was horribly stiff, eyes vacant.  

Charles, instead of continuing the argument, hurried over to Hank and took his arm in his.  

“We’re leaving, Erik. I need some time... just some time. Thank you for,” he broke off, eyes appraising the room, the enormous, vaulted ceilings, the immaculate marble tiling—all of it done for Charles.  

“For the tour.”  

As Hank and Charles moved past Erik, Hank turned to look over his shoulder at the alpha, the way he hung his head in defeat. Hank was relieved when the massive double doors swung shut behind them, and Erik Lehnsherr’s misery was hidden from view.  

Chapter Text

Hank heard about it only after it happened—when Erik arrived in a flush at his doorstep, hair disheveled out of its careful coiffure. Hank opened the door, confusion plain on his face—it was midday, and he was only home on a fluke. The children he tutored were sick with fever, and he was still quite unsure what Lehnsherr did for business, but he hadn’t expected him to be free enough at noon to end up on Hank’s porch, blue eyes alight with panic.

He pushed past Hank before he could even get a word out, storming down the hallway, shaking his head adamantly all the while. Hank trailed after the irate alpha, hiding the urge to wrinkle his nose; Erik was pushing out his pheromones, all alphan aggression and anxiety that had Hank’s own instincts rearing up in response.

“What the hell is the matter?” Hank followed Erik into the living room, where the man was gripping the mantle over the fireplace and trembling all over.

After a long moment, it all came tumbling out.

Evidently, someone had arrived on Lehnsherr’s doorstep in much the same way Erik had just arrived on Hank’s, and that someone had been a young, overambitious and overly eager reporter from the city. And he had wanted to know about Lehnsherr, if he had anything to say. When prompted, the young beta didn’t have much more to offer up, simply wanting to know if Lehnsherr had any comments “about anything,”

And Erik had the reporter escorted off his property immediately, blood singing with the unspoken threat—someone was poking. Someone had started digging. And he couldn’t let them find anything. Nothing about Charles, nothing about his businesses.

It wasn’t enough to get the reporter off his property. Once his paranoia was stoked, Erik couldn’t be reassured. So he had come to Hank, desperate for someone he could confide in.

At the time, he didn’t share his secrets with Hank, but Hank learned nearly a month later the truth that had so rattled Erik.

His name, at least legally, was Max Eisenhardt, and he’d only changed it after his mother had died when he was sixteen. Erik Lehnsherr had wanted to leave the past behind him as much as possible, and that included the name that isolated him from the society he wanted to integrate into, to use to his advantage.

Erik shared the story of immigrating to America, seeing that shining beacon of hope across the bay as their ship listed and rocked back and forth on the buffeting waves towards Ellis Island. The Statue of Liberty loomed over an eight-year-old Max, and he looked up at her stoic face and swore to himself that he would one day reach that same height.

Years and years of miserable scraping by later, and Max finally realized his dream—but only through someone else. His mother, Edie, had gotten a job for a wealthy family upstate, polishing their silver and scrubbing the floors, knees aching as she wobbled to their room late each night and rising each morning to clean their silver, nose burning from the harsh chemicals.

Max watched her work and work to an early grave, and at sixteen he was an orphan, his mother buried in a pine box in a cemetery he never visited again, sworn to see himself above the family that had killed his mother. And the son of that family now lay in the same bed as his star-crossed love, wrapped around him like the tightest noose—Sebastian Shaw.

Erik Lehnsherr did rise; but he had to rise alone. And when he was finally at the top, it wasn’t enough to look around at his equals. He had to look down on the one particular that had blown apart his life at sixteen and take everything away from the man.

Erik Lehnsherr didn’t earn his money honestly, but Hank didn’t learn all about his exploits until much later, when Erik spilled it all after the catastrophe had at last befallen them.

Hank didn’t see Erik for several weeks after he had burst into Hank’s house and needed calming down, too busy chasing hopelessly after Alex Summers and working to get the approval of his family—the family that knew all too well how little Hank made and how stifled his job prospects were. He couldn’t blame them for their recalcitrance to entertain Hank’s courting, especially when Alex was so obviously an omega of an entirely different class. He was an omega who could have any alpha he wanted, and for some baffling reason, he seemed to want Hank.

After several weeks of this separation between them, Hank was invited over to an afternoon drink at Erik’s. He scratched Einstein’s ears affectionately in goodbye and sauntered over to Erik’s, ducking through the copse of trees and taking the stairs up to Lehnsherr’s front door two at a time.

Hank had only knocked once when the door opened suddenly, Erik’s awkward smile greeting him as the alpha stood before him, dressed in a blue day suit and hair carefully oiled and combed into place.

Erik stepped aside for Hank to enter, and Hank looked around at the sound of errant laughter. He turned back to Erik and raised a brow, and Erik shut the door behind him and extended a hand toward one of the many sitting rooms. The pair of them strode in, and Hank stopped short at the sight that awaited him.

Sebastian Shaw was sitting upright on one of the chairs, a glass of something like whiskey in one hand, accompanied by a woman and another man. All three of them were relaxing in the sitting room in various states of recline, each with a drink in hand. Their eyes darted to Hank and Erik upon their entrance, and something almost like a smile slithered across Sebastian’s face.

Hank ducked his head in greeting, and Erik laid a hand on Hank’s shoulder and steered him toward the couch, and Hank took a seat awkwardly, the man he didn’t know on the opposite end. Erik busied himself with preparing a drink for Hank, and Hank crossed his ankles nervously and glanced over at Sebastian.

“It’s been more than a month since we saw each other, hasn’t it, Hank? But I hear you’ve seen my wife since we last had dinner.”

Hank swallowed, and he was certain that the sound echoed all the way up to Erik Lehnsherr’s vaulted ceilings.

“Yes-- well. We had tea together, two weeks ago now. It was raining miserably that whole day.”

Sebastian tilted his head as he considered Hank, taking another long, slow sip of his whiskey.

“Whatever you did, it certainly seemed to enliven his spirits. He’s as cheerful as a canary these days. Hardly ever hear his baying about this or that anymore. I should give you a gift as thanks for shutting him up.”

Erik’s jaw flexed as he came close to Hank, knuckles white as they passed Hank a tumbler of whiskey.

