Chapter Text
Why do these things keep happening to Rafael?
First he gets to experience the worst Mother Nature has to offer every two to three months – well, until he started suppressants. Now it’s every whenever his doctor tells him he’s been staving off the inevitable long enough it’s an actual risk to his body. And then anywhere between a week and two months.
Second he gets to see the lowest of other humans in the way they treat him solely because of his biology, regard as less despite him finishing law school better than his peers when everyone looked down on him.
And now this?
What in the actual batshit derogatory rhetoric of a lunatic frankincense-addicted cultist alpha is going on?
Rafael is so tired of morally wrong people hiding behind beliefs. If God – whichever god you believe in – is out there, He definitely wouldn’t approve of it. That much he knows even despite being lapsed. There is no bad God, there are bad people hiding behind His back.
…well, the frankincense is pretty bad, Rafael’s always gotten dizzy, when it was taken out in church.
Why is he even thinking about frankincense again?.. Must be the lack of fresh air.
The room he’s in somehow doesn’t have a single window – although from the sounds Rafael has tracked around – above – him, he suspects it’s actually a basement. Now the absence of windows doesn’t seem so questionable. There is an air conditioner in the wall, behind a metal grid and a small controller under it, no way to use any of it in an escape attempt, but at least he has control over the temperature. Small mercies.
The walls are painted pastel orange, the flooring a warm wooden-looking laminate. The room is small, and then most of it is taken up by a ginormous bed with fluffy pillows and warm comfy blankets, white and orange – what kind of a theme is that? Rafael doesn’t think he’ll be able to stomach orange after this.
If he even gets an ‘after this’.
How long has it been since Rafael woke up on that exact bed, stripped down to just undershirt, pants and socks? There was a change of clothes on the bed next to him, a bright orange sundress that Rafael promptly threw under the rug – also orange – and tried to forget about. At least the rug is soft, so soft in fact he had to stop himself from asking where his captors bought it. They might actually answer by buying him another one, and the room doesn’t have enough space for a second rug. There’s just a bed, an empty wardrobe and a small desk with a chair. No mirrors – nothing that Rafael can break and use as a weapon. Just a lot of pillows, blankets and throws. Everything soft, completely harmless.
…unless Rafael can figure out a way to throttle someone at least twice as big as him. Or even reach their throats – he’s pretty sure one of his captors is so big he can put his whole hand around Rafael’s neck and his fingers will meet each other. Possibly overlap.
There are two doors, one with a lock on the outside, no way for Rafael to get out, the other without any lock at all leading to a simple bathroom – a tub, a toilet and a sink. Every pipe that could be hidden is hidden in the walls, only one metal towel rack hanging proudly on the wall.
Rafael hasn’t been here too long, at least he doesn’t think so. He woke up, he guesses, hours ago, but he has no way to know how long he’s been sleeping, not even out – he’s had no more than three hours a night for almost a week now, so it feels as if his body, after being under from the chloroform for hours, decided to catch up on some sweet sleep. He did open his eyes well-rested, and he’s never heard of chloroform having such a nice side effect.
He must have spent at least an hour examining every crevice of the room – after taking the sundress out of his sight, of course. Or it could’ve been a minute. Or a day.
Okay, maybe not a day, he’s not that tired yet. But he also doesn’t have the best – or even a decent – internal clock, which means his every estimation has to be taken with a buttload of salt.
It would’ve been embarrassing how easily Rafael was taken if one of his captors wasn’t the size of a wardrobe.
Could Rafael have imagined some months ago, when taking up a case against a cult that he’d end up here?
___
“A cult?” Rafael asked with a raised brow. “Did you take up another research topic? What’s your new scientific interest – social studies or theology?”
Sonny only rolled his eyes, already familiar with the troubled ways Rafael shows his affection, then threw the files on Rafael’s desk in a check out for yourself gesture.
“No, no, Mister Carisi, I want to hear your expert opinion,” Rafael said with a smirk.
Sonny plopped himself on Rafael’s desk, on the place that long has become his. “C’mon, Counsellor, this is the definition of a cult!”
“Okay,” Rafael nodded, opened his laptop and started typing into the search bar. “A cult is a system of religious veneration and devotion-”
Sonny’s startled laugh made him stop – there was no way he could have continued when his face was being split with a delighted grin.
“Fine. It’s just- I have a tough time calling those guys religious, okay?” Sonny sighed deeply, tiredly. Rafael needed to act before the conversation soured any further.
“A system of religious veneration…” he repeated slowly, pronouncing every single syllable with care as if dictating. Sonny snorted. “Alright, give me the gist. What’d the cult do?”
The smile on Sonny’s face disappeared, emptied the stage for the seriousness their work requires. Rafael felt his own mood change appropriately.
“You already know it,” Sonny replied, opened the file to show the photos. “Lawrence case.”
Rafael’s brain took a moment to recollect all the facts.
“I thought it was an open and shut case of one perpetrator,” he commented, even if it sounded like a question. “Where’d you get a whole cult from?”
