Chapter Text
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"An animal can be fierce and cunning, but to lie face to face, one must be a hundred percent human."
Herbert George Wells "The Island of Doctor Moreu"
Alan's fists tightened tightly at his sides. He felt his insides tremble, his jaw clenching uncontrollably as his teeth rattled together. Regret, anger. Fuck! He wanted to tear apart the bastards who did this to him. No creature deserved the amount of suffering that boy went through. Fucking animals, devoid of human reflexes! Now all the pieces of the puzzle were slowly starting to fit together. His body was like a map of all the crimes. The scent of the Omega. His appearance. Even so thin, exhausted and scarred, he was still ethereally beautiful. The proportions of his body, the features of his face, the beautiful eyes, the prominent mouth, the line of his jaw and nose. There was no denying the obvious beauty, hidden by years of torture and neglect. He swallows, the dryness burning in his throat. In reality, he had seen the Omega's extraordinary beauty the moment his feet crossed the threshold of the cell. Without a doubt, he could see it all under the layers of dirt, torn clothes and wounds on his face. He shouldn't have been surprised, and yet he didn't expect the man to be used as livestock.
Perfect genetic material for further reproduction. They used him like ordinary farm cattle. Did the Alphas pay to inseminate him, for their offspring, only to take the precious puppies? From the start, something didn't add up about all this. From the first moment, he couldn't put the pieces of this missing puzzle together. He had heard of such cases from colleagues in other units, but he had never dealt with it personally. Puppy trading. Christ! He wasn't an ordinary whore, forced to have sex with the Alphas in heat. He served as their incubator. Perfect genetic material to extend the wealthy bloodlines that had trouble conceiving offspring. How many times had he been pregnant? How many children had been taken from him in this way? Alan took a deep breath and took a few steps back as if he had been struck hard between the ribs. He covered his mouth with his hand in disbelief, but a barely audible groan still escaped his throat. The truth was cruel. It didn't matter how many times he had been pregnant or how many puppies had been taken from him. There was no chance of finding them. Even the most careless criminal gang never wrote down the client's data. Fake names, prepaid numbers for one-time calls, meetings in random places. No witnesses, no trace. The puppies were certainly outside the country, sold and contracted before they were born.
It was too barbaric to be true. So much cruelty. So much suffering. He was certain that almost every omega would rather lose their own life than have someone take away the puppy they had carried under their heart for almost a year. This is a level of madness, beyond any control, difficult to understand or even imagine the suffering he had to endure. Many thoughts were running through Alan's head, the first one that came to mind was that he wished he was anywhere else but here. He had no children himself and it was hard for him to put himself in this situation. He was so far out of his comfort zone that he just wanted to move and leave. This was not something he had ever had to deal with. In reality, the emotional and mental state he was in should have completely eliminated him as a person fit for service. He should not have taken this action. Omega should not have been here at all. It was a mistake. How could he have allowed this situation to happen? He had known for a long time that he was unable to perform his duties properly. He was too involved, too emotional, which translated into an obvious lack of professionalism. He thinks darkly about what on earth had driven him to participate in this action, and then a quiet mourn draws his attention.
Of course, he could be mistaken. It could have been a one-time mistake. They could have killed the puppy or sold it on the black market. But his intuition told him that it was much more serious. The scar on his belly did not look like a one-time, botched cut. The lines were uneven, running perpendicularly next to each other, a millimeter apart. A cesarean section was always performed on an old scar in the same place, unless there were too many of them and the built-up skin tissue made it impossible to cut again along the same line. Besides, the man's age was enough to connect the dots. He wanted so badly to be wrong, but he knew that his hunches were usually right.