“He was a delight, as always. I’ve missed Charles. Perhaps...” And Hank was perhaps a little vindictive here, a little naughty. He cut his eyes to Erik and inclined his head a half inch, a miniscule movement he was sure only Lehnsherr would catch.

“Perhaps I’ll see him again soon. Maybe even have tea with him again.”

Erik’s lips quivered, and the incandescent rage only Hank could discern in his eyes dimmed a little.

The conversation continued very drily after that, and Hank felt that he’d have a more productive afternoon watching paint dry on a wall. Erik, however, seemed engaged in constant conversation with Sebastian Shaw, and Hank’s neck prickled with unease at the way he seemed to home in on certain details that Sebastian divulged, all things that Hank was sure Sebastian considered inconsequential. At one point, Shaw had mentioned David, his young son, and Erik had leaned forward, stiffening in his seat and smile frozen on his face. Hank waited for the other shoe to drop, but Erik had nothing to contribute.

After Sebastian and his two companions had left, Hank turned to Erik on the threshold of the front door, his neck slick with sweat and one eyebrow raised at the alpha.

“Erik. Have you been seeing Charles since we last saw each other?”

Erik worked his jaw and clapped a hand on Hank’s shoulder to steer him out to the enormous outdoor patio overlooking the crystal blue waters of the pool.

“I cannot stay apart from him. Five years was already too long. I thought for a while that he was forever out of my reach—especially when he married Shaw. And now that we are reunited…” He turned to Hank, and his eyes were alight with a fire Hank had never seen before. It was a man who would never surrender now that he finally had achieved his ultimate goal. Charles was in his grasp at last. He would never let go.

“You cannot ask me to give him up now. He is the only thing in my life, the only thing I--" he trailed off, chewed his lip, and looked up at the sky. The words seemed nearly impossible for him to get out. Hank reached out and gripped the man's shoulder, and Erik stared down at Hank's hand, a flicker of surprise darting across his face.

“I appreciate what you've done for me, Hank. Words cannot express my gratitude. You brought Charles back into my life. There's nothing I could give you that would pay you back. But anything I can do for you, I will do.”

Hank nodded, though his stomach still churned. He could almost hear the crashing of the storm headed their way—the thunder ringing in his ears, the lightning threatening to bring their lives all crashing down. Though perhaps, if anyone could survive such a storm, it would be Erik Lehnsherr.

“Erik… what is your plan? What future is there for you and Charles? I don't mean—” He held up a hand when Erik opened his mouth to speak immediately, and Hank shook his head slightly.

“I don't mean to accuse you of not thinking, of anything like that. I'm asking honestly. You must consider that Charles… is mated to Sebastian. And that the two of them have a young son together. What would happen to him? Charles would never leave that boy to be raised solely by Sebastian… You must know that.”

There was a long, terrible silence. Erik wet his lips, then spoke, his voice quiet. He seemed subdued, somewhere impossibly far-away.

“I have been planning this since I lost him. We'll go back to Westchester. And we'll marry in Charles's house, once Sebastian is out of the picture. It will all be like it was five years ago. If we can just get back to that place…”

Hank stared at him, and dropped his hand suddenly. He didn't bother to stop himself from taking a bracing gulp of his whiskey. The smooth burning of the liquor down his throat helped to soften his nerves a little.

“Erik… you can't repeat the past.”

It was Erik's turn to stare at Hank for a long moment. His eyes were so bright the blue in them was startling.

“Can't repeat the past? Of course you can.”

Hank swallowed thickly, taking a hesitant step backward. He had no words. Erik's eyes were still burning with that internal fire.

“And I intend to do just that.”

He had nothing to say to the man, simply staring at him for a long moment. Then he averted his eyes, and the two of them looked out across the sparkling water of the bay, the purple and scarlet fingers of sunset stretching toward them as the sun sank behind the city skyline. Erik and Hank watched that green light at the end of the Shaw’s dock blink at them, no words exchanged. Only a soft, yearning sigh that slipped out of Erik's lips. Hank didn't acknowledge it. He was still reeling.

Where could they go from here?

Chapter Text

All of New York wanted to know where Erik Lehnsherr got his millions from, and it was the same question Sebastian Shaw was eager to put an answer to, no matter what the investigation cost.  

Sebastian had finally started paying enough attention to Charles to note the way he returned home late after outings with his ‘friends', and the strange, overly clean smell that clung to his skin—as if the omega had taken great care to scrub any identifying scents from himself before crossing the threshold back into the Shaw house.   

As a result, Shaw attended the next roaring party Erik threw with Charles hanging off his arm, dressed to the nines in a slick black tuxedo, his white bowtie tight around his neck, though that didn't mask his overbearing alphan musk that perfumed the air—it was intense enough that Hank fought not to wrinkle his nose when he joined them on the front steps, Charles bestowing a kiss on his cheek.   

Erik was there to greet them at the front door, the only guests Erik personally greeted, as already-drunk co-eds streamed past them, commingling with actresses and heiresses, senators and gangsters in equal measure. Erik didn't notice any of them. He had eyes only for Charles. Eyes that Sebastian stared at for a long moment, before looking away with a tight jaw. Erik kissed the hand that Charles held out daintily for him, before the alpha turned and swept out a hand toward the party in welcome.   

“It's a pleasure to have you with me here tonight. There are a few special guests I'd like to introduce you to.”  

Erik led them through the throngs of people, Hank bringing up the rear. Hank looked for Alex in every blond, slender figure that slipped past him, but the omega was nowhere to be seen. Once they'd emerged from the crowds of people and looked out onto the patio outside from the balcony above, Hank stepped close to Erik and surveyed the people milling around the dancefloor and the pool below them.   

“Is Miss Summers here? I don't see him.”  

Erik shook his head, and instead glanced to the side at Charles. Hank got the impression that the alpha was seeing the party through Charles's eyes, searching every corner of it for some deficiency that he could immediately rectify.  

Erik smiled softly at him, and inclined his head toward Charles and Sebastian.  

“You must recognize many famous people. I can introduce you to any of them, of course.”  

 Sebastian stared down his nose haughtily at the crowds and sniffed loudly, clearly finding Lehnsherr's guest list wanting.   