Sonny shrugged. “From the perp. We started talking him out, and he went on to spout this- this…” he waved his hand around, his face scrunched up in disgust. He was sitting so close Rafael caught a whiff of decay despite the scent patches on Sonny’s neck. “I’m not gonna repeat it, but basically omegas are…” he swallowed harshly. “Well, you get it.”
“No, Sonny, I don’t,” Rafael said softly.
He had no desire to hear it, no more than Sonny to say it, but there are also limitless possibilities to human cruelty and small-mindedness. Rafael didn’t know what flavor of sickness this exact man possessed.
Sonny’s scent got even more distressed, as he played with his fingers, closed his eyes shut. “Don’t make me say it, Rafael. Not any more than I need to.”
“You’ll have to repeat it in court,” Rafael explained, despite knowing that Sonny didn’t need it.
Sonny looked at him with something too close to pain for Rafael’s liking. “That’s why I said no more than I need to,” he pleaded without actual words.
Rafael took the file with a sigh, flicked the pages, until he landed on the needed interrogation.
“Just-” Sonny spoke up suddenly, looking helplessly at the print. Rafael knew instantly what he was trying to say.
“Whatever I read in here,” Rafael shook the file. “You don’t mean it.”
“I don’t-”
“I know you, Sonny,” Rafael interrupted confidently. “And I know that you have to make the perps believe you. Which entails saying things you don’t mean,” he finished with a shrug.
Sonny’s gaze turned grateful, so Rafael moved on to reading.
Hendric Thompson: Well, she’s an omega!
Detective Rollins: And?
Hendric Thompson: And? That’s all you need to know.
Detective Rollins: Oh really? That means she can’t say no?
Hendric Thompson: So you are one of those, huh?
Detective Rollins: You mean, those who respect everyone else no matter their gender?
Hendric Thompson: Of course. You are an alpha woman. Abomination. Of course you’d say something like that. You would never, would you, man?
Detective Carisi: She thinks since she’s an alpha she can go around spewing nonsense.
Hendric Thompson: Exactly! I mean, women and omegas, right?
Detective Carisi: Tell me about it. They think they can do anything these days.
Hendric Thompson: Yes! When all they are supposed to do is sit quietly at home and give us children!
Detective Rollins: Hm, yes, keep them chained to the walls while you are at it, why don’t you?
Hendric Thompson: First of all, you, not them. Second of all, I would never do that! It’s barbaric!
Detective Rollins: Oh?
Hendric Thompson: You must understand, man! How could we keep the mothers of our children chained? Of course not! They deserve the best!
Detective Carisi: Of course. You can’t treat omegas like garbage.
Hendric Thompson: Exactly! They are supposed to be cherished!
Detective Rollins: You raped a poor girl. Is that what you call cherishing?
Hendric Thompson: I didn’t rape anybody! I didn’t!
Detective Carisi: Because omegas can’t say no, right?
Hendric Thompson: Yes! It’s exactly like that!
Detective Rollins: Okay, you lost me. How do you combine cherishing and not taking no for an answer?
Hendric Thompson: You mean how do I combine what both an alpha and an omega were created to be?
Detective Carisi: It’s like you can’t steal something that belongs to you in the first place, right?
Hendric Thompson: Yeah, man! You get me!
Detective Carisi: Of course I do. Omegas are to sit pretty at home, right?
Hendric Thompson: Exactly! You buy them anything they can ever wish for as long as they remember their place!
Detective Rollins: And if they don’t? Hit them till they remember who’s in control?
Hendric Thompson: What?! No! You never hit an omega! That’s wrong! You just stop spoiling them until they remember! Start small with every little thing they’ve done right to show appreciation!
Detective Rollins: A gilded cage, then?
Hendric Thompson: It’s not a cage if you are never supposed to be outside of it.
Rafael slapped the file closed.
“This…” he threw the papers on the desk. “Is pretty mild compared to some other stuff I’ve heard over the years.”
Sonny’s scent somehow turned even more distressed, his whole face confronting in pain.
“Not very reassuring,” Sonny mumbled.
“Well, it’s the truth,” Rafael said simply.
Because it is the truth. Rafael has a vast catalogue of all the hateful bigoted speeches that were presented to him in the span of his life, and this? Didn’t reach even the top five.
Sonny didn’t seem to find this fact as easy as Rafael presented it. But it didn’t matter – Sonny isn’t the one who has to live through it all.
___
There’s the sound of steps once again, right above Rafael, and he scurries further up the bed, right where it sits against the wall corner. He tucks his knees under his chin, makes himself smaller, then thinks better of it, but it’s not like he can do anything else.
And his captors might find his so-called compliance worthy of being rewarded. Just act like a small sweet omega, and they might give him… something. He’s not sure what level of rewarding someone like Rafael could achieve in less than a day.
The stairs outside of his room creek under the weight of whoever it is, walking down slowly. And then there’s the sound of a key being inserted in the door, the lock turning. Rafael hugs his legs closer to his body. God, he wishes he could do something to get himself out of this situation or at least a message to Sonny-
Ehem. To the entire squad. Of course, yes.
Oh, who is Rafael kidding, this might be his last moments – of living in general or just non brain-washed existence – he doesn’t have to lie to himself anymore. Can finally admit the hard truths.
Rafael really wishes he had at least one more conversation with Sonny.