Omega was still sobbing quietly on the couch, and Alan had no idea what to do. He took two steps back. The pressure was overwhelming him, sending a throbbing pain through his temples. He almost staggered as his insides clenched and rose dangerously to his throat. He was so shocked, so angry, so helpless. The helplessness he now had to face was the worst part. He couldn't walk up to the omega, pat him on the back, and say, "It's okay, dude, everything will work out." Nothing was right. There was no turning back time, no way to undo the wrongs he'd done. And the permanent scars on the man's body were the biggest proof of that. He had screwed up, and the knowledge of that settled heavily inside. He couldn't keep this up. For the sake of both the victim and his own. Too bad. Charlie knew all too well what he was doing by dragging him back into this police operation. He knew the risks involved in getting him involved in all this. He knew perfectly well that Alan was emotionally unstable.
For a few seconds his eyes move over the figure on his couch. He remains in this numb silence, broken by the rumbling gusts of wind outside the window and the broken, muffled sobs. The blood roars in his ears, mixing with the sounds around him. He feels a stab of regret caused by his own helplessness and finally moves from his place, grabbing a hand-knitted, thick blanket from the back of the armchair. He covers the naked body of the man with it and sits down next to him, a few centimeters away. "Please calm down. I really didn't mean to... I had no idea... Shit. I've never handled a case like this. We should stop. I'm not gathering any more evidence. I need to hand this case over to someone else. Someone who's much more competent and who might have handled cases like this before." The words are so quiet they're barely audible in the air. "Let's finish for today. Please get dressed. Eat something and get some rest. You must be exhausted from all this. This is too much."
It was hard to tell whether it was too much for the victim or for himself. He couldn't bear the weight that rested on his shoulders. Not today, not tomorrow. To tell the truth, never! Nothing could really have prepared him for something like this. He couldn't bear his own life, so how was he supposed to be a support for anyone else. What he was doing here made no sense. He shook his head, trying to shake off the storm of emotions building inside. "Wait. I'll give you the clothes I prepared... And maybe some tissues." Alan got up from the couch, but bony fingers gripped his wrist, grounding him in place. He looked down, completely disoriented, and his surprised gaze met those beautiful, chestnut eyes. The man looked like a complete mess again. An unnatural blush spread across his porcelain face, heated with emotion. His eyes were bloodshot, and a runny nose hung from his nose, which he wiped with the back of his other hand. Omega glanced around, then quickly reached for the camera and shoved it into Alan's chest.
Alpha's heart stopped for a few seconds before it started racing again. Somewhere along the way, his brain activated and began to function normally. Muscles twitched under his skin. He slowly opened his mouth, but it took several seconds for any sound to come out. "Do you want me to finish the photo documentation?" His own voice sounded uncertain in his ears. Despite his best efforts, the knowledge of what had happened to this man had hit him so hard and completely unhinged him. How a man who had been through so much things, could still hold better than him? Ashamed, he felt a surge of determination and complete admiration for how strong the man was.
He wasn't sure if he had the right to touch him. He didn't know if he even wanted to be touched. He had no idea if it was better to leave him alone and let him calm down. Or maybe? His overprotective nature took over again, he instinctively fell to his knees in front of him, releasing more pheromones. The man immediately grabbed his neck and snuggled in with all his might, absorbing the scent. It wasn't the first time he had served a victim of violence in this way. In fact, the pheromones that nature had given him had always been a valuable aspect of his work. Broken victims often sought comfort in his scent, but it took a lot of time, conversations and trust. Never had it been so impulsive. So intuitive and requiring no words, not a moment's thought. Just them. As if Alan needed this comfort more than the victim himself. He closed his eyes, feeling the omega sniffing at his neck. Warm breath moved up and down his skin, grazing the tip of his nose against his jaw. The omega's scent didn't make it any easier. Rich and intense, it overwhelmed any common sense. He wanted to cradle him in his arms and never let go. An intense protective instinct took over completely. He didn't want to let go. He couldn't. He should pull away, calm down, regain his balance. But... He took more air into his lungs, and the long, still damp strands of hair on the top of the omega's head swayed with his warm breath. Mine... He smelled like mine...The thought was like a knife to the heart. Filthy and insulting. How was he any better than the Alphas who paid and forced him to do things he never wanted? How could he think such a thing? Even if there was nothing sexual about it, it was still an unhealthy desire for possession. He smelled like he was his, and Alan couldn't do a damn thing about the thought that had settled at the bottom of his heart. He wanted nothing in return. He only wanted to take care of him and take him under his wing. To be safe, relieved, and maybe, if the time helps, even able to smile. This was his responsibility. He couldn't hand it over to anyone else. Not now. Not now, when they were alone in his house. There was no one else, and he couldn't leave him like this.