“I don't think I recognize a single person.”  

Erik reached out with a well-muscled arm and pointed toward a tall, willowy omega in the crowd below them, bedecked in a slinky black dress that fell to her ankles and dark hair gelled into perfect curls.   

Charles inhaled in a tiny gasp at the sight of her, and reached forward to grab the railing of the balcony with both hands, slipping out of Sebastian's grip with the motion.   

“Perhaps you know her? And the short man beside her. With the glasses. That is her director.”  

Charles turned to Erik and beamed, cheeks flushing with pink happiness.   

“I adore her movies. Would you… introduce me to her?”   

Erik nodded and Charles held out his arm for Erik to loop his own through, and before Sebastian could even open his mouth to argue, the two were off down the stairs, with Hank following closely behind. Sebastian dogged Hank's steps as they pushed through the crowds, before at last reaching the object of Charles's desire.   

After meeting the famous starlet, they made the rounds, meeting a senator or two, and Sebastian always introduced as ‘the oil tycoon’ dismissively from Erik. At each instance of it, Shaw’s jaw flexed, though he managed to keep the stiff smile on his face.   

Once they had met everyone worth meeting, they settled at a slightly removed table on the upper part of the patio so they could overlook the dance floor and pool.   

The low crooning of the jazz band started up in a foxtrot, and Lehnsherr stood from his seat with and stretched his long arms out in front of him to fix his diamond wrist cuffs, and gestured to Sebastian.   

“Would you mind terribly, old sport?”  

Charles turned at the question, the beads of his deep blue dress tinkling at the motion, and he waited with bated breath, hope in his eyes as he waited for Sebastian to answer.   

“No, no—go ahead. Charles needs to get his energy out somehow.”  

Charles rose gracefully and bent to kiss Sebastian on the cheek to maintain propriety, while he beamed at Erik with Sebastian scanning their surroundings, missing the way Erik took Charles’s arm gently, reverently in his own. The pair parted through the crowd and descended the steps to the dance floor, guests parting for them like water before they took their place in the middle of the dance floor, couples surrounding them. Hank and Sebastian watched the two from above, and Hank shifted in his seat awkwardly at the way Sebastian started to examine one of the many omega heiresses they had met, his scent turning warmer and headier at the way the girl giggled across the room upon noticing his attention.   

Hank averted his eyes from the sickening exchange, and instead watched Erik and Charles dance the foxtrot, Erik only a head taller than Charles in his kitten heels. It ached to see how perfectly Charles fit in Erik’s arms, at the light in his eyes that Hank only saw when his cousin was with the magnetic alpha.   

It was clearer than ever that, if Charles had ever loved anyone, it had not been Sebastian Shaw, but Erik Lehnsherr.   

It ached even more to know that they could never be together—at least, not in public.   

Erik bent to whisper something in Charles’s ear, and the omega laughed, throwing his head back and exposing the pale column of his throat. Erik honed in on it with his eyes, though they darkened solemnly when his gaze landed on the scarred bite mark Sebastian had left on Charles’s otherwise unblemished neck.   

Hank stiffened at the way Erik reached out a single finger to trace the half-moon crescent scar of Sebastian’s teeth, and turned minutely to make sure Sebastian was still occupied. He was—in fact, he had turned bodily in his chair away from the dance floor entirely, and straightened his lapel sanctimoniously, standing and sparing only a dismissive glance towards Hank.   

“I’ll see you, McCoy. Don’t bother Charles. I won’t be long.”  

The alpha stood and made his way through the crowd after the same giggling omega, and Hank swallowed down a mixture of relief and sour loathing for the vulgar, unashamed display.   

Some men weren’t fit to be mated, that much was certain. Sebastian Shaw undoubtedly qualified among them.   

The song ended and the crowd erupted into rowdy applause, Charles and Erik still nearly nose-to-nose, bodies pressed close. Hank stood from his seat and watched as the pair whispered to each other some more, and Erik darted a glance up at Hank. He winked at the alpha, and Hank nodded, one side of his mouth quirking up in a half-smile.   

The pair disappeared through the crowd, down the dance floor and past the pool. Hank lost sight of them after they dipped through the gate surrounding Lehnsherr’s lawn, with Erik shooting Hank one last glance.   

He looked at the place they had vanished from view for several minutes, left feeling unmoored. Without Alex here, and seemingly without Shaw needing a distraction from Charles and Erik’s goings-on, the only thing left for him was to get roaring drunk, and wait for the pair to return, or for Charles’s insufferable husband to finish ‘entertaining’ himself with the young, unattended omegas at the party.   

Hank was halfway through his third drink when Sebastian turned up in front of him, frowning deeply and eyebrows drawn down over his eyes in irritation.   

“Where the devil is my wife? Haven’t you seen him?”  

Hank took a step forward, blinking slowly as the whiskey settled warm and heavy in his stomach and throat, covering him in a delightful blanket—the kind you only got from drinking enough. He was grateful for it with the reappearance of Sebastian in front of him, though.   

“No, no—haven't seen ‘em. I’ll go look for him. He’s probably enjoying Lehnsherr’s library.”  

Sebastian let out a low growl, but he flopped down onto the table and snapped at a passing waiter, barking an order for a drink.   

“Find him then. I’m done here. If he’s not here in the next ten minutes, he can find his own way home.”   

Hank bobbed his head up and down in a nod, and shuffled off, dodging through the crowd in the opposite direction of the library—though Sebastian didn’t even notice, buried as he was in his drink.   

He stumbled through the guests and out through the gate, into the copse of trees that surrounded Lehnsherr’s lawn. The lights from the party drifted to illuminate the space between the trees dimly, and Hank spotted the pair, Charles leaning against a tree and Erik pacing next to him, hands running through his hair.   

Charles turned as Hank came close, eyes fanatical in the low light, the air charged with their clashing pheromones.   

Hank tripped over a root along the ground and cleared the remaining few feet between them in a few quick steps to regain his footing, eyes darting between Charles and Erik.  

Charles clasped his hands behind his back, kicking out his foot and scuffing the dried mud on the ground with his kitten heel.   