The door opens to let in one of Rafael’s captors – a big bulky alpha man, so tall he has to hunch just to walk into the room.
Yeah, there is no way Rafael tries anything against that.
Rafael remembers him faintly, the man was one of the character witnesses for Thompson, although Rafael can’t remember his name now. Should he? Or is it better to pretend he doesn’t know who the man is?
“You don’t have to be afraid,” that mountain of a man says, coming closer, and Rafael suddenly realizes that his scent neutralizing spray must have worn off, leaving the burnt coffee to haunt every millimeter of the room. “We won’t hurt you.”
The Mountain steps closer, wafting in a bizarre mix of rock and gasoline that solidifies the nickname in Rafael’s mind and almost makes him gag. The man is carrying a tray in his hands, puts it on the bed and takes off the lid, revealing… What looks like a very balanced meal.
“The soup is chicken noodle,” he says, sliding it closer across the tray. “Then there is a pesto and olive-crusted cod-”
“I don’t like fish,” Rafael speaks up suddenly half because he actually doesn’t like white fish and half because he wants to check how much freedom he’s allowed, test the boundaries.
The Mountain freezes, looks at the fish like it betrayed him, then at Rafael with the slightest disappointment.
“You don’t interrupt me,” he starts cooly. “But you are adjusting so I’ll let it slide this time,” he shrugs, looks back at the fish. “Sorry for the cod, though, it’s not like we knew about it. You can just ignore it then. Anyway, there is also rice, some broccoli to go with it and a vegetable salad. Lemon water for the drink.”
The Mountain pushes the tray closer to Rafael, watching him intently. All the cutlery on the tray is plastic, the plates too. Looks like his captors took every precaution to make sure Rafael doesn’t have anything even remotely resembling a weapon. Or just an opportunity to break a plate and use a sharp piece against anyone.
“Eat up. I’ll make sure to get you more protein next time.”
With that the Mountain leaves, closes and locks the door behind himself. The sound of the key is like a sound of the gavel against Rafael’s mind, invites the same sense of finality a sentence does.
A life in this room. No possibility of parole. No motion to appeal.
Rafael swallows against the resigned panic that threatens to drown him whole.
He thinks back to his suit jacket which should still have the pen that Sonny gave him at the precinct, that most probably still holds notes of chocolate and orange blossoms and even subtle hints of mint.
The smell of actually pleasant looking food only makes Rafael nauseous.
___
Rafael tapped a pen against the table, looking at the man on the stand.
“Mister McAllister,” the defense attorney called. “Who are you to my client, Mister Thompson?”
“I’m his spiritual leader,” McAllister replied slowly in a scratched-out voice.
Rafael really should spend less time with Sonny because he can hear the annoyed 'spiritual leader my ass' in his head.
“And by spiritual leader you mean?..”
A cult, Rafael thought dejectedly, then winced internally. Sonny’s constant little comments apparently didn’t simply rub off on him but went beneath the skin, implanting deep in Rafael’s brain.
“I taught that boy everything I know,” McAllister explained with a patient nod of his head which revealed his actual age a lot better than his skin.
Rafael chanced a glance at the jury to see a couple of them frown, repulsed, coming to the same conclusion Rafael did. Good.
“Which would include?..”
Raping people.
“Treating omegas right.”
It’s so much harder when their replies have the same connotations in completely different fonts.
Rafael smelled a spike of wilting, barely hidden by minty coolness, which made him look back over his shoulder. Sonny sat in the third row, his face unreadable in rage. Rafael checked to see the scent patches placed on Sonny’s neck just like they are supposed to be, shook his head. Must be a weird batch, how else did he get a whiff from so far away?
“Which would entail?..” the attorney asked next, and Rafael turned back to see the judge let out an exhausted sigh, move to get comfortable in the chair.
Yeah, they were going to be stuck here for a long time if the whole cross was performed in such a way.
He tapped the pen through the entire thing, only stopping when his hand started cramping. They made eye contact with the judge who threw a pointed look at the watch with another sigh, making Rafael hide his grin with a hand or a well-timed sip of water. Some of the jurors even started yawning for crying out loud when they weren't too busy looking disgusted or simply confused at the lack of logic and common sense shown by the alpha. Rafael mentally patted himself on the shoulder – he did good with the voir-dire, only one other alpha on the entire jury was nodding agreeably at some of the points he heard, while most were trying to differentiate heads from tails. Or stay awake.
McAllister, an alpha in his sixties with an impressively preserved lump of hair on top of his head, kept droning on and on about the alpha right and omega duty. He put his words together with great care, made sure they held all the right things – how omegas are a gift from God, and alphas are supposed to protect them – while dropping crumbs of his own spin on the 'equality debate'.
“Why would God make us different if He wanted us to be equal?” he asked the lawyer, playing the part of an old wise man and missing the mark entirely by falling straight into senile representation.
Rafael was pretty sure juror six gripped the armrest of her chair so hard he heard it snap under her fingers. The cross around her neck spoke louder than anything ever could.
