Of Snow and Stars

by ZASNobody

Summary:

Steve and his mother had fled years ago, long before the Republic of Gilead was born; back when it was still called the United States of America. Now days he finds himself living alone in Canada, and working at a local refugee center. Because he is, as always, trying his best.

That is until he meets a mysterious man at the center one day. A massive, pregnant omega. One that many, for some reason, wanted their hands on.

Notes:

• Inspired by Far from Home by plutosrose (orphan_account)

Chapter 1

"That's an omega?"

That had been the only thing said by anyone else for the past thirty minutes or so. When Natasha had said that they needed to have an emergency meeting she wasn't kidding, this seemed like an statistical anomaly to say the least.

It was the thing that Clint was gawking at, and when he said it Steve didn't even give a reaction. The omega on the screen in front of them was huge, absolutely massive considering his dynamic, and tall. If Natasha hadn't told him, Steve would have definitely guessed he was an alpha.

But working here had thrown a lot of things in and at Steve's direction, everything had been spun completely out of control for what had been a little over a decade or so. Ever since Gilead had risen to power- had taken over a nation, Steve had never been busier in a consecutive day in his life.

Fleeing was a thing he and his mother had did in the beginning. The signs came early but even then they were hard to catch, and virtually nobody could have ever thought it would have gotten to the point it was at now.

It had began with the protesters in the streets. Restricted access to birth control and scent blockers had started becoming policies in certain States, mainly within the south. It had branched off in the American Bible Belt and went overlooked and unchallenged for a while until the idea had spread into the north, affecting them.

Married omegas and beta women gradually started to need their spouse's permission for trivial things like blockers and birth control until it became implemented across the board. That's when the protests had truly started. Beta females and omegas of both sexes had flooded the rodes and airways with signs and objections, with some supportive alphas and beta males as allies to the upset.

But for many, beta males and nearly all alphas had ignored it. It wasn't their problem as far as who was being affected was concerned. As far as they could tell, if you dressed sensibly and weren't whoring yourself round and about on the streets then there was no reason for birth control. Assaults wouldn't happen if you were home at a certain time and not callownessly walking about the streets at night.

Many of the omegas points of using birth control to regulate their heats or that beta women had used them to regulate their own menstrual cycles went unheard. Many married omega's partners had started to reject the idea of their significant others being on such pills and shots altogether.

Disinformation grew like a flame, catching new weight and traction. Created and spread to a great extent due to the work of the right ring organization known as The Sons of Jacob by many. They had started small, projecting the idea that if a committed omega or beta female was on birth control then they were unfaithful, otherwise why would they need it?

They had fed to the public's legislators that birth control was only used to prevent pregnancies, and that their time and energy should be focused elsewhere, on more important bills and acts. Had told the public directly through speeches and campaigning commercials that the birth of a child was a gift to mankind, that the birth rate had been steadily dropping, something that was somewhat true. But that it had been caused by the negligence of women.

That they were all true nurturers at heart; omega's especially. That it had been their biological destiny to birth the future of man, an innate desire that they had chosen to ignore and suppress for paychecks and entitlement.

The only way any omega would want birth control was if they were unfaithful, a beta woman as well. For many that's all it took, due to the fact that within a year access to birth control had been properly restricted across all fifty states and needed a married partner's signatory for permission and access for spouses.

Citizens revolted, people started protesting and flooding in the streets. Steve had been one of them even though he was an alpha himself. It didn't affect him, but it didn't matter. Access to safe birth control was a medical basic human right to him, a right one couldn't just snatch away, married or not.

But it was bad, tear gas released on peaceful protesters across city blocks, omegas shot down by officers and arrested in loads. It began to get worse, with omegas going missing; especially the males. Families searching for their lost children that didn't get any news coverage, police reports started to go unheard for missing omegas as a whole.

Then it derailed, soon access was banned for everyone, blockers included. People started to get fired, bank accounts were shutting down. People were still missing.

The Constitution had eventually became demoted, and that's when Steve and his mother had fled, it had been her idea. There was something about that move, and that move in particular, that a had pushed her last and finial nerve over the edge. Steve was more than willing to stay and try to fight; it didn't matter to him, but she had told him that it would do them no good here. That they could go to Canada and try to help where they could, to help support the large efforts and aids going on there, ones that couldn't be out lawed or banned. To support themselves and others from the outside, far better than they ever could there. To make a change. So they did.

Now he was here, working for Natasha Romanov, the director of one of the most infamous refugee shelters in Canada. They helped every day taking on new survivors and victims, providing places to stay, housing, food and water aiding those in need for themselves and anyone else they had brought with them. The foundation, had been started by Nick Fury, an alpha with a cause.

Since his passing he had been replaced by his second hand, Natasha. She, along with everyone else in that room, had been there when the organization had first started ten years ago by its founder and had grown to become Steve's closest friend and personal cheerleader over those years.

She had been Nick Fury's right hand man and personal assistant for a nearly a decade, his consoler. That's why upon his passing it had been given to her without question or protest among any of her fellow coworkers, it's more that what Fury would have wanted.

Now they were all in a meeting for their latest visitor. Usually they didn't have meetings for each and every single refugee that came into the center, the only time they really did was when they needed medical attention in one of their hospital suites. This had been the first time she had called a meeting on a refugee that sounded seemingly fine. That was until she flashed a picture of him on their projection board.

He looked weak to say the least, most of the people that came in here did. It wasn't uncommon to see struggling victims of Gilead with their sunken in faces and malnourished bodies, it had become the norm at this point.

But the man looked irregular. Beyond that, scarily beyond that.

Firstly he was big, at least six feet and was built like a brick. He had overly long brunet hair that went down to his shoulders and eyes that were far too piercing and bloodshot. His face looked sunken in and bony, a huge contrast to how the rest of his body looked; almost as if it wasn't affected at all by his state of being. Like it was detached from the rest of his being entirely, just like his facial expression. Unnatural.

His face looked disturbed. More than that, he looked disturbed.

His facial features didn't quite match up where they should've been. Boney and contorted from where they should have lied. There where patches of an odd, grotesque redness that painted across his face one's that phased into faint brown splotches on the rest of his face, shiny and raw in areas from what was undoubtedly frostbite.

There was brown stubble on his cheek and chin, but none of that was what had thrown everyone for a bit of a loop. It was one of the few things about the photo that didn't immediately cause the reaction of either slight nausea, or the deeply maladjusted empathy that this job often garnered out of Steve.

That wasn't really something worth remarking on at all. His sex was male which was unsurprising, but the slot for his dynamical presentation was marked "O" for omega.

Steve wasn't as much shocked as he was just surprised, but a tiny part of him felt nearly relieved at the slight abnormality, and, also just nearly wanted to scoff at Clint's comment. Regardless of the childishness of it and the gravity of the situation.

Steve himself wasn't exactly the most typical specimen for his own presentation either... as a matter of fact most people had mistaken him as an omega when first meeting him. For starters Steve was short. Five foot four to be exact, and only weighed ninety five pounds on a good day.

He wasn't exactly the strongest, or really the fastest either. More common traits of an alpha Steve hadn't been all that lucky in receiving. Nor was he quite lucky in the sensatory department either, seeing as he wasn't able to necessarily hear all that well in general and had a hearing aid in his left ear to help out.