“Hello, Hank. I'm afraid you've caught us in the middle of a row.”  

His cheeks were flushed, and he heaved a breath as he sighed at Erik, then looked away with downcast eyes.   

Hank swallowed awkwardly, and scrubbed the back of his neck with his hand.   

“Sebastian's looking for you, Charles. He's rather drunk.”  

Charles sighed and pressed a hand to his forehead, then looked back at Erik with a rueful smile.  

“We'll have to continue this conversation another time, Erik. My husband requires me, it seems.”  

Erik scowled but nodded, and moved close to Charles, eyes softening a little as he examined the omega.   

Charles moved towards him like a magnet, and Erik sighed as he cupped Charles's cheek.   

“We can finish discussing this another time. Let's return before more notice and miss us.”  

The omega trailed behind Hank as he led them back to the low fence surrounding Lehnsherr's, the low crooning of the jazz band wrapping them up once more in the golden, sensual atmosphere of Lehnsherr's carnival-like castle.   

Hank pasted an easy smile on as they neared the table they'd claimed as their own, Sebastian looking over at their approach. His eyes flicked from Charles, to Erik following behind his wife, cold, nearly serpentine gaze turning impossibly more frigid.   

Charles let out a huff as he flounced down onto the chair beside Sebastian, crossing his ankles and clasping his hands together on top of the table, then rested his chin delicately on top of his clasped hands, brown curls falling to prettily frame his face.   

Sebastian, who'd started smoking a cigar, exhaled a wreathe of smoke toward the sky with a long, drawn-out sigh.   

“Getting a tour of this circus, Charles?”  

Charles rolled his head over to look at Sebastian, sharp frown on his face.   

“Yes. It's a beautiful house, Sebastian. Perhaps you'd benefit from decorating tips from Mr. Lehnsherr.”  

Erik had taken his seat once more, and held up a hand to stifle the tension brewing between the couple.   

“It's a bit of a circus when I have guests over, it's true. But I enjoy…” His eyes flashed to Charles swiftly, then darted away back to Sebastian. A smirk curled across his face.   

“Extending my hospitality. To anyone that needs a getaway from their lives.”  

Sebastian grunted in reply, and tapped the ashes of his cigar off into the ash tray on the table, taking a long dram of his whiskey.   

Before Hank could open his mouth and ask if it was about time to leave, Lehnsherr's butler appeared at his elbow, and bent to whisper in the alpha's ear for a long moment. Erik stiffened a little at whatever the man said, and stood immediately. Charles watched his movements, lips parting slightly as if to ask him plaintively not to leave—but Erik put on a strained smile as he re-buttoned his tuxedo jacket, looking at each of the table occupants in turn.   

“I'm afraid there's an urgent business call I need to attend to. I'll return as soon as possible.”  

Charles watched him leave as he chewed his lip, and Erik's seat was soon occupied by a giggling omega that Hank had met at one of the earlier parties. She tried desperately to engage Sebastian and Charles in conversation, though both of them seemed preoccupied with other matters, and Sebastian rudely waved his hand to dismiss her needling attempts.  

Hank was left to entertain her, since he was too polite to ignore her outright. Charles chimed in occasionally, though there was no light in his eyes, and he was at least four drinks into the night. Omegas weren't known for their tolerance, and it was clearly hitting Charles, as he swayed in his seat and laid a hand on Hank's shoulder, blinking at him balefully.   

“Darling, are we headed home soon? I feel like I could just fly off this balcony.”   

Hank nodded and hailed a passing waiter for a water glass.   

“Did you want to wait for Erik, to say goodbye?”  

Charles stared into the water glass dully, as if contemplating how he could drown himself in it.   

“No, no, I think I want to—go home. See David.”  

Charles took only the smallest sip of the water, and Sebastian rose, arm outstretched for his wife. “I’m tired of this, Charles. Let’s get going.”  

Charles followed suit, spending a moment dallying as he brushed invisible dust off his dress.   

He turned doleful eyes to Hank, and smiled a little pitifully.   

“Come see me soon, Hank.”  

Erik found Hank sitting on the edge of the pool after all the guests trickled out of the party—the moon hung high in the sky, a luminescent specter to Erik sitting down beside Hank, his jaw tight and eyes focused on the dark silhouettes of houses across the bay.  

“Charles didn’t... he didn’t like the party.”  

Hank swallowed, looking out of the corner of his eye at the alpha, his handsome face tilted backward, illuminated with the ghostly light of the moon high above.  

“No, of course he liked it. He was grateful to be invited.”  

Erik shook his head, swinging one foot back and forth, his priceless loafer dancing over the quietly lapping water of the pool.  

“He didn’t like it. It wasn’t his scene. And I knew that...”  

Hank didn’t quite know what to say, but Erik barreled on. “We’re so far from each other now. I don’t know how... I don’t know how to reconcile the distance.”  

“Well, you haven’t seen each other for years—it's natural, for it to feel a bit strange.”  

Erik didn’t speak for several long minutes, and the silence of the night was broken by the dulcet chirping of crickets and the impatient rustling of trees.  

“If only Shaw were out of the picture, everything could go back to the way it was. But Charles refuses to listen to me about it—he's scared, and I understand, but he just doesn’t... he doesn’t understand. And no matter how I push him, he just... shuts down.”  

Hank turned fully to look at Erik, worrying his lip in nervousness.  

“You might be expecting too much, Erik. Don’t forget... they have a son together. What would happen to him, if Charles tried to leave Sebastian?”  

Erik grit his teeth, and he stood abruptly. The unholy brightness in his blue eyes had Hank holding in a shiver as the alpha loomed over him, his face shadowed as he stood with his back to the moonlight falling around them.  

“He knows I would take care of him, and his son. I’ve already told him all he needs to do is tell Shaw that he never loved him, to revoke their bond, and come join me here. But he won’t do it. He doesn’t understand how happy we could be.”  

Hank stood himself, more slowly, and he felt a little less nervous as he and Erik stood face to face, and he was an inch or two taller than the broad-shouldered alpha.  

“I’ll fix everything, Hank. You’ll see. And he will too.”  