“Thank you, Mister McAllister,” the lawyer said with a bow of his head, walked briskly to his table, almost colliding with Rafael, who might have stood up a bit early, but excuse him. He just wanted for the day to end, preferably in a bottle of scotch stashed in his office. Maybe with Sonny’s delightful company, if the man could forget everything just for an evening and actually provide the delight, instead of more disappointed rage.
“Good… I believe, I should already say evening, Mister McAllister,” Rafael started, earning himself a couple of amused huffs from the jury. They were in that part of a trial when the jurors had long moved from their first impressions to second and third, but it's never too late to gain himself – his side – some more points. “I’ll be blunt and move fast-”
McAllister tsked. “And you sounded so polite just a second ago,” he drawled, his scent rising up slowly. “What a shame.”
Rafael let just one eyebrow raise slightly, the rest of him unphased even against the growing tide of fish. Of course a man like McAllister would have a fishy scent along with his fishy personality.
I’m polite when people deserve it, Rafael thought. Completely unconsciously he searched the air for the familiar mint that grew in response to McAllister's words, let it calm him down slightly. He didn't need Sonny to fight his battles, didn't even need Sonny to support him while he fought his battles himself – he had spent years in these courtrooms alone. Still, it was nice to let someone else be angry on his behalf while he cut his opponent apart calmly, collectedly. Meticulously.
Rafael took a quick breath. “As I was trying to say-”
“Won’t even bless me with a reply?” McAllister interrupted him again. Rafael could see the judge sit straighter, throw daggers at the old man but didn't step in. Not yet, at least. The defense lawyer sighed audibly behind Rafael’s back. “And you could have made such a good mate…”
The lawyer cleaned his throat. The judge gripped the gavel tight. Sonny’s scent fought for dominance in Rafael's head over the fish.
“Nobody asked,” Rafael replied coolly, threw the dirty smirk back on out of sheer spite. “What I am trying to ask is this – do you know what no means?”
McAllister didn't reply, just looked down on him despite his eyes being lower than Rafael’s.
“I’m sorry, should I repeat that louder?” Rafael couldn't help but taunt, raising his voice slightly. “I asked-”
“I heard,” McAllister said lowly, darkly. “I just don't see this question deserving a reply.”
This wasn't a part of Rafael’s question tree, but he can make it work.
“So you’re telling me no. Do I understand that correctly?”
The defense counsel made noise with the water pitcher, then the glass. Rafael didn't move his eyes away from McAllister, too proud of the trap he just put down.
“An alpha has a right to do so,” McAllister seethed, his face barely hiding the mounting rage. The smell of fish became stronger. “An alpha has a right to do whatever he wants.”
“He or she, you mean?” Rafael countered quickly.
A chair scraped the floor. “O- objection! Uhm… Relevance?..”
Weak and not even that good of a point – the defense has spent an infinity on the biological aspects of gender – but the result was already achieved. McAllister’s front had broken. His jaw locked uncomfortably, his nails dug into his palms, as he barely restrained his scent from going completely haywire. Rafael got exactly what he wanted.
“Withdrawn,” he threw out off-handedly. “Basically what you’ve said is an alpha can do…” he waved his hand around. “Whatever, even if it’s against the omega’s wishes, correct?”
“An omega can’t have a wish that disagrees with her alpha’s,” McAllister said, the air around them getting heavier, pressing against Rafael’s entire being. He didn't even acknowledge the pronoun issue.
“But what if it does?” Rafael pushed back.
“Then it’s not a wish.”
“What would you call it?”
McAllister leaned forward. “Satan's whisper.”
Okay, this one Rafael should've expected, his bad for not being prepared for it. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the judge's surprised face. Sonny's scent kept trying to break through the heavy cloud around Rafael.
“So Satan whispered Miss Lawrence to not want sex, do I understand it correctly?” Rafael nodded to himself, turning to look at the jury. McAllister kept quiet. “But it wasn't Satan’s whisper that made Mister Thompson hurt Miss Lawrence?”
McAllister sat straighter, fidgeted with his jacket by brushing off inexistent dust.
“She defied an alpha,” he explained simply in a tone that suggested that Rafael is stupid for not understanding it.
“Wasn't it you who said just minutes ago that an alpha can never hurt an omega?”
There.
The trap shut.
McAllister froze as he finally realized his own contradiction. He cleared his throat and shuffled in his seat.
“If she didn't defy Hendric, none of this would've happened,” the alpha said evenly but with a finality that Rafael didn't agree with.
McAllister looked at him, really looked at him, a predator seizing up his prey, an owner checking out his slave. The pheromones became outright oppressive, and only Sonny’s steady presence helped Rafael stand tall.
“Hendric took back what belonged to him. Like a child taking his toy back.”
“Let's move down to your deranged world for a minute and say you are right,” Rafael walked close to the stand, showing that same defiance McAllister hated so much. “Is it worth it getting your toy back if it's broken?”
Their looking match was so intense, Rafael wouldn't be surprised if there were laser beams going out of their eyes. Nobody took a step back, even if Rafael's every breath became more and more difficult.
“Objection!” the defense counselor cried, which Rafael took as his clue.
“Withdrawn,” Rafael said, turning away after one last disgusted swipe of his eyes. “No more questions for this witness.”