But, Steve had always been that way. His mother and father had been a beta-alpha pair respectively, and he had been one of the few babies born at the beginning of the fertility crisis decades ago. His parents had tried for years, and when they did finally conceive, it had been with him and only with him for all their efforts.

Steve had been born small and sickly like many of the other few children born at the time, and in his childhood he somehow managed to catch everything and anything around him. His compromised immune system didn't help him all that much with that either, and he had spent most of his childhood in and out of clinics.

So to say the least Clint's comment wasn't appreciated.

Natasha shot him a look, one that Steve wanted to shoot him. She knew how Steve was with his body reflections, and even beyond that these people were victims, not roadside attractions. They weren't to be gawked at.

"Yes, he is." Natasha said, there was a soft bite behind her voice that Steve had heard before.

Clint immediately shut it, regardless of the clear fact that to them, everyone present more than understood that he hadn't done it necessarily to be malicious. He was just one of those people that spoke whatever was on his mind quite frankly, and often at that. They had all just gotten used to it over time.

"Alright so he's big," A voice said behind him. Sam's. "What's wrong with him?"

Now Sam was an alpha, the kind people put on poster boards and pamphlets. He used to make Steve insecure, a lot of the other alphas in the room used to. Carol and Maria were one of them, an alpha-alpha pair, not married but practically joined at the hip.

All three of them were picture perfect examples of what an alpha should look like. Big, tall, and strong; especially Sam. His sex was male, so along with his dynamical presentation the man was practically a machine. He was more than sure that when he started working here Sam would have gave him the hardest time, most of his childhood taunts had came from fellow alpha's.

But Sam was nice, the coolest person in the whole program honestly, at least in Steve's opinion. He had a consistent penchant for slapping Steve on the back when he was all giggity and all hyped up about whatever it was they were talking about at any given moment. It made Steve feel good in a way he couldn't quite explain, made him feel like an actual, fellow peer for once.

"That's not the problem." Natasha said with a near roll of her eyes. "This is."

The presentation on the board flickered and a new page appeared on the screen, it had been his medical information they had taken from him when he had first arrived. Technically that wasn't allowed, all medical information was private but they also why she showed them almost instantly.

"He's pregnant." She said, her voice unwavering.

Every omega and every female that came through their doors had to go through a pregnancy test just so they could completely medically assess them, even alpha females. Beta and alpha males didn't, it didn't make any sense to.

But when pregnancy tests were done it was always a blood test, not a urine test, and yet that was what was on the screen in front of them. A picture of a little plastic stick with a pink positive sign.

"We have no idea how far he is along," Natasha continued as if she had read everyone in the room's mind. "He had shown to be hostile to our sonographer's and exhibited violent behavior at our medical staff at the blood testing procedure for an confirmation of pregnancy."

She sighed like she was frustrated at herself. "This was the only test assessing pregnancy he would- could comply with."

She rubbed her face before clicking on to her next slide, which would have been the least bit odd considering it was Natasha after all, but after the next image had shown it was obvious why.

The next image had been a full body shot of him, which was common practice there. The only pictures of him they had seen so far had been headshots. The reason why they had been shocked by those pictures had been because its height and weight had been listed with the shots and they could just see the top of his chest.

It was obvious without fully seeing his build that he wasn't a typical omega, but the next image was just hard to look at.

The omega's arm, the left one, was missing. Partially.

But, it didn't look like a birth defect. It couldn't have been. It looked deliberate. Like someone had done this this to him with purpose. On purpose. There were light marks and scarings around the tip of it, angry dulled scratches where the rest arm had once gone on and connected to the socket in his elbow. Ones that that indicated it was surgical. Ones that meant that likely, Gilead had taken the man's arm.

Steve sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, head down. He had never seen a case like that before, an omega that was pregnant was something the shelter had never handled before. Gilead kept its omega's under lock and key, especially the men. Simply the fact that this one was able to get out, and pregnant at that, seemed damn near impossible.

But Natasha wasn't finished. "There's another thing."

Natasha's scent had spiked up and Steve knew it had to be bad. She was a beta, and betas regardless of sex, didn't have to much of a scent. They smelled almost to the equivalent of a mist, weaker than what could be considered a perfume, and even then could only truly be smelled up close. It was pleasant. Convenient. Unlike omega's and alpha's who's scents were more akin to thickened, strong colognes at times. Ones that could clog up entire rooms.

But hers spiked, and it spiked hard. Filling up the room as suddenly as a lit candle would. Typically hers would come off more or less sweet, with Steve being one of the few who had actually gotten close enough to her to smell it to its full extent. Usually she smelled like honeysuckles with a base of caramel and vanilla, sometimes with some amber and sandalwood in there. Something like that. Something close.

But right now it was caramel, and not the rich, gourmade caramel she usually could smell of. But a burnt, ruined mess. Like someone had attempted to make some home scratch caramelized sugar in a pan but had burned it all the way through in the pot.

She placed the remote in her hand down, and didn't move the screen any further. Instead she had done what Steve had done earlier, with her hand finding a place on her face.

"He's mute." Her eyes squeezed shut when she pinched the bridge of her nose, and Steve couldn't tell if that was out of shear annoyance or frustration. He found himself grimacing regardless.

"At least we think he is," She said and looked onto the rest of them, her hand now on her thigh. "He won't say a word and yes, our staff has confirmed that his tongue is still intact."

Steve swallowed down on the perfectly formed hunk of nothing in his throat. That had been a more than a relief, a cosmic sized relief. He's seen some people come in without tongues before, shakened up and forced into a since of silence for the rest of their existence. An odd feeling crawled up his spine at remembering their faces, perfectly silent. Sorrowful.

Nobody said anything for a while, as it slowly grew dauntingly apparent to each and every member in the tense filled room, that this whole thing was going to be a tough case. When she had called them all in for a meeting in the first place, this wasn't at all near what he was expecting to hear, nor what he really wanted to hear. Clint seemed to only shift and look to Natasha from where he was seated.

His own scent spiked up, be it if only a barely slightly, smelling differently than he usually did in response to her. A usual a black cardamom and musk amongst others. Right then and there all his body seemed to be offering was the smoky like vanilla in it, light and slightly calming in her wake.

It seemed to relax her if only a bit subconsciously, the sticky burnt smell of her scent only slightly subsiding. She looked at him with a weary smile and sucked in a small breath before continuing. The remote she had discarded picked right back up. She she attempted to move on to a second slide, a different slide; it seemed to be a live feed.

From there they could all see the omega in one of their many rooms in the facility. He was bunched up on his cot from underneath a thin blanket. He seemed lay on his right side, and they could all clearly see what all was left of his left arm creating a small hill in the sheets, the thick lump serving as all the evidence he had remaining of the once full limb that was likey there once.

His legs were drawn up towards himself, nearly pushing himself into a fetal-like position. Steve couldn't quite tell, but he was sure he could make out the outline of the man's fingers from his right hand squeezing into his side. Blinking slowly, as he stared off onto the right side of the room. Still.

"Shit." The voice came from Riley who had sat back in his chair, lips pursed together. Sam squeezed his hand.

"Yeah, I know." Natasha said brushing her fingers through her hair as an attempt to self-soothe.