His eyes darted from Hank’s face and back toward the dark, sloshing water of the bay, hunting eyes searching back and forth, as if the past might be waiting out there, if he could only stretch out his arms far enough to grab it.  

Erik spoke often about the past, and Hank had the impression that Erik had never left the shadows of the trees he had once hid in with Charles securely in his arms, the omega’s plush lips parting under his hungry ones, the lingering touch a ghost that had haunted Erik Lehnsherr ever since. Hank felt that Erik had never been whole since being forced from Charles’s life, and the shock of realizing the omega had fallen forever out of his reach when marrying another had dealt the finishing blow—the man standing before him was a shadow prowling the outskirts of life, prying at the edges of the picture frame they stood comfortably inside, trying and failing to stretch out a place for himself among them. Hank wasn’t sure if there was a place for Erik Lehnsherr in their lives, and he was terrified about what the man might do to try to force himself to fit.  

Chapter Text

Hank had no contact with Erik for at least a week when the lights in his house stopped coming on at night-- and the cars that rumbled up his drive to participate in his wild parties trundled away with carriages full of disappointed, thwarted party-goers. Except the parties had… stopped. 

Hank crossed the yard with an uneasy feeling in his stomach that only intensified when he knocked on the door and an unfamiliar butler answered, his ratlike face twisted in an unfriendly scowl. 

“Whaddya want?”

Hank frowned, clearing his throat awkwardly. 

“I came to see… Mr. Lehnsherr. Is he sick? I haven't seen any sign of him lately. Could you tell him that Mr. McCoy called on him?”

The door was slammed in his face a second later, and Hank recoiled at the rush of air, taking a retreating step backwards. 

“...Alright.”

With that, he headed back across Lehnsherr's immaculate lawn, to a wiggling Einstein waiting at his gate, eager to welcome him back with adoring licks to his hands. 

Erik called a few days later, and Hank picked up uncertainly, the silence hanging between them pointedly. 

“Are you… getting out of town? I wasn't sure you were still in New York.”

The silence drew out for another moment before Erik answered. 

“Not getting out of town, no. But you know this city-- the rumors that spread like wildfire. It's best not to invite trouble. Charles has been coming over some nights. And I can't subject him to-- to…”

Hank swallowed. So Lehnsherr's carnival funhouse era had come to an end. After all, there was no further need to lure Charles in. Erik already had him in his grasp. At least, for now. 

The uncertainty in Erik's voice hadn't cleared when he made the purpose of his call plain: would Hank come to Charles's for lunch tomorrow? Hank didn't know how he could refuse, though his skin prickled with unease even as he acquiesced. 

He could tell what the future held when Charles called him an hour later, his voice soft with relief at learning Hank would accompany them. Hank hoped against hope that Lehnsherr wouldn't actually expose the affair at Shaw's own house, but he knew it was a vain hope. Lehnsherr was not a patient man, at least not now that he had Charles, and the opportunity to humiliate Shaw in the same move. 

The next day dawned with Hank already soaked in sweat when he awoke, and desperately wondering if he could somehow get out of his commitment to meet the Shaws and Lehnsherr for lunch. 

Yet Hank dressed in his suit all the same and idled on the front porch, picking at the lilies that dotted his walk as he waited for Erik to arrive in his car.  

When Erik arrived, the man didn't even meet Hank's eyes as he pulled sharply up the driveway, honking the horn rudely when Hank took longer than thirty seconds to hurry around to the passenger side and slip into the car.

“Impatient, are we?”

Erik peeled away at breakneck speed, grunting at Hank's question but saying nothing. Tension was radiating from every line of his stiff form, and Hank almost wanted to reach over and give him a reassuring pat on the shoulder, though he wasn't sure it'd be received well. Erik was a million miles away even as they rocketed down the road, his preoccupation leaving Hank sweating with anxiety and praying that they didn't encounter anyone on the road for fear Erik might run them down. 

Though with the fire in Erik’s eyes, Hank wasn’t sure the man would even stop if he hit someone. That look sent a shiver up Hank’s spine, clutching at the door frame and hoping the day would end already. 

Servants were eager to help them evacuate the car and surrender it to the valet, who promised to pull it up next to Shaw’s coupé, and Erik and Hank idled on the front stoop awkwardly, sweat beading across Hank’s neck as he fanned himself and shot a glance toward Erik. 

“Are you going to… is it today?” He wasn’t sure how to ask, but Erik understood immediately, and his jaw tightened in response. 

“Yes. I talked to Charles. He… he’s nervous, of course. The law is against us. But with enough money, the law doesn’t matter.” A slight, nasty sneer flashed across Erik’s face, and Hank took a step away from the alpha, blood turning cold at the look. 

“Money won’t save him if Shaw decides to retaliate.”

The sudden wash of aggressive alphan pheromones nearly bowled Hank over, and Erik’s eyes flashed red for a moment. “No one will touch him. What kind of alpha would I be if I couldn’t protect him?”

Hank held up a placating hand, and nodded. “Alright, alright. I know you want to take care of him. I… I know my cousin is in good hands with you.”

That eased Erik’s tenseness somewhat, but that ease evaporated when the door finally opened and treated them to the sight of the butler sweating in the doorway, dabbing at his shining forehead with a kerchief. 

“The Madame is expecting you, sirs. Please come in…”

Stepping into the Shaw manor granted a brief reprieve from the heat of the day, and as they loped through the wide foyer to the salon, Erik running a frustrated hand through his hair as they did, and pausing at the doorway to the salon for a moment. 

Hank slowed when Erik did, even as the butler peeled away with a perfunctory nod and melted into the shadows of another hallway. 

“Hank. I’m not sure… well. I don’t know, after all-- perhaps it’s not the right time--” A voice echoed down the hallway toward them, and Erik cut himself off abruptly, turning with wide eyes to watch Sebastian striding toward them swiftly. The man’s face was thunderous as he shouldered between Hank and Erik roughly, and Hank stumbled back with a curse ripe on his tongue, but kept it swallowed down as the alpha disappeared into the salon, and Hank turned his gaze back to Lehnsherr. 

The sight of Shaw seemed to strengthen Erik’s resolve, and he squared his shoulders and marched forward, leaving Hank to trail behind, cursing himself and the world and Lehnsherr for arranging this catastrophe in the making. 