The judge breathed out gratefully. “That's it for today, we'll reconvene tomorrow at 8AM,” the gavel struck. “Dismissed.”
Rafael walked back to his table, putting the papers away haphazardly, waiting for the moment Sonny appeared right in front of him with another tirade – there seemed to be an endless supply of those in Sonny’s mind. The fish appeared next to him, almost punching him off his feet in its intensity.
“Someone should teach you manners, omega,” McAllister seethed scornfully, the pheromones physically pushing Rafael down into the ground. “Show you your place.”
The mint came as a saving breath, lifting the pressure away.
“Is that a threat?” Sonny growled out, moved past Rafael, effectively putting himself in-between.
“Just a wish,” McAllister shrugged with all the disdain in the world and finally walked away.
Sonny followed him with his gaze, as Rafael recollected himself, his fingers white from gripping the table.
“What a fucking-” Sonny stopped himself and carefully lifted Rafael's hold on the wood, softened instantly. “Are you okay, Counsellor?”
“Never better,” Rafael muttered. “Wonderful. Terrific. Just peachy.”
Sonny stepped closer, took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a long couple of seconds, calmed himself somewhat – enough to get a grip on his scent. Rafael breathed the chocolate in hungrily, even if the wilting of orange blossoms still lingered in the periphery.
“He used pheromones,” Sonny said with an ironclad control over his voice, but Rafael could feel the heat beneath it. It wasn't a question – Sonny most definitely felt them too when he came over, however he didn't know the extent of that use, fished for Rafael’s reaction to find out without asking.
“Nothing I can't handle,” Rafael replied somberly.
Sonny took another steading breath – Rafael should've known that he couldn't hide, not from Sonny.
“He's fucking lucky I didn't-”
“You better not finish that sentence, Detective Carisi,” Rafael warned him carefully, suddenly realizing that Sonny was still holding his hands. Sonny looked down too, ripping his hands away quickly.
“Sorry, you are right,” he mumbled. “But it doesn't change the fact that-”
“Unless you stop right now, you are excused,” Rafael said, finally having packed his things. “I'm exhausted from angry alphas for today, so either you get a grip and help me finish that scotch bottle or you go home,” he caught Sonny’s gaze – flustered and guilty, like a puppy that chewed on the wrong thing. “Please, Sonny,” he adds quietly. Unnecessarily.
“Of course, Rafael,” Sonny replied with a small smile.
Not all alphas are bad, Rafael's heart whispered, as the two of them finally left the courtroom.
___
Rafael moves the tray closer – an oversight on the cult’s part as it can definitely result in a splitting headache if only Rafael places the hit right-
However they also sent the Mountain to carry out the physical part of the kidnapping, while McAllister smirked from the side, and now to bring the food. The big guy’s muscles alone are enough for Rafael to reconsider attempting anything at all, and then to add the pheromones these people are definitely not afraid of using?
Rafael hasn’t felt this much hopeless despair since his father.
There is no weapon, there is no fighting back.
Frustrated tears gather in his eyes – a completely logical reaction to his futile situation Rafael tells himself. It’s something you would expect from a person in his position. Totally normal.
Rafael keeps repeating it in his mind, slips up and starts whispering the same words under his breath. The tears fall, pull out stuttering wheezing with themselves, not comfortable in their lonely existence. A sorrowful whine follows next. A whole orchestra picks up a tale of tragedy, growing stronger, reaching crescendo with powerful whaling.
Rafael sits against the corner, everything around him orange, and all he can think about are Sonny’s blue eyes, how they crinkled with joy the last time they talked. How Sonny’s scent hugged him tight, while the alpha himself sat on Rafael’s desk, his hands flying around as he talked about everything and nothing, and Rafael didn’t feel even a gram of fear despite the rough gestures.
Now Rafael griefs over the fact that he didn’t listen intently enough – he doesn’t remember what Sonny talked about. It’s the last memory Rafael has of the man, and he doesn’t remember what Sonny talked about-
Rafael cries. Over his unconcluded life. Unfulfilled dreams. Lost possibilities. Cries over the relationship he was too much of a coward to pursue.
He was so terrified of losing his hard-won freedom, a thing so easily taken away from any mated omega, that he closed off for years, threw all of himself in his work, determined to make a change.
Did he though? Or did he just waste valuable time he could’ve spent on being happy?
Would he even be here if he just took that damn step instead of being a scaredy-cat, isolating himself further even when all he wanted was to fucking do it?
There’s nothing to do but cry.
Rafael sobs.
Rafael’s eyes fly open at the sound of the key turning the lock open. His neck hurts from the odd angle it’s been in for… Rafael looks around, wincing at the tug in kinked muscles, tries to check the time with a clock or a window before finally remembering where he is.
The key leaves, the handle turns, and Rafael scrambles to wipe his face as best as he can. All of his joints scream in pain from being in the same position in this damn corner, the muscles too. Everything hurts, including his soul.
The door opens, letting in the Mountain. He hunches over just to walk in, then promptly stops at the sight of untouched food.
“Is this some kind of a… protest?” he asks cooly, frowning. He sniffs the air, steps closer, his eyes searching Rafael’s for a reply. “Answer me.”