"He's been here for the past twelve hours and that's all he's done." Natasha continued, squeezing on to the remote. She sighed. "We've had people keep an eye on him. They say he's only slept for two hours at the most since coming in."

It was a free-for-all of scents after that had enough time to sink in, the room quickly becoming a mangled mess of sticky, hot fumes. It was clear that everyone had came to the exact same conclusion. What had they done to this man to cause him to not even want to sleep?

"He won't talk so we don't have a name," Natasha continued, she sounded slightly exasperated. "Hell, we don't even know how old he is."

A new slide flickered onto the screen, Natasha's voice following soon after. "The irregular scarring on the left shoulder show potential matches to dental records of one Alexander Pierce amongst, alternatively, a few others... It's a probable clue."

Steve stared at the dull mark in between the man's shoulder and neck on the slide. It looked deep and painful. The omega's body had taken to it like a scar and the flesh was puffed up in the shape of teeth marks. It wasn't a bond mark.

A bond mark was a playful thing between sweethearts, a little love bite left on the skin of a lover from their partner. Call it hickies, or claims. Bonding prints, or love bites. It went by many names but it was all the same, small and blooming, usually fading after a day or two. Affectionate.

This looked deep and savaged. Like it should have hurt when it happened, like the omega should've bled, or depending on his state of mind at the time or anything else happening to him, lost all consciousness. Because that wasn't a bonding print at all. Alexander, if anything, had potentially branded him.

"What we do know is that Pierce doesn't have a Handmaid nor a Wife assigned," Natasha said with a suddenly stern look. "At least not yet."

Riley reached up and rubbed his neck absentmindedly, right over were his own bond mark was, light and fading. Maria did the same. Clint had hummed along quietly with a muffled huff at the thought. He didn't even know the guy, but the idea of someone holding somebody else down and doing that to them was beyond something heinous, especially with how bad it looked like it must have hurt. In all honesty, all of this looked heinous.

"We should question him." Carol said almost out of nowhere. She sat up, arms and palms flat against the table as she leaned into it. And god had she looked tired, like she had seen enough, or that maybe she was just the only person who could vocalize it. "See what he knows."

"That's the idea." Natasha said, flicking the screen back onto the live feed.

The man hadn't moved once from his spot on the bed since they'd last left him. He was nearly a statue aside from blinks that somehow still managed to look labored. Steve grimaced, because even the very way the man breathed looked forced, like it should have been hurting on some sort of level.

"He doesn't seem to like large groups of people." Natasha started. "Had nearly broken off an staff members finger today too."

"Damn." That had been quietly muttered out by Maria, her palm pressed against her forehead, fingers tensing in her hairline.

"I know." Natasha said matter of factly, barely missing a beat.

"So that means Carol, Sam, Maria and Steve; you're out." Natasha said looking at them one by one, back as straight as she could muster.

"Wait what?" The tone of Sam's voice had sounded a bit more shocked than confused, not that Steve could blame him because he was too. Surely, they knew, Natasha wasn't firing them. "Out for what?"

"Out for this." She gestured to the live feed with the device for the screen in hand. "I want to try and send some of us in. Try and see if we can get something- anything out of him." She breathed before continuing, choosing her words carefully, her voice immutable. "And I just think an alpha in with him right now, in such a confined space…"

"Oh." Steve breathed, relief in his voice. His brain couldn't help too for some reason, jump to the worst, the images on the screen seared into his head. "I don't know why I just thought... for a second there I thought was gonna get fired."

"What? No, of course not." She said in that same bordering flat voice she always had, she had sounded borderline offended. "I just meant I think it would be best for you all to sit tight in here while we try and figure this out."

"It'd be best." She said, and Sam along all the other alphas in the room nodded absent-mindedly along. Steve had nodded slowly at that, of course he did, he still wanted to help.

But he had no idea what that omega had been through, she didn't. None of them did. And if him not being there was somehow benefiting them in learning all of that, and potentially more information on Pierce, then maybe this was helping. That was the only way he could rationalize it. They didn't know what he had been through, anything about him, the last thing they needed was for someone to take a suppressor late— maybe scent or trigger him. It wasn't worth it.

Natasha had walked somewhere to the side of the room and opened a drawer, pulling out a pack of pills. Scent blockers; contraband in Gilead.

"Riley. Clint. Take these." Natasha broke two pills off of the pack and slid them over the table, sliding perfectly over to the respective betas who caught them.

Usually most of the staff were on scent blockers, practically everyone was here. Natasha always offered them to every refugee at the center with her due diligence, along with packs of birth control and shots. So virtually everyone was unscented, the only ones that weren't were some of the betas that worked here.

Betas didn't usually go on the blockers in general though, they didn't need to seeing as they don't have much of a scent to block to begin with. It had been requirement from the very beginning of the shelters very foundations that omegas and alphas both that volunteered or ran the shelters operations and it's surrounding perimeters be on scent blockers at all times.

Their scent was stronger, sometimes strong enough to choke a cow, and and even Nick Fury didn't want any more freak outs or medical induced trauma escapades or episodes than need be. Least not any more than they were already freaked out.

Natasha popped out one for herself, all three were taken with relative ease. Sam looked at Riley briefly with worry clear as day written on his face, likely the idea of his partner being in any space, let alone confined with that man on the board not being exactly comforting, but Riley could still find his alpha's hand regardless and give it a bit of a squeeze.

"Alright." Natasha said, posting a sense of likely forged, mild confidence. It's what they needed right now, to hear right now. "We're going to go in there one at a time and see who he responds best to."

The two other betas nod, and Steve might not have felt like he was doing much, but his eyes wandered back over to the screen where he could see omega was still laying down. A brift sense of resolve prickling beneath the sweat of his palms.

He might not have been helping, not exactly, but there was a reason why Natasha had called them all in here specifically. Clearly she trusted them above all the rest of her staff, at least for this anyways.

She need a small group and that much was clear, spreading it all the way around throughout the halls wouldn't have been very concise. The last thing they needed was a bunch of people trying to prod even if useful or helpfulness was the reasoning. The man on the screen had looked far too fragile for that.

She likely had the plan of not sending alphas into the newest resident's room, as that Steve feared would be common sense, but she had still called him in here anyway for some reason. Everyone in that room was the best of the best, at least to her in some light in terms of competency, and so, somehow, he felt the nagging sense of potential.

"I'm going in first," Natasha said with a huff in her voice. "Then Clint. Then Riley."

Everybody seated at the round table seemed to come in agreement with it, even Sam who was still a bit apprehensive about the whole plan. But Steve felt good, really good. As long as they could get this man some help that's all that mattered.

And it really mattered.

Chapter 2

It had been a complete disaster. In which none of their attempts to speak, even remotely with the omega, ended with anything remotely close to success.

Natasha went in first as she said she would, and he didn't so much as look at her. He just laid across his cot and stared on, fingers clutching along his side. If it wasn't for the fact that Steve could see from the live feed that he was occasionally blinking, he would have thought the omega was dead.

She had tried her usual tactics. Calm voice and tranquil demeanor. But he did nothing, he just stared down the wall just as before, and the one thing he did do wasn't exactly giving anyone a lot of confidence. Except for maybe Sam.