Some last thread of sanity brought him back to reality. He stepped back, and the man stared at him without a word, but his eyes spoke a thousand words, the moon gold. I need you. Help me. I need you more than I can say.
Bonkers
Alan would have thought for sure that he had really completely lost his mind, if it weren't for the camera that had once again pierced his chest. Maybe the desire to punish these degenerates was greater than shame and humiliation. The need for justice was stronger than the emotions that took control at that moment. It made sense. Thanks to this evidence, these bastards would never see the light of day again. Alan looked at the apartment, and then back at the pleading gaze. The eyes sparkled with a thousand stars, like undisguised hope. "Okay. If you're sure." He carefully combed his long hair and tucked it behind the omega's ear. A few shorter strands slipped out, falling over his forehead and swollen eyelid. "I'll start with the scar on your cheek. And the bruise under your eye and the cut lip. If you want to stop. If you feel uncomfortable, or I do anything you don't like, you have to let me know. We can stop at any time." The man nodded, and Alan once again brushed back his still damp, long hair so the mark would be more visible. Now that his skin was clean, he could clearly see that this had not been one quick, precise cut. The scar was deep and slightly jagged around the edges. The person who had made the cut must have done it very slowly and deliberately. The brute was clearly enjoying every millimeter of tissue breaking under the blade and every drop of blood that flowed. Punishment. He didn't even have to ask. He knew. This was not a scar made in a fight, during a tussle, or in a surge of emotion. This was a mark, intricately etched into the skin like a fingerprint. Precise and inflicted with undisguised passion.
Blue latex gloves landed on his hands. The camera flash illuminated the room for a few seconds. Then another flash and a few more from a different angle. Omega squinted, then closed them completely trustingly, exhaling a long breath. The split lip was a fresh mark on his body. The hard blow with his right fist stood out in a particularly painful way. The deep crack was healing ugly under a cover of dirt. Alan put the camera aside for a moment, thoroughly disinfecting the place and applying a sterile dressing. He carefully parted the man's mouth to assess his jaw. The teeth were complete and in surprisingly good condition. The fangs sharp and salivating. All in a perfectly even row. The man must have worn braces in his youth, which could indicate that he did not come from the social bottom at all. Alan breathed a sigh of relief. Whoever had tortured him had at least spared these areas and had not bothered with sadistic tooth extractions. The language was also out of place, so the man simply did not want to talk, overwhelmed by the trauma. Unfortunately, in his professional career, he had dealt with such cases.
His heart sank slightly as he continued. Nothing had really changed. He had known at first glance what he might find when he examined the body further, yet the muscles tensed automatically, raising the hairs on the back of his neck. Despite the good condition of his teeth, he couldn’t say the same about the man’s hands. A flash illuminated the room again, and the shutter caught the wide abrasion marks on his wrists. The Chief Inspector had mentioned the chains on his hands, ankles, and neck, which the officers had taken care of before he arrived, before everything had gone to hell. The forensics team must have taken the chains away as evidence, because he hadn’t seen them when he arrived. Judging by the marks, they must have been wide and very heavy, but that wasn’t what caught his attention at the moment. The thin, bony fingers were unnaturally crooked and didn’t look like the result of a lack of vitamins and minerals. It could have been, but… Alan gently felt each of the knuckles. From the phalanges to the metacarpals. "They broke your fingers, didn't they?" The joints showed telltale signs of swelling, but he needed an X-ray to be sure. The man didn't say anything, of course, but quickly hid his hands under a thick blanket.