The trickle of pheromones is weak – not even a nudge against Rafael’s brain but a breeze of wind that barely moves anything. Rafael hugs his knees, curling tighter once more despite the protest of his entire body. The mountain comes closer, stops right by the bed, dripping that rock scent and cranking up the flow on the pheromones.
Rafael’s first instinct – not his inner omega’s, that one is obviously to submit, no question about it – is to defy biology further, but then his self-preservation shouts through the terror.
Play along, it says. Make them believe they have the upper hand. Wait for an opening that will come when they drop their guard.
Rafael clears his throat, scratchy from all the crying.
“I-” the sound catches on something, makes Rafael cough. The Mountain picks up the cup with water, handing it to him without a word but with a commanding look. Rafael drinks until his throat stops feeling like sandpaper. “I fell asleep,” he explains limply.
The alpha frowns further. “Sitting like this?” he asks skeptically. Rafael nods, averts his eyes. “Couldn’t have been comfortable,” he says next.
“It wasn’t,” Rafael mumbles, barely understandable.
“Hm.”
The silence stretches across the room. Rafael drinks the rest of the water, starts playing with the cup still in his fingers. The plastic cracks under his touch, folding in on itself. The Mountain still towers over him, which presses on Rafael even harder than the pheromones.
He’s really thankful to that smart part of himself that made him play along. If he didn’t, the alpha would have kept pressing until there would be no other way out, just complete compliance that would have broken Rafael on the inside sooner than later.
“Well, you are adjusting…” the Mountain sighs, raking a hand over his clean-shaven head. “You have to eat. Don’t make me feed you.”
Shivers run through Rafael’s body at the image, so he nods shallowly. Before the Mountain can say anything else, another scent comes through the door. A man follows suit.
“I hear you don’t like fish,” McAllister says from the doorway, throwing a disappointed glance at the food. “How do you like your accommodations?”
“The color scheme’s pretty… Boring,” Rafael replies. Raises his chin in some semblance of defiance, looks from under his eyebrows. “Lack of fresh air is concerning. And an absence of any kind of way to tell the time should be considered torture.”
The Mountain turns around as if checking all the complaints by himself, frowning at the air conditioner.
“We can get you-”
“Only an obedient omega who knows her place deserves a room upstairs,” McAllister interrupts his fellow cultist with disdain. “Some of the omegas here even have their own balconies.”
“Well-” the Mountain tries again, but McAllister stops him with a raise of his hand.
“Time? You don’t need to clutter your head with time, you’ll be given food at all the right hours, then be told to go to sleep when night comes,” McAllister shrugs, walking towards the lump beneath the rug and taking the sundress out. “What color would you prefer?” he asks suddenly.
Rafael meets his gaze, looks at the black of his eyes.
“Blue.”
McAllister hums. “I’ll get you some blue omega-appropriate clothes.”
He throws the dress at Rafael, who throws it back on the floor. McAllister tsks but doesn’t pick it up, just walks away. Rafael is about to take more than just a shallow breath, when McAllister’s scent surges through, makes Rafael recoil back into the wall, the pheromones a ton of bricks thrown right at him.
“You better start liking fish,” he says from the doorway. “Because you will be smelling it everyday for the rest of your life.”
The implication freezes the blood right in Rafael’s veins.
McAllister leaves with a laugh.
“He can be quite hard, but he’s the best alpha I have the fortune of knowing,” the Mountain speaks up. Rafael turns sharply at the dreamy tone of his voice. “Just drop all of that idiocy they teach you and embrace the lifestyle God has created for you. Oh, and eat, yes. You should eat. Omegas can never go hungry, it’s despicable.”
With that the Mountain walks out of the room too, closing and locking it once again.
Rafael’s mind is racing, his thoughts stumbling over each other in their haste to create something logical, some argument or at least a string of sentences to summarize everything he knows.
Point one. The alphas of the cult don’t believe in violence against omegas, which means he should be safe from any beatings. The worst Rafael will probably get is a fuckton of pheromones and some kind of deprivations. Non-lethal because hurting omegas is wrong. As if they aren’t hurting him-
Point two. Flowing right out of point one is the realization that Rafael is already on the lowest level of comfort – small room with minimal furnishing and no windows. All he can get now is just a pheromone shower. Or will they take away all the bedding too?
Point three. McAllister decided to take Rafael for himself, break him and mold into whatever docile little omega he wishes for. A man craving total control over someone else’s life and the means to actually do it through violence dressed in pretty pastels. Or bright oranges. Whatever.
Point four starts off as wondering. The easiest way to control an omega is by mating – only pay attention when they are being good, then withhold all attention until the inner omega is tearing themselves apart, crying and bleeding just for a gram of something – a touch, a look. Physical violence is the faster way, obviously, because neglect needs the familiarity, the routine of being cherished. However these guys think that hitting an omega is against God-
Their whole philosophy is against God- Rafael stops that flow of thought before it can get too far, comes back to his list. Where was he?
Point four (continuation). Their best strategy to get Rafael under control is to physically bind him to McAllister. But they haven’t. Why?