When she had first walked in he had moved his thigh up from under the sheets, a simple swift movement that was telling enough. It wasn't anything that anyone wanted to see but it wasn't exactly uncommon either.

It was a show of submissiveness, shifting his legs from being on top of one another and moving one to where they were opened. It wasn't sexual but it was still not particularly a good sign.

Many of omega's who came into the shelter had done that move before. It exposed the glandules in between the upper thighs, amongst other things. Spreading one's legs for scent wasn't uncommon, as a matter of fact it was extremely common among all people.

Typically though it was more of an assertion thing. When two people were squaring each other up for a fight, many opened up their legs slightly while they stood, it was subconscious mainly. A puffed-up chest and a head held high was a sign of confidence as well and usually went right along with it.

Many people used that motion for graduation pictures or full body pictures to represent their line of profession in photos. It represented confidence and pride, but to do it while laying down was weak, fragile. It exposed everything in a position that a person couldn't really defend themselves in. A 'See? I won't fight you, I give up.'.

It was slightly relieving to everybody in the room, especially Sam. It meant at the very least he wouldn't lash out at them, and for Sam, it meant he wouldn't lash out at Riley.

But him not lashing out wasn't exactly what they wanted. They were trying to get him to speak, or at least feel comfortable enough to say something. Information was what they wanted since they had known he had been in contact with Pierce at some point, or at least suspected it. But if they could just get the man to relax a little and say something that would be enough progress for today.

But he didn't. He didn't say a word. The only thing he did was shift his leg ajar every time a new person came in and closed them when they got out his line of vision. The door to enter the room was horizontal to the foot of his bed so he just shifted whenever he felt the door click open and shifted back when they where gone, almost like a greeting.

It made something twist in Steve's stomach. It wasn't normal, and for someone to automatically do that meant that man had to had been doing that for years.

Steve might not have been the most hot tempered person in the world, but if there was one thing he couldn't stand, it was bullies. That's all those people were to him. A great big organization of bullies that preyed on people and made their lives a living hell.

It was why he had wanted to stay. He wanted to help, maybe even use his newly found status as an alpha to help out others at the time. But his mother had been right. If he had stayed there would be no telling where he would be right now, where his mother would be right now. Likely hanging off of a wall somewhere, swaying as forgotten ornaments.

He just couldn't understand how people could do others like that. How they could treat their fellow human beings like property. It made it hard to watch the feed, the omega on the screen just looked so tired.

Steve could only imagine how that man must have looked. Pregnant and amputated, trudging through the many thick forests and snow banks that separated Gilead from Canada's borders. Just to escape a bunch of fully grown bullies, and fuck Steve hated that shit.

He had grown up his whole life being nothing but hounded by other people. People who were bigger than him, stronger than him. People who were more far more financially well off. More stable. He knew what it felt like, and even if he didn't, to him, it still didn't make any sense.

It might have been why he was frustrated now, Riley had just gotten back from his attempt and it was just as big of a failure as the other two. He wanted to go in there and just try, just for a second. But he knew better, and Natasha was right, alphas being in there with him right now probably wasn't the brightest idea.

Riley had came back in with a slightly slumped back, the disappointment written clear as day on his face. He shook his head.

"Nothin'." He said, shrugging his shoulders a little too sharp for it not to be in frustration.

Sam squeezed Riley's shoulder when he sat down next to him. The beta didn't say anything but he seemed to have looked a little better at the soft gesture. Although Sam might have been doing it a little more for himself than for Riley.

Alphas were notoriously possessive, but not in a way that was typically concerning. Omega's were usually the ones that were stereotyped as being overly smothering and ever-present, a notion that was very heavily projected by Gilead and even others in the before, usually from more conservative influences.

But most of the time it was alphas that were more clingy. Constantly checking up on their partners, worrying over them the most. It was territorial sure, but it was in their nature, and most of the time it was harmless. While not all of them and a stereotype to its fullest, most stereotypes were based on some level of truthfulness, it was where that truth was actually sourced from that rightfully started problems.

Steve looked away from them when he heard Maria's voice. Somehow she sounded just as tired as Riley. "Maybe we should give him a break."

Natasha's eyebrow corked up, and Sam quickly finished where Maria left off. "Yeah Nat, the man's been in here all day."

He looked at Riley's deflated face and moved his hand from his shoulder to meet the beta's own hand. Sam gave it a gentle squeeze and searched his boyfriend's face for comfort, only relaxing a bit when Riley looked back up at him.

His eyes shifted from Sam's to Natasha's, eyes looking low and tired. He undoubtedly took that failure and of course Steve knew why, Riley was a military man. Or at least he had been once. Before Gilead had come along he used to serve in the Air Force, that's where he had met Sam.

Their relationship had started there, quiet but blossoming. Once Gilead had started Riley was left behind, they had tried to leave together but they had gotten separated and Riley had ended up missing the flight with Sam still on it.

It had been one of the very last flights to America before they had began shutting down the airports leaving the country, and since he and Sam weren't married, since no one had ever even known they were dating, he was stuck.

They had been separated for two years. Two long years in which Riley had become an Angel due to his past military experience and contributions. He could have, and very well should have by Gilead standards, been hanged for being a gender traitor. But for his own sake his and Sam's relationship hadn't been one that was necessarily out there at the time

During that time he had to use his status to get more than seventy two people out of Gilead. Wives, Handmaids, Marthas, even Econowives and Economen. All freed from the regime. The only reason why he stopped was because he was getting the attention of the Eyes and had to make his own way across the border and into the safety of Canada's walls.

But even that had been before the first five years of Gilead, after that everything tightened up. Less and less survivors started making their way into Canada. More people started to get caught and eventually fewer people stopped trying all together.

Steve could only imagine what this man must have been through in order to make it all this way, it couldn't have been easy. There were so many Guardians at so many different checkpoints for common mayday users that now that making it clear across what used to be America was nearly impossible.

But this omega did and that's why that was a personal failure, because that man had made it. He had made it to freedom and Riley couldn't even help him, none of them could it seemed.

Steve looked at Natasha from where she was sitting at the head of the table and sighed. "Maybe we should debrief."

Her face deflated a little and Steve was quick to continue. "We can always pick back up tomorrow. Right?"

She blew out a breath and her shoulders dropped with a bit of disappointment. There was a moment where she almost objected but her eyes found their way to the clock on the wall, it was nearly time for them all to leave anyway.

"Yeah Steve." She said, forging a smile. Clint frowned a bit at her words, but she continued. "Yeah."

It was time for a break anyway, it wasn't like she could keep him here all day. Steve wouldn't have minded honestly but the others probably would. They had things to attend to, and even if not for that it was just time for a break in general.

Everyone had gathered their things soon after that and made their way out of the briefing room. After they had all left Natasha had stayed behind for a moment to lock up the room and then caught up with Clint. Everyone had took the stairs down to the first floor, Steve took the elevator.

They were way up on the fourth floor of the building and he knew that taking those stairs all the way down to the first would have done nothing but flared up his asthma. So the elevator it was.

He found himself squeezing onto the papers in his hands on the way down, he had been taking notes on their newest visitor. Any little thing he had done while his beta co-workers had tried to interact with him.