The salon was blessedly dark and cool, the curtains drawn tight over the enormous windows to keep out the heat, and Hank sighed in relief at the drop in temperature as he crossed the threshold, eyes falling on Charles and Alex where they were frozen on the divan, their chiffon skirts moving eerily with the breeze of the unrelenting fans. 

“It’s simply too hot to move, or I’d give you a kiss, darling. As it is…” Charles’s voice trailed off, and Hank rounded the divan, eyes flitting back to Alex. Alex had one golden leg exposed tantalizingly when his dress flared from the breeze, and Hank wet his lips, suddenly aware of how sweat was cooling as it ran down his back, even as his stomach heated. 

Alex held a hand out and Hank moved closer, feeling hypnotized by those depthless blue eyes in the golden face, and Hank took the hand and kissed it. The skin was soft until he met the calluses between the omega’s fingers, and he marveled at the dichotomy, the contradiction leaving him all the more attracted to the boy before him. 

“You’ve been avoiding me.” Alex’s voice was delicate, though Hank didn’t miss the steel underneath, and he shook his head hurriedly at the way anger flashed in those blue eyes. 

“No, no-- of course not. Simply busy. And your family… well. I have no money. I don’t think they were pleased, when you brought me to meet them.”

Alex shifted on the divan and moved till he was sitting more upright, the anger fading from his eyes until they were a cloudless sky once more. 

“Oh… oh, I’m sorry. Hank, truly, they’re a spoiled bunch. They’re clueless about things that really matter. I don’t want you to feel--”

Before Alex could continue, the butler materialized at the open doorway to the salon once more, and coughed to announce his arrival. The room went quiet at his appearance, Charles's jaw flexing and tightening so fiercely Hank was sure he could hear the omega's teeth crack. 

“Someone on the telephone for you, Master Shaw,” The butler's light voice belied the tension in the room, and Shaw moved from where had been leaning against the wall carelessly, fiddling with the diamond cuffs of his sleeves. 

“Very well. If you all will excuse me,”

The alpha's hasty exit diffused a little of the stiffness in the room, and Lehnsherr moved toward the divan like a magnet, his hand meeting Charles's outstretched one with unabashed eagerness. Their fingers slipped against each other, clung for a moment, before Lehnsherr released him reluctantly, moving across the room to claim the well-worn leather armchair with a huff. 

“It's his other omega on the phone,” Charles's voice split the silence like a gunshot, and Erik's eyes bored into the omega's face; one fist clenched over the armrest while the other hand gripped his thigh. 

“I don't know why you stay. I don't understand--”

Charles held up a hand, his blue eyes turning electric with anger. 

“Don't you? What about my son?”

“Did I not tell you he could be mine, if you would let me? You really want to raise him with that bastard?”

Hank held his breath for the blow that didn't come, as Alex stood, clearing his throat pointedly, passing the abrupt movement off as he stretched like a cat. Charles swallowed and turned away to stare at the far wall, quarrel paused as Shaw strode powerfully into the room, not bothering to catch the door to the salon as it slammed shut behind him. The room shuddered with the door closing, a queer chill running up Hank's back despite the heat of the day. He knew what was brewing, the storm that was just cresting over the hill of this little get-together. 

Shaw stared down Lehnsherr cooly as he pulled a cigar from the inside pocket of his tan suit jacket, fingering the length and sneering.

“How nice to see you here, Mr. Lehnsherr. I wasn't sure we could steal you away from your… wonderful funhouse.” 

Lehnsherr smiled through clenched teeth. “I wouldn't miss it. The pleasure of your company is a rare treat.” 

Hank swallowed as the tension grew palpable, wishing he had any way to diffuse it even slightly, though nothing came to him. He could only reach across the divan to twine his fingers with Alex's, squeezing the omega's hand nervously as the doors to the salon opened once more and a tiny body shot through on short legs, the toddler's feet pounding across the wooden floor, then the sound muffled by the rug, a harried-looking nanny hustling after the boy. 

He flew toward Charles and flung himself onto his mother's skirts, Charles catching the boy with a grunt, bringing him up to sit in his lap with a beaming smile; all frustration and anger forgotten. 

Charles bounced the boy on one leg as he brushed a hand through the dark curls identical to his own, nuzzling his nose into the boy's neck and laughing when it spawned a giggle and clapping hands from the toddler. Erik stared at the child with a stony expression, his eyes wide despite his frowning mouth, and Hank had the sudden impression that Erik was surprised by the creature's existence; that the boy had only ever been an errant, slightly unpleasant thought to him-- the physical proof that Charles had been with another alpha. 

Yet here he was, with a high, lilting giggle, dark curls that framed his soft, round face just like Charles’s did, and eyes so blue they put the ocean to shame. Erik’s eyes flickered from the boy as Charles bounced him on one knee, to Charles’s fond face, the alpha’s entire body tense, even as his eyes softened imperceptibly. 

Was he imagining that, in another life, one where he hadn’t let Charles slip through his fingers, the boy giggling and clapping his hands as his mama tickled him was his own son with the omega? 

“Hello precious. Did you escape from your lessons?”

The boy nodded abashedly and buried his face in Charles's dress, and Charles stroked through his curls, rolling his eyes fondly. The boy piped up indignantly, the sound slightly muffled by the fabric of Charles’s dress. 

“I got tired of reading, Mama. Mrs. Penny always makes me read!”

Charles affected a shocked face and gasped loudly, shaking his head as the boy peeled backward to look at his mother. “How awful. However do you survive such torture, my love?”

The boy shrugged, turning red. He finally seemed to realize there were other people in the room, and he turned to survey each of them for a long moment. His smile wavered at the sight of his father, though Shaw plastered on a smile for his son. 

“Hello, David. You’re interrupting your mother and I when we have guests.”

Shaw’s eyes moved to the nanny, colder than chips of ice in his face. 

“If you cannot keep him well in hand, we will discuss the matter of your employment.”

 Charles waved a hand to stop Shaw in his tracks, scooping David up and situating him on his hip. The omega sauntered over to where Lehnsherr sat stiffly in his seat, bouncing the pup a little as Erik looked up at the pair of them. Hank watched, fascinated, as Charles's voice took on a saccharine, wheedling tone that he was certain Shaw didn't pick up on.