Rafael stands up – almost falls because his legs fell asleep in their cramped position – and walks back and forth in the tiny available space, his arms hugged around himself, as he keeps thinking. The room stinks of fish which makes all of the processes in Rafael’s body ten times more difficult to accomplish.
Just as suddenly as Rafael started moving, he stops.
Forcing a mating bite on Rafael right now would be exactly that, forcing. Holding him down physically because just pheromones might not be enough to override his self-preservation.
However, if they simply wait… Rafael would beg for it himself, when his heat hits.
Which it will very soon because he’s been taking suppressants for way too long at a time once again.
The clock started ticking again the morning after he was taken, the morning he didn’t get to take his usual dose because he was kidnapped for God’s sake. Rafael doesn’t know how much time he has left now, only knows that the countdown held two to three days in the beginning.
Rafael has no idea how long he has.
He really wishes he had at least a fucking clock.
___
“Heard you won once again, Counsellor,” Sonny said right out of the doorway, gently kicking the door closed behind himself. He raised up his hands to show the takeout bags. “Got some celebratory Chinese.”
“Thompson admitted on the stand that he clearly heard ‘no’ and went on anyway,” Rafael replied, clearing up the space on his desk for Sonny. “It would’ve taken some effort to lose after that.”
Sonny put the bags on the desk, walked away to get the glasses, while Rafael took out the scotch from the cabinet in his desk.
The whole scene reeked of comfortable familiarity of something more than what was happening between the two of them, so Rafael ignored it hard. Sonny grinned at him in that delighted way of his, his eyes smiling too, the blue shining bright. He took out all the containers and sat down in the chair across from Rafael.
“Not every ADA would’ve taken the case in the first place. They see a cult and run away in fear,” Sonny pointed out, sliding back the glass Rafael filled for him.
“Can’t blame them,” Rafael shrugged. Sighed deeply. “Can we move on?”
He really didn’t want to talk about the cult any longer than he had to. It had been plaguing his mind for way too long, and he had been waiting for the moment he could put it all in a box – a giant fucking box because it wouldn’t fit anywhere else – throw the box somewhere far in his mental storage room and forget about its existence.
Sonny nodded, probably feeling the same way.
“After we toast your victory,” he said, raising the glass just a bit before taking a sip, promptly following it with a bite of food. “Now let’s move on. Have you heard about that new legislative proposal?” he asked curiously, his eyes burning in his desire to find out Rafael’s opinion.
Rafael chuckled. Only Sonny could be so invested in Rafael’s point of view – and Rafael knew Sonny was actually interested, wouldn’t inquire just as a way to start the conversation.
“What do you think?” he shot back.
Sonny pouted. “I asked you first!”
Rafael picked up the orange chicken container, leaned back in his chair, got comfortable. He started eating, simply looking at the alpha, showing him that he’s not planning on going first.
“Rafael,” Sonny whined. Sighed when it became apparent that Rafael wasn’t bulging. “I just wanted your opinion, not a lesson,” he muttered under his breath, but Rafael could see that the protest wasn’t genuine, was played out for appearances’ sake.
“You want to be a lawyer?” Rafael asked between bites. “Then be one. You can’t fall back on sulking whenever I treat you like one.”
“I’m not sulking -”
“Your sad puppy dog eyes are making our food cry,” Rafael pointed at the condensation on one of the containers, making Sonny bark out a laugh. “You want an ADA’s opinion, and I want my colleague's opinion.”
Sonny looked away shyly. “I’m not your colleague, I haven’t passed the bar.”
“Yet,” Rafael shrugged, taking a sip of the scotch.
Sonny’s barely hidden smile, the elation in his eyes at Rafael’s offhanded confidence warmed some long forgotten part of Rafael that only came alive in Sonny’s presence. The chocolate floated in the air aimlessly, wrapped in orange blossoms, and Rafael wondered whether Sonny was breathing in the aroma of food or Rafael’s scent. Whether he was wondering where the sweet notes of lavender had come from.
Because Rafael felt so warm and cozy with Sonny sitting across from him, there’s no way the flower didn’t come out, replacing most of the ink.
Sonny was pleasant and comfortable and soft in one of his nicer suits – a three-piece, with the jacket draped over the back of the second chair, the vest accentuating his waist, the sleeves of the shirt rolled up over the elbows, showing off those strong forearms-
Rafael picked up his phone as casually as he could, opened an app that sat hidden in one of the folders. The title screen showed him a smiley cartoon panda munching on bamboo.
You can do anything as long as you take care of yourself :)
Rafael almost rolled his eyes at the line, waited for the rest of the app to load and winced.
Prediction: Heat, day 1
Yeah, no wonder Rafael found Sonny’s quite usual appearance so hot.
The suppressants took care of almost everything, even made him completely miss the signs of preheat, but some things still leaked through. Like the arousal just at the sight of Sonny’s muscles. Or the slight melting of Rafael’s brain under Sonny’s scent-
“Rafael?” Sonny’s voice broke through Rafael’s thoughts, making him look up, hum to show that he was listening. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, of course. Why?” Rafael put his phone away and resumed eating.
“You were frowning at your phone. Hard,” Sonny explained with his own frown, although his was worried, while Rafael’s… Wasn’t.