The elevator dinged on the first floor and he made his way out, walking down the hallway and into the front room. He opened the door with his free hand and found himself breathing in the cold crisp air around him before walking out of the building completely.

The door auto locked behind him as usual and he continued walking, squeezing his coat a little tighter on him with his free hand. He made sure to hold onto the papers in his other hand a little tighter. The last thing he wanted was the breeze to flutter them away.

It was cold but not very bitter, the kind of cold that children looked forward to on a Christmas Day. Snow had littered the ground everywhere like a blanket of powdered sugar on a cake. It wasn't too different from what he had grown up with.

Steve had always been around snow, always, ever since he was a kid. Growing up in New York didn't exactly make it a foreign thing, as a matter of fact it was a pretty big staple of his childhood.

One of the best things about Little America for him was the buildings. They looked just like the apartments in Brooklyn, tall and brown. Almost like gingerbread houses. The snow piled up on top of their rooftops and sidewalks, it dusted the streets. It felt like home to him.

He had kept walking until he had made it to his apartment complex, boots crunching on the snow beneath his feet. The shelter didn't exactly have a work uniform, and god Steve was glad for it.

Fury had implemented a come-as-you-are policy when the shelter was first opened. Said it would make the survivors and refugees feel more like they were at a home, and not another Gileatarian place. It also meant that Steve could wear his oversized coat and snow boots into work without being stared at.

Steve was never quite good with the cold despite growing up in it, it didn't hurt him but it wasn't weather he loved either. He really didn't thrive in it the same way other New Yorkers did, not that there were many New Yorkers to compare him to any more.

Luckily Steve didn't have to travel up the stairs to get to his apartment. His own home was located right on the first floor. He was lucky for that because there were ten stories on this thing and he really wouldn't have been looking forward to that.

He fumbled to pull his keys out of his front side pocket before he pulled them out. As he was pushing one to his apartment in the door he could see the couple that lived next door going out of theirs, no doubt to get coffee.

T'Challa and Nakia, those were their names. He had ran into them a couple of times and they were nice people from what he could tell, Steve had held a conversation with them once or twice before. Their accents were prevalent, and Steve had guessed that they probably just weren't from here.

Well none of them were, but they probably weren't from America. Had likely migrated to America before Gilead had taken over and fled immediately to Canada at the first signs. Steve had guessed that anyway, he didn't know and he really didn't want to pry.

Just out of Steve's peripheral vision he could see her squeeze his hand, T'Challa's. He squeezed it back and locked the door to their place up with his other hand just as Steve had gone into his and closed the door behind him.

He took a breather. Man he was tired.

It wasn't really from the walk- okay maybe it was. He was always a little tired after work though usually it was because he spent the whole day anxious while at the shelter.

They hadn't had another refugee come in in weeks. It had begun to worry Natasha, the beta had kept herself busy with burying herself in paperwork and empty coffee cups all the way up until now. It was probably why she was so determined to get something out of him today.

Ever since Fury's passing she had been keeping herself busy. It was quite understandable in a couple of ways, Nick Fury was quite the man to live up to and for him to leave the shelter for her to take over? Well it was major, at least to her.

And if there was one thing that Natasha Romanoff was, it was serious. And she took her job very, very seriously. Which, inevitably, took a toll on Clint as her husband.

The funny thing about those two was that she hadn't even known that the other existed until ten years ago. For most couples it was a dating period that was usually at least a year long, you met their parents, got a place to stay together. Maybe even got a dog.

For most couples marriage happened after that. But Clinton and Natasha weren't most couples, they had been in a forced marriage under Gilead's rule.

The two were once Economan and Econowife, forced to be married since Clint was a widower after his first wife Laura had passed. A woman that he did do all of those things most couples did.

They had been married before Gilead and she had died before Gilead as well. One might have said she was Clint's entire world. Her passing had taken a toll on him but the high commission didn't seem to care about that too much and issued Natasha as his wife soon after Gilead had became their new country.

His wife had died from a genetic disease back when the United States was still called that, and hadn't even got a chance to fully grieve before he was issued Natasha. In Gilead divorce was outlawed, but he wasn't a divorcee, he was a widower. Widowers were given exceptions. Though riddled in his grief he didn't want to marry her.

She didn't want to marry him either, she didn't even know him. At the time though, the redhead hadn't been given many choices. She was considered "sinless" in the eyes of the Sons of Jacob, at least for the requirements that saved her from becoming a Handmaid. Being seen as potentially too fecund by Gileadian physicians immediately disqualified her from potentially serving as a Martha. So Econowife it was. At that point she could only really hope whomever she married wouldn't be too cruel given everything.

Guess she lucked out. Steve thought to himself as he peeled off his coat and hung it on the coat rack at the front door.

Thinking about Natasha for him always brought him back to the thought of her and Clint being together. They were cute together, good for each other. It had been one of the few good things that came out of Gilead.

He turned around and walked into the rest of his apartment, making his way to the kitchen. He weaved around the corner into it and pulled out a quick frozen meal from the freezer, placing his papers on a random countertop.

The place wasn't exactly bad, it wasn't exactly good either. He had heard Sam once referred to them being almost like his military barracks back in the Air Force, Steve wasn't really sure what that meant but Riley had agreed with him so it must have been somewhat accurate.

It had a small kitchen with a stove and a microwave, a couple of counters and cabinets with a sink and dishwasher. There was a living room with a couch in it and a single bedroom. There was also one bathroom with a shower tub combo so there was that.

Nothing less, nothing more. Just enough, and that was good enough for Steve. It had been more than enough for the people who had survived Gilead long enough to make it here, it was a slice of heaven at this point.

The microwave beeped and Steve was quick to get it out, nearly burning his hands on the heated plastic. Steve wasn't really much of an eater, his weight reflected that. He usually only ate once or twice a day after work.

"Biscuits!" He hissed out, quickly putting the food down on the stove. Steve shook his fingers, wrists loose and made his way over to one of his cabinets to get a plate.

The thing was Steve sucked at swearing. He only used archaic, old-lady swears like tramp, and tart, and could barely get out the word “hell” on most days at work. He’d probably pass out cold before using an actual curse word.

It was a odd trait he had picked up from his mother because "Good boys don't use bad words." apparently. That was probably another reason why he got bullied so hard in school so much, that on top of a plethora of other things.

A plastic plate was quickly retrieved and slid underneath the container of the microwaved meal. Steve picked it up and walked his way into the living room, sitting on his couch.

There wasn't too much to it but it always did him just fine. A microwavable salisbury steak meal with mashed potatoes and corn, and a little container of baked apples on the side for dessert. It something that was somewhat ironic, mainly due to the fact that Steve could actually cook.

He was nothing compared to his mother though. She was a talented baker, could cook the best things out of nothing which was good because that was usually all they had. They hadn't exactly come from a wealthy family, and he had been quite poor growing up. Most of the money the family of two made went straight into rent and utilities which didn't leave much left.

She had a car note and a very strenuous car insurance bill to pay as well. That on top of all of Steve's medical prescriptions and hospital visits he used to have all the time as a kid, ones that practically demanded health insurance and deyond, really didn't leave too much after.

But she was a mean cook. The best of the best, at least to him. The fact that she had been attending culinary school before his father's passing and was forced to drop out to take care of Steve struck him sometimes. He tried not to think about that too often.