Alan couldn't remember ever examining evidence of a crime on a victim's body being so traumatic for him. In reality, most of the victims who bore such cruel marks of torture were already dead. There was no doubt that they had suffered all this in life, but there was no comparison between the reactions to collecting evidence from a dead body and from a living person. He had seen such signs of torture, mostly on corpses, but never on a survivor. The truth was that they had only just started, and the memory card in his DSLR was filling up at the speed of light. Face, hands, feet. He had to move on to the marks on the body now, and to be honest, he didn't feel like it. The man glanced at him, clearly aware that Alpha had nothing more to do with the exposed parts of his body, so he slowly shrugged the blanket off his shoulders. The heavy, hand-woven material slid over his skin and settled on his hips, exposing his upper body.
As he could guess, the injuries to that part of his body were equally drastic and sent shivers down his spine. Up close, you could clearly see all the old and new marks. Spot bruises on his upper forearm. Someone had clearly pulled and held him with great force, against his will. The rest were scars that Alan had already noticed earlier. Cuts from sharp instruments. Smaller, larger, some deep and distinct, others creating thin welts on his body. Small, raised, pinpoint scars, from being burned with cigarette butts. He silently wondered if this was punishment from his owner or the rapists' wild fantasy. He had to close his eyes for a moment to calm himself. There were a few old cracks on his back, like from blows with a leather strap or a whip. Bite marks around his shoulders and neck. His owner had certainly made sure that no one had permanently marked him, but in places where the wide collar did not protect his neck, there were many teeth marks. In reality, this shouldn't be surprising, many horny Alphas during their cycle only think about marking the person they're fucking. An instinct that is hard to control during Ruth, especially with a tasty morsel beneath him, but Alan feels his stomach rise to his throat again. Each of the subsequent frames immortalized in the memory of the camera, seems like personal torture. With each subsequent trace, Alan feels his determination evaporate, replaced by growing anger and frustration. What he is doing seems highly self-destructive and brings back memories that he does not want to go back to.
"I'd like you to lie on your back. I need to check for any internal injuries. It's a routine exam. Of course, a CT scan would be a hundred times better, and we'd have a full picture of your current and past injuries. But for now, I'll check your condition this way." Alan extended his hand, which was struck by the man the second he finished speaking. "It's a basic exam. I'll just check your stomach, kneading it lightly." Alan didn't know what the problem was, but it was clearly there, because the omega sank deeper into the couch, growling slightly. Alan immediately raised his hands. "Okay. I understand. Of course, we don't have to do this." He picked up the camera again, having another mystery to solve. Did the omega simply not want to be touched, or was his stomach aching from hunger, or perhaps from the impact? There were so many possibilities that the alpha couldn't pinpoint a single cause. Whatever it was, he had to let it go, just as he'd promised. But it is his job, which he has to do. And despite the emotional pain, he still continues slowly exposing the man's thighs. Carefully and without haste, so as not to scare him him even more. He swallows bitterly when he sees the pinpoint bruises on the inner thighs and small scratches. The awareness of what he had already suspected hits him with redoubled force. "The guard raped you before they all left the place?" he asks, although he does not even have to. The marks left on the body are enough of a clue.
He takes a few more photos, each one feeling like his own personal penance. Like a form of self-harm, for everything he has on his conscience. For the years he spent with the psychopath who was also a part of this shit. As if the evidence he was collecting could redeem his guilt. He's tired. So tired of the past that keeps coming back to him. It's long after midnight now, and they have to finish this damned examination. The fact that it's a rape, and not a full 48 hours have passed since then, forces him to make yet another desperate decision, one he doubts the omega will agree to.