“How do you like Mama's friends, puppy?” Charles tickled David's foot to trigger another round of giggles, and Erik smiled slowly, disarmed by the boy.

“This is Mr. Lehnsherr. Can you say hello?”

David, the charming pup he was, tilted his head at the stranger, looking at him for a moment before seemingly deciding he wasn't a danger, and smiling shyly. 

“Hello,” the pup intoned, before he leaned back into his mother's arms, wrapping both of his own around Charles's neck. He didn't hide from Erik's fascinated gaze, but he did duck his head, turning red at all the attention. 

Erik muttered a greeting, and Charles turned to hand the boy back to his governess. The omega kissed the boy's nose, scratching him under the chin as he cooed. 

“Alright, my darling. Go finish your lessons and Mama will have dinner with you tonight.”

Shaw stood as David scampered out, tugging his governess along behind him. The alpha moved to the bar, pouring three glasses of scotch, the ice in the glasses clinking merrily. 

Hank reveled in the coolness as Shaw handed one to him, the alpha passed the other off to Erik, taking his seat in the leather chair on the far side of the room. Shaw crossed one leg over the other, jaw set, and took a long, slow sip of his scotch. 

“I don't suppose we pulled you away from something terribly important, did we, Mr. Lehnsherr?”

Erik took a drink of his scotch as Hank watched the two men, his eyes flicking between the two; Alex and Charles had similarly gone still, reacting to the soaring tension in the room as the alphas sized each other up.

Erik shook his head, swallowing and trying on a wan smile. 

“Not at all.”

Shaw rolled his neck backward, the lazy movements grating and contemptuous. 

“You know, I've been thinking, Mr. Lehnsherr,” Hank moved around the sofa, taking Alex's hand in his own, grateful for the way the omega squeezed his hand, leaning forward and rubbing his other hand up and down Hank's back to ease some of the anxious stiffness that had seized him. 

Alex's touch soothed him only a little, especially when Shaw continued, and Erik's expression turned stonier and stonier by the second. 

“It's odd that a man like you is unmated. I found myself thinking, ‘What an odd thing. Perhaps he's one of those alphas they talk about. That don't prefer the… omegan figure.”

Shaw flashed his teeth menacingly, leaning forward as his eyebrows lifted in faux-sympathy. 

“But you're safe with us if that is the case.”

Erik clenched one fist on his thigh, though he quirked one side of his mouth up into a sneer. 

“Nothing of the sort. I'm actually courting an omega. But it's something… discreet.” His eyes flickered swiftly around the room, lingered on Charles for a moment, then hovered over Shaw once more. He waved an airy hand. “You know how the press is.” Though he passed the words off as unaffected, inconsequential, the temperature in the room dropped significantly, and Hank shifted, preparing himself to jump forward and separate the two alphas. But Shaw only smiled wider, and Hank felt a chill run up his spine at the vindicated look in the man's eyes. He had a sneaking suspicion what it all meant, but it was easier to sink into the background, to let Alex's lingering touch ground him. 

Charles looked between the two alphas, then reached out a hand to flutter his fingers between them as a distraction, putting on his simpering smile and dead eyes. 

“Let's leave all this. The afternoon tea and sandwiches should be ready for us, shall we go out to the patio?”

He stood and stretched languidly, his golden skin a contrast to the shine of the silk as it moved over his hips. Erik's eyes lingered on Charles's figure as he sauntered across the room toward the french doors. The alpha didn't move as Charles brushed past, the omega's hand reaching out to tickle across the fabric of his shoulders. Shaw watched the movement as he stood from his armchair, fixing his cuffs primly with a sour look on his square face. Alex rose from the divan with a sigh, looking over toward Hank with a commiserating look, and extending one long-fingered, beautiful hand. 

“Come along, darling. We're already in it now. Might as well see this catastrophe to its end.”

Hank blushed as he took Alex's hand in his own, leading him to the thrown open door. As he passed Erik, the alpha caught his eyes in a sideways glance, and Hank nearly stopped in his tracks. The look on the alpha's face chilled his blood, and his own hackles rose almost immediately, the alphan instincts he usually kept so in check reacting to the overt fury in the man's steel eyes. 

Nevertheless, Alex dragged him forward, and he had no chance to speak to Erik, to talk him off the ledge before they were stepping out into the sweltering heat of the patio. 

Charles had already claimed the seat beside his husband, Shaw reigning supreme at the head of the table the staff had arranged on the charming patio; the red bricks announcing he and Alex's arrival as their shoes clicked merrily on the brickwork. Alex released his hand with a lovely blush sitting high on his cheeks at Shaw's raised brow, and Hank let the fingers slip out of his own with great reluctance-- He had felt much braver with Alex at his side. They took seats opposite each other at least, and the omega smiled ruefully at him across the table. The sun as it came through the canopy turned Alex’s hair gold and left his eyes shining brighter than the sky above as Hank relaxed in his seat. A few minutes after Charles started an awkward conversation with Hank, asking politely after his tutoring work, Erik burst through the doorway as he fixed his tie. His scent was charred and his eyes stormy, as he took the last seat at the table. It just so happened to be on the other end, so he and Sebastian were facing each other once more. Hank was just debating if he should offer his own seat to the alpha, when Erik steepled his fingers and looked out across the glistening bay that spread out beyond the impeccable green of the lawn. 

“You know, I’m right across from you.”

Sebastian ran a finger over the white tablecloth, his eyes moving lazily to the horizon, squinting at the distant forms of the mansions that dotted the other island. 

“Yes, I think I can almost see your circus tent now. How quaint. Couldn’t get a house on East Egg, could you?”

Erik smiled as he leaned back in his seat, finishing off his scotch in one long drink. 

“East Egg is solely owned by families that have no interest in selling off one of their few remaining assets, you know. It's a nearly impossible market to break into. And for the money, I could get more land to build my ‘circus tent’ on West Egg-- for half the price that I'd pay trying to smuggle myself amongst your breed.”