He ate his meal down on the couch and tried his best not to think too much of her, it was something he had found himself doing often now. Being without her was hard, too hard to think about, and her funeral had only been a few years ago. He still wasn't over it and living in the same space alone and without her just made it all feel even hollower.

He continued with his meal in peace and hummed a bit as he did, swaying his feet a bit against the couch to distract himself. Despite it all it felt a little to be home.

He finished the bulk of his meal quickly and made his way to the apples. He didn't really like apples too much which was just something else that was just grand to him because that's exactly what he smelled like.

That was the first note, crisp and sweet red apples. Then a touch of bergamot and lemongrass, that just barely spiced it up. At least that's what he figured he smelled like since he couldn't actually smell it.

Nobody could actually smell themselves. Their scents could only be picked up by others since at the end of the day it was all just a bunch of pheromones, no matter how strong their scent got.

He only knew he smelled like that because that's how Natasha described it, that and a few other people in his life but sometimes it was varying. Some said applewood, some said apple blossoms or peels.

No one else besides his mother or Natasha had ever been close enough to him to pick out that lemony herbal sourness. They had to be close enough to the scent glands on his neck to pick that up.

The two women, save of a couple of school yard friends back when he was a kid, had only been close enough to really get it. Probably because they were the only two people that had hugged Steve in a really long time.

Either way it didn't matter because that wasn't what an alpha was supposed to smell like, and for a long time Steve hated it. Sometimes he still hated it now because he was already small, so his sweet scent and shaggy blond hair weren't exactly helping.

His eyes were blue as well. A trait he got from both of his parents, except his eyes were richer blue like his father's. She was where he had gotten his blond hair from though. Except her hair was more of a dirty blonde, whereas his was nearly golden, something else that didn't exactly help with that tough alpha look he had strived for most of his childhood.

Steve looked at the apples in his meal and sighed. He didn't like apples for the taste, but also because he just hated being reminded how much he didn't seem fit in general. But he wasn't raised to waste food and ate it anyway.

He picked up all his things and threw away the plastic in the trash and placed the utensils he had used in the sink. He was a little happy today truth be told.

Usually when he came back there was nothing to do, it wasn't like he had a relationship to look forward to spending time on like his coworkers, or children, and it wasn't like anyone in thier little town had enough resources for hobbies.

But today he had all of his notes from before. A new refugee, and as bad as it sounded it was something to do.

Steve gathered up all of his notes and scrapped paper. Today he had a task, he was going to help that man. Even if that meant staying up all night.

Somebody had to.

Chapter 3

Steve had this. He had woken up bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for the day which was crazy considering the lack of sleep he had gotten from the night before.

He had stayed up all night studying the omega from before from all of the notes he had gathered. He had rewritten and re-read each and every word he had jotted down. Went over each and every paragraph three, four, even five times.

He might not have been able to help so much the day before but he was going to be damned if he didn't try. The alarm from his phone woke him up, screechy and loud.

He had already taken a shower and gotten dressed, even went ahead and brushed his teeth. There was so much energy in him despite the lack of coffee as well but he had a lot to look forward to today. Maybe they could even gain a little progress.

He snatched on his coat and was quick to put his boots on, grabbing a granola bar for breakfast and taking his blockers quickly before exiting out of the door with his hand full of his notes. It only took him a quick second to lock his apartment door behind him before he was walking down the sidewalk.

He knew that he probably wasn't going to be able to interact with the omega today, Steve couldn't take it personally. Felicitating any aggressive response out of a man that big and getting his hearing aid knocked out of him wasn't on his to-do list anyway.

But he couldn't stand being sidelined, or at least feeling like it. His whole life he had been sidelined. Not being big enough, not being strong enough. Healthy enough, wealthy enough. It was a lot, and he was going to be damned if he didn't try to at least make himself useful.

Today was actually pretty, just as snowy as the day before but a little less heavy. Still cold though. Steve might have even bothered to admire the way the snowflakes fell if he wasn't so one-track minded right now.

He didn't even eat his granola bar on the way to the shelter like he usually did. Instead it had been shoved haphazardly into one of his coat pockets. He decided he would eat it later.

When he had finally arrived at the shelter's doors he already had his game plan in his head. He would go in like he usually did and help out with the resident refugees in the cafeteria.

Even though they hadn't had a single new refugee in the facility in months, they still had refugees from before that were still too shaken up to really assimilate back into a regular life. Some had really progressed, could possibly even move into their own apartments in a few months or weeks. Some were really bad though.

There had been some residents that have been there for practically years, some people just never could quite recover fully. Steve couldn't blame them, he could only try to help. He had no idea what they had been through and halfway didn't even want to know.

That's why he had started volunteering to do cafeteria duty. A lot of the employees at the shelter didn't really like it because that meant they had to be up earlier for breakfast servings but Steve didn't mind it too much. It wasn't like he had something else to do anyway.

That would be step one, step two would be giving all of these notes to Natasha. Steve was sure that if anyone could use all of these observations he had written down it would be her. The redhead had been quite eager yesterday, he was sure she would at least appreciate his effort.

Then after that maybe they could have another meeting. This time maybe the briefing may even go better than last time. They would be able to come up with a plan, a real plan, one that would definitely work.

He wasn't quite sure what that plan was going to be yet but whatever it was, it was going to be better than the one they had yesterday. They would actually get some progress and get that man some help. Steve could actually help.

His plan had been imprinted in his brain once he actually entered the shelter. At first it was going to be a straight bee line into the cafeteria. They were serving stroodles today, the little toaster kind. It had been his mother's favorite back when she used to volunteer here.

Steve really was going to go in there, Sam had offered to work with him for today's servings and they had even scheduled it together last week. But something threw him off.

A scent.

It wasn't very strong. As a matter of fact it was pretty weak and unassuming for the most part. If it wasn't for the fact that nearly everyone in the building had been on blockers, including himself, he would've been fairly sure that he wouldn't even have noticed it in the first place.

At this hour, all of the residents who resided within the building should have been in the cafeteria, either eating or being served breakfast, not out and about for anyone sent to be caught up to begin with. That all went without mentioning the medical staff that offered free blockers and birth control to omegas and every cisgendered woman that passed through their doors.

Nobody had ever turned down the offer for free blockers, sometimes particular people had their reasons to decline the suggestion of birth control but blockers were essentially a staple. The staff were required to use them but Steve had yet to see one person to refuse the offer of no charge blockers, residents or otherwise.

He couldn't help but to allow his feet to move, one step after another down the hallway. It was like he was nearly being dragged by his curiosity. Because even if someone did object to blockers they surely still would've been in the cafeteria unless they were a staff member.

But this scent didn't smell like someone he knew. This one smelled different, like something eerily familiar. He kept walking, his feet numbly falling forward until he made it to the door that concealed the source of the smell behind it.

It was a residence room. He could tell by the numbers on the doorframe, but his curiosity got the best of him. As he stood up on his tiptoes to see through the windows on top of the doors, he felt his conscience biting at him. Usually he wouldn't do this, and for the record he did know this was a complete invasion of privacy. Yet... Before Steve could stop himself, he glanced through one of the windows.

Oh god.

It was the omega from yesterday.