He lets out a soft groan and sets the camera down on the low coffee table. "If I get samples, we can 100% confirm which guard did the raping." He doesn't think the bastard used a condom, but the silence that stretches between them is tense, awkward, and uncomfortable. The omega looks at him for a few long seconds, then rubs his temples with his hand and shifts positions. He lies on his stomach, but the thick blanket still exposes his hips.
Gratitude. That's the only thing that comes to Alan's mind. In this situation, he's damn grateful for the man's composure. He listens to him carefully and carries out all his orders without emotion. Stripped of humanity, but with a clear, calculated goal in his departments. Alan takes out a few samplers. Sticks tipped with sterile cotton for taking samples and vials to secure genetic material. He fidgets for a moment, then forces himself to perform his duties. "I'll be gentle. Please let me know if you feel bad. These are samplers." Alan shows and explains everything to the man, showing him the equipment and explaining exactly what he's going to do. But Omega doesn't even look at him. He lies with his face buried in his forearms, high above his head. Alan can only register an uncertain nod, then he sighs and returns to the task. He pulls back the blanket, and the man's body tenses instinctively. He flinches at the touch of his hand and trembles slightly, like a car engine under the hood. The opening is slightly swollen and still red. There are visible irritations and abrasions, and Alan's hands are shaking like he's a college freshman doing his first internship. He takes samples, securing everything, and quickly covers the man's buttocks with a thick blanket. "Thank you for your cooperation. You were incredibly brave. I promise you that the bastard who did this will pay the ultimate price."
The truth is, it's better that this fucker doesn't show up anywhere in his space. Because if Alan sees him in his cell, he swears he won't vouch for himself. "You can get dressed. I really don't know how to thank you for your sacrifice. You've shown truly exceptional courage." The man is still lying with his face buried in the couch, and Alan pulls the blanket higher to cover the rest of his body. "I'll make you something light to eat. I'd like you to eat some easily digestible meat and some rice. And then you can lie down. You deserve your rest like no other." He stands up and heads for the kitchen. "Feel free here. I know it's hard.
You don't know me or this place, but you really are safe here. No one comes here. I live alone. No one will bother you. You can take one of the rooms upstairs for the night. My bedroom is on the other side, if you need anything, just knock."
As he turns with the steaming plate, he sees the man sitting with his legs tucked under him, dressed in slightly too-large clothes. Alan sets the plate on the table and holds his head. "Christ, I'm an idiot. I forgot about your feet. Forgive me." He walks over, kneels down, and pulls some sterile bandages out of the kit. "May I?" The man holds out his tucked feet so that Alpha can wrap the bandages. "OK. That should do it. I'll carry you to the table. Let the wounds heal properly before you get back on your feet." Omega tenses slightly in his arms, but allows Alpha to carry him.
"Eat slowly. It's steamed chicken breast and some rice. Chew slowly. We don't want a situation like before to happen again. Your stomach is still irritated. " Alan waits a moment before continuing. "I'll go upstairs now to make you a place to sleep. Can I leave you alone? You won't do anything stupid, right?" Omega glances at him and starts picking at his food with his fork. "Okay. I'll be right back. Eat slowly." As he enters one of the long-unused bedrooms upstairs, he looks out the window. A gusty wind from the south is tearing at the treetops, and a blur of moonlight falls over the area. Strong gusts have dispelled the rain clouds, but the moon is still covered in a hazy glow. The room is a bit chilly. It hasn't been used in so long that the air smells of dust and a slight dampness, but an extra duvet should do the trick. He pulls the white sheets off the furniture and bed, then puts on fresh sheets. It's certainly not a five-star hotel, but considering the conditions the omega was staying in, he shouldn't feel aggrieved. He throws the windows wide open for a few moments to air out the room, then turns the radiators up to maximum, hoping the furnace in the boiler room won't decide to go on strike tonight. A small cloud of steam escapes his lips before he closes the shutters and draws the curtains. Autumn this year seems to be particularly capricious, and the constant rain and piercing icy wind make him feel the ache in his old bones, with redoubled force.