Returning Erik's smile, Shaw raised his glass to toast the man, and Charles looked between the two for a long moment before his eyes flickered nervously back to Erik. The omega reached out to run a finger up and down, up and down the length of his teacup as he drank in the vision of the alpha down the table. His pink lips parted on a sigh as he leaned forward in his seat, voice a little hoarse. 

“You look lovely today, Mr. Lehnsherr.  You always look so…” He inhaled softly. “Lovely. Your suits are perfectly tailored. I could almost see my reflection in your shoes when you walked into the salon.”

Erik swallowed. His eyes never left Charles’s face as he spoke, the words a whisper. But everyone at the table heard them all the same, as if it were a clap of thunder rather than words breathed out disbelievingly. “A beautiful reflection.” He drowned the words out with a sip of the water glass in front of him, and Shaw coughed, rocking back and forth in his chair as he stroked his chin. “Yes, it’s a handsome suit. I suppose you’re spending a fortune on all your clothes, Mr. Lehnsherr.”

Charles and Erik, who had seemed suspended in a world of their own finally came back to earth, and Charles dragged his eyes away from Erik, staring down at the table as he chewed his lip.

“What shall we do today? We’re accomplishing nothing here.”

Shaw reached out to pick up a spoon and tap it obnoxiously against his glass. “Let’s go into town.” As Charles sighed and rolled his eyes, Shaw’s jaw tightened, and he looked between Charles and Erik once more. 

“Yes, let’s go into town.”

Charles didn’t bother to keep the whine out of his voice when he said, “Oh, please. Let’s just sit and enjoy the shade. It’s too hot to fuss about anything.”

Shaw gritted his teeth in a smile. “No, I insist. We'll get a room at the hotel downtown. Big bucket of ice, and we'll bring the scotch, and whiskey, and we'll watch all the little people scurrying about below like ants.”

As it was decided, Shaw stood and brushed himself off, smiling vindictively down at the occupants of the table, and Hank had the distinct urge to strangle the man when he looked at Charles's stricken face. 

“Come along, I'll have them bring the car around.”

Shaw stalked out of the road as Charles combed a hair through his curls, the omega's eyes moving from Erik, to Hank, to Alex, then back to Erik. 

“I suppose… We're heading into town.”

Charles lowered his voice, his face pale and wan as he gazed at Lehnsherr. “He always gets what he wants. I warned you already. This isn't wise, Erik. You have no idea… how Sebastian reacts to threats to his alphahood.”

Erik stood, straightening his tie and closing the distance between them so he could stare down at Charles, reaching out to brush a finger against the omega's cheek. 

“It may not be wise, Charles. But you told me you wanted to be together at last. Are you taking back what you said, now? Will you abandon me for your fear?”

Swallowing, Charles shrunk in his seat a little, quailing under that unwavering steel gaze. 

“No. No, I-- I want to be free of him. I just don’t think… I don’t know… I just feel that it’s going to go horribly wrong, Erik.”

He stood, and the two were an inch apart, Charles looking up at the taller alpha. Hank felt awkward as he sat there, feeling as if he was intruding upon a private moment. It seemed like the two of them had forgotten he and Alex were still there, sitting at the table.

“Trust in me, Charles. You only need to trust me.”

With that, he reached down to grasp Charles’s smaller hand and kissed his fingers adoringly. 

After another lingering moment he stepped aside and left the patio, Charles watching him go with parted lips. His cousin turned to look at Hank, one side of his mouth quirking up, and Hank had the sudden impression of a smile a condemned man might give to the assembled crowd before his hanging. 

“We shouldn’t leave them alone together too long. Shall we?”

Hank nodded and stood swiftly, Alex following suit. 

The house was hotter and more stifling as they moved through it toward the front drive, Hank lagging as he brought up the rear, soothed a little by the sound of Alex’s silk dress rustling around his knees, the clink of his pearls around his neck. 

Shading his face as he stepped out into the blinding sun, he squinted down the stairs and watched Erik leaning against the polished gleam of his yellow Rolls Royce; as Sebastian moved agitatedly between his sleek coupe and ordering the servants about. Alex and Charles bounded down the stairs together, Hank still dragging his feet. It was too late to call off with a wild excuse, even as he longed for a house fire or a heart attack to relieve him of the almost certain disaster that awaited this adventure. 

When he reached the bottom of the brick steps, he moved to stand idly beside Alex as he watched Charles bounce on his heels at Erik’s side. Sebastian still had a triumphant, vindictive smile on his face. 

“Why don’t you and Charles take my coupe, and Hank, Alex and I will follow in your circus wagon?”

Erik bared his teeth in a tight smile but dipped his head in agreement, opening the door of the blue coupe for Charles to slide in before jogging to the driver’s side. As he slipped into the seat, Erik cooly pulled his sunglasses out of his suit pocket and situated them on his face, his smile turning victorious in its own way. 

“We’ll see you there, then,”

Charles’s whoop and resounding laugh was drowned out by the roar of the engine as the car sped off down the drive, throwing up dust and gravel in its wake. Sebastian snarled and ran to Erik’s car, yanking the door open and sliding in. 

“Now, get in! I haven’t got all day!” The alpha almost couldn’t get the words out through his biting anger, but Hank hurried to obey, sliding into the passenger seat as Alex slid in after him and closed the door. 

As Sebastian floored the engine and it screamed to life, the car streaking down the drive, Hank could hear the alpha grinding his teeth. Despite the splitting thunder of the engine, it failed to drown out Sebastian’s violent mutterings. 

“You all think I’m blind, don’t you? That I can’t see what’s happening right under my nose. Well I see what’s happening, alright. And I intend to put a stop to it. They can have their fun. But I have had enough insults. It ends here!”

Hank opened his mouth to speak, but Sebastian held up a hand to silence him. “Don’t try to deny it. Anyone with eyes can see what’s going on between them. My wife. And that-- that-- peasant!”

Hank was frightened by the unholy light in the man’s eyes, and he reached over covertly to twine his fingers with Alex’s. The omega clearly shared his fear as he squeezed Hank’s hand. Even as the wind whipped past them, Hank managed to catch whiffs of his smoky, abrasive fear scent. 

“It all ends here. It all ends today. This Lehnsherr. I’m going to deal with him. Once and for all.”