He was still bunched up on his bed, a huge lump of a man pushed underneath his covers. His side rhythmically moved up and down with his breathing, only slightly shifting. Steve couldn't see much with the foot of the bed being angled more or less towards the door, but he could tell the omega hadn't moved much from last night.

His body looked a bit more stretched out and less tightly wound than the day before. But still, overall, this wasn't necessarily good. He should've been eating with the others right then, not isolated in there.

Steve felt every muscle in his body tighten up, staring at him made it hard to breathe normally because God why was that omega like this? He looked so small from that angle, small and utterly exhausted.

There was a moment where the omega's bed had creaked, and Steve froze in place. He felt like he couldn't move, like if there was a way for someone to be paralyzed vertically it would have been him and only him then and there.

Until the omega looked at him.

Pierced and far to big of eyes flickered over at Steve at the speed of light, and it nearly knocked the alpha straight off of his footing. As a matter of fact it did knock him off his footing because the man nearly stumbled over backwards to escape his sight.

Because Jesus christ it felt like he had almost gotten shot. It made his throat go dry and nearly made him crunch the papers in his hand with the force he was using to hold them in place.

He wasn't really able to fully register any of those emotions though, because soon there was a sound that paired up with the smell that had made Steve so curious. A sigh filled in with an odd, old, jagged wince.

It wasn't much, almost just as little as the smell. But Steve could hear it, something about it was frail and minut. Desperate, and something deep inside of Steve felt swollen at the sound, the noise making his chest puff up in a way it hadn't in far to long.

This, this was why the staff had to take blockers. It had been why most of the residents here had used blockers. Because it wasn't just about them being comfortable or uncomfortable with their scent, it was because it affected others.

Because how? How was Steve supposed to just stand there while that scent, that smell trickled down the hall like that? How was he supposed to ignore that sound?

A hurt, distressed omega. A person. A human being. That's what that sound meant, and Steve couldn't just ignore it. Of course it was just a vocalization, one that everyone used even down to babies. But right now it meant more than that. Right now Steve felt the urge to comfort because that's what alphas were supposed to do, in theory protect.

They always said that omega's were nurturing by nature, doting and kind. But the protectiveness of alphas never really ever got touched on. Though really both were only rooted in stereotypes, because that's just what people were supposed to do for one another. It was basic human empathy, and anyone with a inkling of a heart wouldn't want to see anyone laid out the way the omega was now.

But it was what alphas were taught to do, that it was their role in the world, and oh God was Steve feeling it now. Because the omega had just whined a raspy, tired, sound that was pleading, and Steve didn't know what else he could be begging for other than for him to not hurt him. Something that fucked with Steve more than anything.

Knowing the condition the omega was in was not helping. He was pregnant. A hurt, distressed, pregnant omega had just whimpered at Steve, probably begging for the alpha not to beat him to death.

Steve felt like he was going to burst through the seams if he didn't go through that door. He knew he wasn't supposed to, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't want to and that the urge was strong. Too strong. So Steve didn't even think about it.

He opened the door.

From the moment Steve did the scent came wafting through the door, almost hitting him right in his face. That's when he could recognize it, why he was so compelled to follow it.

It was rain, and not just any sort of downpour. But the type of rain that only smelled a certain way after it had just fallen in a forest. Earthy and deep. Most of the time a scent like this would have been more comforting but what was admitted from the omega just smelled sad, lonesome.

His face really didn't look any better, and that's when Steve realized he had just put his foot deep in it now. He wasn't supposed to be in here in the first place.

His anxiety flared up immediately because he had possibly just ruined everything. The chances of the man sitting in the bed knowing he was an alpha was low, he was on blockers after all. But there was a chance, one that Natasha didn't want to take but Steve just decided to do.

He wanted to help not botch everything, and the realization of that made Steve want to back up and close the door. The omega hadn't looked at him yet, so the thought passed through Steve that maybe if he just moved fast enough, the other man wouldn't even have noticed.

Steve was just about to do just that, back up and simply pretend like none of that ever happened. But it turned out he wouldn't get that chance because the omega's leg shifted. It was too late. He had acknowledged him now, and what was Steve going to do. Just walk away? What would that be saying to the omega? Did the omega even think anything of it at all? Was Steve overthinking it?

Yes. He thought to himself because he was definitely overthinking it, for god's sake he wasn't even supposed to be in here. But the omega wasn't dropping his leg, did he expect Steve to come closer?

Cheese n' crackers. Steve cursed in his head, legs shaking. If Sam could hear his thoughts now he'd be cackling, the man had said once that Steve cursed like one of those characters in old-timey comics from the before, the ones only sold in old vintage shops. It wasn't funny.

He had seen what the omega had done from the footage yesterday, he would usually hold his thigh up until one of them had approached. But maybe he wouldn't care if Steve just backed up either?

Suddenly he wasn't feeling oh-so brave anymore, he just wanted to back up and retreat to the kitchens above all else. But then omega made that sound again, just barely audible, and Steve just as soon felt that familiar pang in his chest again. Because fuck. How was he going to ignore that?

There were a million thoughts going through his head as his body took one step in front of the other. It was almost robotic, like he wasn't even registering it but he was doing it.

He didn't know if the omega was doing it because he was scared, or that maybe he was hurting in some way. If he was hurting that meant he would've had to have been hurting since yesterday, and they wouldn't know because he wasn't exactly the most cooperative with the staff.

But none of those thoughts were really important. What mattered was that the omega had whined, the omega smelled unhappy.

Make the omega feel better. His instincts were practically wiring his body at this point. Protect the omega.

His body kept walking until the omega's legs had closed up, and Steve could tell he had just entered the other man's peripheral vision and froze again. He didn't know what to do.

Talk. Steve thought. Just talk. He's still a person. What is he going to do, bite you?

Yes this man absolutely could bite, and he had. The only thing Steve knew was that he had shown to be aggressive yesterday to the staff but even Natasha didn't tell him what exactly that meant. Other than nearly severing off someone's finger he didn't know what the man was capable of.

But he needed to talk, he needed to say something because just standing here and staring him down probably wasn't helping with the omega's distressed scent at all.

So he moved his lips. Nearly stuttering and cracking simultaneously as it came out. "Hey."

Shit.

The brunet in the bed didn't say anything back but Steve could hear the way the covers shifted and the squeak of the bed as the omega moved his head. A river of brown locks spilled down his shoulder as he tilted his head to look at him.

Steve's mouth went dry, his throat went dry because good golly molly those were the sharpest eyes he had ever seen in his whole life.

They were piercing. Staring at them made Steve feel immobilized again, and not in a particularly good way. In a way that made him feel uncomfortable. They were locked on him, the pair of steel icey blues, and they were most intense pair of eyes that ever looked anywhere near Steve. He wasn't sure if that was just because of the color, or because even the omega's pupils looked somehow almost too black.

It made Steve feel stupid because his eyes were blue, they just weren't that intense. Nowhere near as. They were deep layers of blue, a tide to the shoreline. Nothing like that. They were just too black, too dilated, too blown open. Wide open. As if there wasn't a way in the world he could have been focusing directly on any one thing.

They looked dead.

His eyes had done to Steve what they had done before, and Steve didn't move so much as an inch. Even as his brain kept telling him that he was probably freaking the other man out.