He glances at the room once more, checking if its condition is acceptable, then goes down the stairs, his gaze sweeping the space. The man quietly eats the leftovers on his plate, still carefully examining every detail of the room. "Before I take you to the bedroom, I would like to do one more thing." The alpha heads to his service box, which he left by the couch. He takes out a small box and a notebook with thick white, unlined pages. Seeing that the omega has finished eating, he takes his hands and wipes them on a damp cloth. The man does not protest or resist, calmly accepts the actions, observing with interest. "I would like to take your fingerprints and a DNA swab from your mouth." He opens a small, oblong box with black ink and puts a vial with a sterile cotton swab inside next to it.
Omega immediately pulls his hand away and almost falls off the chair in the process. Alan stands there for a few seconds without moving. Shocked, because after all the evidence the man had allowed him to archive, he hadn't expected fingerprinting to suddenly become a problem. "It is. You know. I need to dip your fingertips in ink and imprint them on a clean sheet of paper. You don't want to talk. I understand. But it might allow us to identify who you are." He sees the man step back even more startlingly from the chair. Alan suppresses a shiver of anxiety and pushes the equipment aside, hoping it's not too late. The last thing he wants at this hour is another outburst of uncontrolled panic. "OK. I understand." He closes the box, pushing it even further away. "Of course we don't have to do that. I'll take you upstairs. It would be good if you got some sleep, and tomorrow..." He sees the omega take a few steps back and nervously look around the room.
Alan's breath catches for a moment as he sees the man reach for a pen lying next to the stove. Thankfully, he's put all his knives and other potentially dangerous tools away in his drawers. He raises his hands in a gesture of peace. "OK. We don't have to do this. I promised we wouldn't do anything you didn't agree to." Omaga raises a slight eyebrow and looks at him like he's crazy. His gaze falls to the pen in his hand, then back to Alan, and he rolls his eyes and goes back to the counter on the kitchen island, reaching for a piece of paper to leave his prints on.
Can I stay here?
Alan looks thoughtfully at the letters left on the paper. The writing is exceptionally clear and aesthetic, but omega turns the page back and writes something more.
Don't get rid of me.
He places the scribbled paper in front of Alan, then frowns and withdraws his hand to write something more.
I'm begging you.
Alan's anxiety immediately doubles, and the realization hits him like a speeding subway. This man doesn't want anyone to know who he is, or that he survived. "Are you afraid of anyone?" Alan pushes the paper away, but his hands remain on the smooth paper. He runs his thumb over the shapely letters. The handwritten script looks like someone taught the boy calligraphy when he was young. Their eyes meet and he sees the cracks in the imperturbable mask again. The boy picks up the pen again and underlines the word "Please," his face desperate, and Alan feels trapped, caught between duty and intuition. He should never have taken a victim of a crime home from the scene of the crime. He had broken every rule, and now this? He didn't really have a grand plan for what to do next, but taking a stranger into his home permanently was definitely not in his hands.
Alan looks at the note and reads those few short words once more. He nods before any conscious decision has even formed in his head. Any common sense must have abandoned him the moment he agreed to take part in this action. If not at that moment, then any rationality certainly went to hell when he brought the omega to his own home. "Okay. I'll take care of it. You can stay." He raises his eyes to meet the man's. "For now! I can't promise you more. We'll find a solution together, but for now you can stay and take shelter here." The omega lets out a relieved breath, throws the pen on the table and hugs it tightly. Alan's whole body is as stiff as a board, staring ahead with a bleary gaze, his hands curled stiffly at his sides.
That scent. For a few seconds he wonders if it's the pheromones the man gives off that make his decisions seem so communally irrational, then nods to himself at the absurdity of the suggestion. "Fine. Go to sleep. I hope you feel relieved enough to at least fall asleep. I'll carry you upstairs." The Omega latches onto his body as if it were his favorite spot from now on and buries his nose in his neck, sniffing discreetly. He's happy, you can feel it in his scent, and it makes the Alpha even more disoriented.