“Just remembered something. Sorry. You were saying?” Rafael stole a piece of food from Sonny’s container, who rolled his eyes fondly but didn’t let up on the concern. “Seriously. I had a sudden thought and had to check whether I was right.”
“Were you?” Sonny asked, picking up another bite from his container to put into Rafael’s.
Rafael swallowed against that warmth that came inevitably with Sonny’s attention.
“When am I not?” he replied instead, hiding behind a smirk.
Sonny laughed. “True.”
That was a week before Rafael was kidnapped, his heat sitting quietly behind the locked bars of suppressants.
And now there’s nothing holding it back, which means it will hit full-strength soon, overpowering the last dregs of medicine coursing through his system.
___
Rafael eats the food. The Mountain comes by some time later to take the plates away. Comes back a lot later with another tray – no soup this time, does it mean it’s dinner? Rafael eats. The Mountain comes back later.
“Oh, and it’s bedtime, by the way,” he says from the doorway, having collected the tray. “Good night. Sleep tight.”
He locks the door.
So it’s been a day. Has it been two?
How long does Rafael have this cut down version of independence for? When will the rest of his free will get taken away?
When will Rafael beg for it to be taken away?
There’s nothing quite as mind numbingly terrifying as the knowledge that Rafael will cry for an alpha’s touch, say anything and agree to even more just to get a tiny amount of relief, the slightest alleviation of the heat’s torture. That he will capitulate all of what he’s fought for his entire life himself.
The light switch is placed on the wall by the door, and Rafael tries it, but there’s no more light sources. The darkness is frightening, so he switches the light back on. He opens the bathroom door, puts on the light there, then turns the bedroom light off. Adjusts the door until there’s just enough light, but it doesn’t fall straight on the bed. Gets on the bed, frowning at his slacks, wishing for something more comfortable.
But it’s a part of McAllister’s plan – if Rafael wants some other clothes, they will have to be omega-appropriate. What a stupid term. What even is omega-appropriate? Skirts and dresses? No pants whatsoever?
That sounds sexist towards anyone with the ability to give birth.
…which means it sounds exactly like something McAllister would preach.
Rafael burrows under the blanket that fortunately – heavenly – smells like laundry detergent, not Rafael’s own distress of burnt coffee or the Mountain’s gasoline-dripping rock. Certainly not McAllister’s dreadful fish that coats every other note of his scent. Rafael closes his eyes, but sleep seems to evade him, chased away by the terrors of wakefulness. His heart beats way too fast, and his breathing is slightly troubled.
He lays there for a seemingly long time – again there’s no way for him to check, which drives him insane. His need to have control over most of the things is simmering lightly, evaporating into thin air.
Rafael takes a deep breath, closes his eyes once more and searches for comfort hidden in the alcoves of his mind.
The comfort, unsurprisingly, has the softest, warmest smile and blue eyes, smells of mint chocolate shared in a shadow of an orange tree.
The terror takes a step back, letting Rafael visit his memories in a dream.
The door creaks, yanks Rafael out of pleasant unconsciousness right back into atrocious reality.
“Good morning,” the Mountain smiles, placing the tray on the table. “Your food. Uh… I’ll be back soon to get the dishes, so think if you need anything else, okay?”
Rafael throws a wary look at the tray and the yellowish-green pale liquid in the cup.
“No coffee?”
The Mountain frowns. “Caffeine is very harmful, tea is a lot better for your health.”
Rafael almost interrupts him, but the promise of a pheromone shower isn’t that refreshing, so he waits until the alpha is done.
“I… I’m basically addicted,” Rafael says, choosing his words carefully. “I think I’m already starting withdrawal.”
The Mountain gasps, the sound quite scared.
“Oh no! I’ll find out how to take care of that, don’t worry,” he frets quickly, and Rafael is shocked to realize – there’s genuine worry in the other man. “Does it hurt or?..”
“My head hurts,” Rafael swallows carefully. His head hurts most of the time, and now it’s probably caused by all the crying and stress, but still. “And I’m a bit nauseous,” also the result of him being kidnapped.
But if he turns all the events just right he might get something positive.
“Okay- okay, I’ll take care of that, I’m sorry. Start eating for now- wait, nauseous?” the Mountain looks around, clasps his hands nervously. “Uhm. You should try drinking the tea for now, that could help. …right? If you drink slowly it should help, yes,” he nods, speaking to himself more than to Rafael. “Okay, I’ll be back soon! I’ll take care of it.”
The Mountain walks away – obviously locking the door, hoping for anything else is futile apparently – leaves a perplexed Rafael to stare blankly at nothing and sometimes blink.
That man actually, truly cares. Just was taught to do so in all the wrong ways.
Oh, what a sick joke.
Rafael throws off the blanket and makes his way to the desk, looking over the food. There’s toast and eggs and vegetables and fruit. The orange slices elicit a sense of longing. Although the smell is different from the flowers, it’s just similar enough for Rafael to always associate it with one certain alpha.
Just like any mention of fish or simple word mountain will always have the added connotations of his kidnappers.
Rafael sips on the tea, feeling the tug of his heat starting up in the depth of his body, creeping in slowly. The question follows swiftly.
How much time does Rafael have left?