He knows that sleep won't come for him tonight. The sleep of the infinite has long avoided the thresholds of his home. He feels his body succumb to fatigue, but emotions still bubble in an unhealthy dose inside his body. His pulse quickens, and his thoughts circle helplessly one after another. A half-empty bottle promises at least a moment of oblivion, but with someone in his care, he can't afford the comfort of drinking into oblivion. There's no chance of that.
He leaves the omega in the room upstairs, then goes down the groaning stairs. He sits down on a softly padded armchair by the window, moving the low coffee table closer. Holding the hand-embroidered blanket he had covered the man with on his lap, he hums meaningless words in a low voice. A few curses at his own stupidity. A few memories. And a few questions he still can't find the answers to. Whatever it is, it doesn't make much sense anyway. With the sunrise, new fears and uncertainties appear, still as unresolved. He fills out a few protocols he has at hand and checks once again whether all the evidence in the form of photos has been saved to the memory card. He hesitantly reaches for the phone, knowing full well what he will find there. The number of notifications scrolls endlessly, and Alan gives a long, irritated grunt, then dials the Chief Inspector's number.
"Hello Charlie" Silence rings on the other end of the phone for a moment, then explodes uncontrollably as he hears the Inspector practically screaming. "Charlie?!! None, Charlie!!! You're fucked Lertwongs! Can you tell me where the hell you are!!!" The Inspector yells so loudly that he has to pull the receiver away from his ear for a moment. "Explain this to me, motherfucker! Your car disappeared, and after searching it turned out that neither you nor the victim are there. He's not at the crisis point either. So can you kindly tell me where the fuck you are and what happened to the victim? Can you explain this to me logically?"
Alan rubs his temples with a tired gesture and takes a small puff of air. "In my house. We're both in my house. The injured party is safe and taken care of." He answers as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, then calmly waits for the next explosion. A moment of silence stretched across the line, then the Inspector explodes a second time, like a time bomb. "Have you completely lost your fucking mind? What's going on in your head? How am I supposed to explain this now?" There was a moment of silence on the line, and Alan could easily imagine the Inspector rubbing the bridge of his nose, holding a thick cigar between his fingers. The hiss of air in the receiver, slightly reminiscent of an angry bull at a rodeo. Alan is silent. Because what exactly is he supposed to say? If Charlie found out about the attack on him, the situation would become even more unpleasant than it already is. "Charlie..."
"No Charlie!!! Do you realize that this is akin to abducting a witness from a crime scene! What a shitty idea you've got! You're to escort him to the crisis point immediately!" Alan glances uncertainly toward the stairs, then glances at his watch on the shelf. The gilded second hands click their steady rhythm on the white dial, surrounded by fancy designs of angels and devils. He remembers how as a child he would stare at those mystical gilded figures, carved into the oak wood. His gaze moves up the stairs again, where he hears the quiet creak of the bedroom door. Determined footsteps, only Silence, but he can guess that the omega is trying to eavesdrop on the conversation. He left his bedroom door slightly ajar, and the hallway light on, filtering down the stairs. "I can't carry out that order." He replies dryly, already bracing himself for the hurricane that's about to hit him. He hears the Inspector suck in a nervous breath. Then a distinct growl, full of disbelief and suppressed anger. "What did you say?"
"He can stay with me. My house is quite large and hidden at the foot of the mountains. The boy needs peace. I'll take care of him until he recovers" Alan clenches his jaw, waiting for a reaction. He knows perfectly well how absurd his words are, he would like to add something, but the Inspector cuts him off mid-sentence. "Oh and you think this is a great idea? Listen to me carefully Lertwongsa. You're walking on thin ice. I trusted you because you're the best, but I can't turn a blind eye to all your crazy ideas. What's gotten into you?"
"I had no other choice Inspector. As soon as I announced that I was taking him to a place where they would check his health and take care of him accordingly, he immediately withdrew. Was I supposed to take him there by force? Charlie, we both know how that would end. You didn't call me to end up like an animal in another isolation cell. He's safe and sound now." An irritated sigh can be heard on the receiver. Something knocks, probably the Inspector's fingers tapping on the wooden desk, and then something falls and a muffled curse is heard before a clear voice returns to the receiver. "For fuck's sake Alan, this isn't some new toy of yours that you can take home! This is a living person. You're breaking all the rules!"
"Put him in the witness protection program," Alan blurts out suddenly. "Witness protection program? Why? What do you mean? What happened there?" Charlie stops. His anger is subsiding a bit, rational arguments and curiosity taking over. " I don't know exactly. But he's scared. Every time I mention the center, or anyone else, he tenses up or becomes hysterical. I have no idea what happened to him, but I know he's scared. He don't want us to know his identity. Can you conceal his existence until I know what's going on?" I don't want us to know who he is. Can you keep him a secret until I know what's going on?"
The silence on the other end of the phone suggests that Charlie is trying to untangle all these tangled threads at all costs. No argument seems solid enough, and yet the Inspector seems to ignore it in favor of Alan. "Why do you care so much?" So he asks directly, although it seems that his determination has already been weakening.
"I don't know... I always care. You should know that best." A long sigh hit the receiver. "Yeah, I know. That's what worries me the most. Fuck, Alan. You were only supposed to get him out of there and possibly help him get back to normal at the facility, in case he didn't have a family."
"That's what I'm going to do. If you get him into the witness protection program, he can stay in my care temporarily. He clearly doesn't want any of his family to know he's still alive. I don't know why, but I'll find out. Let him stay here. It's better than a halfway house, you know that. Omegas get adopted out to foster homes after a while anyway, if no relatives can be found. Let's just say the procedure has been expedited."
"I think you meant to say that the procedure was completely broken?"
"Whatever. Just do it for the boy. I have no idea what he's been through, but he won't make it in the facility. Let's be glad he accepted my help at all. I'm done with the documentation for the archives. Thank God the boy agreed to cooperate and I was honestly really surprised at how well he handled the examination." Alan stopped for a moment, alone with his own thoughts. He wondered if consenting to the photos being used as evidence in a criminal case was motivated by a desire for revenge and justice, or more of a bribe to stay in his house. A favor for a favor? Was he really that easy to manipulate? He shuffles a few papers on the table, then nods, unsticking his tongue from the roof of his mouth with a crooked smile. Omega doesn't trust him at all, he's just doing everything in his power to protect himself. What secret is worth all this trouble? Then he realizes another factor. His scent. Yes. He wasn't just looking for comfort at all. He deliberately wrapped him in pheromones, like a spider weaving a murderous cocoon in which the victim suffocates and dies for several days, bitten by venom that breaks down the insides. The power of persuasion, the power of scent. Clever. He smiles to himself and can't even be angry at someone in his condition. A threatened victim will use any trick necessary to be safe.
"Fine. Although I don't know how you managed to get permission and do all that. I admire and respect you. But know that I'm still mad at you." Alan smiled to himself. For now, he had no intention of sharing the report of the examination with Charlie. The scar from the C-section still haunted him, and every assumption sent unpleasant shivers down his spine. "I know. I know Charlie. I love you too."
"Moron." The inspector snorted into the receiver, but there was no resentment in it. "I'll prepare the necessary documents. You always test me. Can't you do something right for once in your life? I didn't ask you to become a full-time support alpha. Do you really have to make things so difficult?"
"That's what I do. That's why I'm the best. The system isn't always perfect, and justice is blind. We get by as best we can. Right Charlie?"
"You know what's worst about all this, Lertwongsa? I can't even deny you're right. Which absolutely doesn't mean I approve of what you did! ... Take care of this boy and please don't get yourself into some sick shit this time like last time."