But then he did something that made Steve not want to breathe, because he started to sit up, something he didn't do yesterday, and suddenly Steve felt like a toddler that had lost their mother. Something so simple shouldn't have done it, but it did. His nerves felt jumpy, twitchy even at the action. Flight or fight was definitely on. Steve was terrified.

Forget what he had said yesterday, the man was enormous. As he sat up the bed creaked again, sheets spilling all over from the ripples of his body, revealing a chest Steve had thought once was far too broad for an omega to possess. Now he understood what Clint was saying.

The man staggered to sway his legs off the bed and dangled them somwhere off to the side, feet beside each other from under the covers. His lower half was still obscured by the sheets, but now that Steve could really see the upper parts of the outfit he was wearing, it made sense why the man had been so hostile.

All he had on was what was left of a Handmaid uniform, the ones meant for the omega males anyway.

Their outfit was slightly different from the female Handmaids. It wasn't a dress but instead a two piece outfit made up of a three quarter-sleeved shirt and ankle length culottes. Steve had wondered briefly how he didn't recognize it as such from the full body shot from yesterday.

He didn't have to think long about it though, because he realized rather quickly it was due to the omega sitting in front of him not wearing the white "wings" Handmaids were supposed to wear.

Male Handmaids were still expected to wear those along with their uniformed brown boots. As well as a sweater, scarf, cloak, and mittens on cold days to Steve's knowledge. The only thing they weren't expected to wear were the white bonnets female Handmaids wore underneath their wings to promote modesty as Steve had come to learn.

Except the sleeve that would have usually covered the left shoulder and arm had been ripped off, exposing flesh of what was left of the omega's arm. His pants were also torn at the hip from what he could see and his winter accessories were missing, a Handmaid would have definitely been issued some at this time of year.

He still had on his boots, ones he must have slept in overnight while in bed. That one wasn't too uncommon, at least not here.

At first Steve had wondered why so many people had opted into that behavior when first arriving, but now he understood. It was all they had, all most of them had. Sometimes they were just trying to hold onto all they had left, something familiar. Something that was theirs. Tangible.

But Steve couldn't tell what this omega was feeling, he wasn't even looking at Steve, choosing to instead look down at the floor. The blond's Adam's Apple bobbed, his lips going dry.

At that point Steve could feel his grip on the papers strengthening and his toes practically scraping the very insides of his boots. He had really gone and done it now.

The omega still didn't say anything, he didn't utter a single phrase. Instead he just sat there and stared down, like he was fully expecting Steve to do something. Steve swallowed. He didn'tknow what.

"Hey." Steve repeated, trying to sound a bit stronger this time. More assertive, confident. "I uh- "

He swallowed again. "I uh, just came in here to check on you is' all."

The omega's smell didn't seem as potent anymore. Really, it wasn't potent at all in the first place, it had just been all condensed up in this room. Once Steve had opened the door it simply just wafted itself out. If anything it only confirmed to Steve he was an omega more than anything else.

Pregnant people's scents were usually really toned down, barely detectable like a beta's but even less. His was like that, in a way, but there was also supposed to be another smell over top of it. A certain rich-like sweetness, the beginning notes of a baby.

He didn't have that. He didn't have any of that. So even though his over all smell was low, he was still so distressed apparently to the point where all Steve could smell was rain, he couldn't even began to smell a pregnancy on him.

Which was odd because the omega didn't look pregnant at all. Honestly he did look like an alpha. Even down to the light stubble dusted across his face, male omegas couldn't really grow facial hair. It wasn't particularly their strong suit. It made Steve, for a brief moment, suddenly feel self-aware. He had been trying to grow a beard for years.

But that wasn't the time for self-consciousness, his brain wouldn't allow him to divulge down that path anyway. Not with that level of a consistent, distressed scent. Check over the omega.

"I, uh, noticed you weren't eating." Steve said quickly. It's a lie but not a complete one, he did notice he wasn't eating. Was that the reason he was in there entirely though? Probably not.

"Thought I might pop in." Steve lied with a forged smile. "Ya know just to uh, check on you."

He had damn near repeated what he had said in the first place with that last part, but Steve wasn't thinking about that. God he wasn't thinking at all. Instead he just stared at the omega with worry.

The other man didn't move for a long time and it made Steve shift on his feet. Why did he even sit up in the first place? He hadn't done that with the others and Steve was sure it had nothing to do with his scent since he was on blockers.

The man had barely acknowledged Natasha and the others yesterday, hardly looked at Clint or Riley. It was progress sure, but it didn't come without a bit of concern from Steve. He wanted to know why.

He could feel the question forming on his lips that had immediately been smacked out of him because the omega was staring at him again. Eyes intently looking at Steve like he was studying him. It made Steve feel small, smaller than he already was.

The blond wandered briefly if the omega was searching him for a weak point, it really looked like he was. His face was hard and unreadable. Like the looks Steve's childhood foes would give him before beating him down to a pulp, and this man could undoubtably do so if he wanted.

But he didn't do anything. He didn't stand off of his cot and knock Steve's hearing aid straight out of his ear the way he was used to, he didn't call him names and kick him against the tile floor of the room. He didn't do anything. He didn't move.

But Steve did. Steve moved. He didn't know what else to do and the way that man was staring at him nearly made Steve want to pass out under his gaze. So instead he forced himself to break eye contact with the other man and scrambled into his coat pocket, pulling out a granola bar from earlier.

"Here," Steve said, sticking out the granola bar awkwardly in his hand toward the omega as best he could. "You can have this if you want."

The omega blinked at him, slow and deliberate. That seemed to have broken his trance of sorts, and Steve wasn't sure if he wasn't eating because he was nervous of being in the cafeteria or what, but god the man needed to eat something.

The larger of the two didn't take it but he was staring at it intensely as if it was the last thing on earth, like Steve wasn't even there. Steve watched as he did so before realizing that he was reading. Reading had been an activity that was all but encouraged for him in Gilead.

Blueberry Almond Yogurt Protein Rich Meal Bar

Steve's hand trembled and he's not exactly sure if that's because of the realization of what the omega was doing, or if being so close to this other man was making him that nervous. It was probably both because his nerves were really getting the best of him.

So instead he quickly darted and placed the granola bar on the brunet's lap. The omega made a noise like he was going for a whine, and he flinched at Steve's quick movement. Only after did he peak an eye open, his arm up in defense. But nothing had happened, the alpha had just given him food.

Steve watched from a slight distance at how the omega's face contorted, like he was going through a hundred different emotions in the span of five seconds. Steve didn't say a word. He just watched, his gut turning at the realization that the man had definitely been whining from before because he didn't want to be bludgeoned in some way.

The omega just continued to stare at the bar on his lap, eyes locked in on the brightly colored picture of its containments on the wrapper.

There's a moment where Steve could see how his tongue swiped out for a sharp moment along the dryness of his bottom lip. He was definitely hungry, possibly anxious, and then he just blinked really hard, like he was on the verge of something.

Steve spoke so loudly he almost scared the both of them. "Here let me help."

This time he took the bar back slowly and the omega didn't flinch so hard, much to Steve's delight. But he wasn't focusing on that.

Instead the alpha was working on opening up their granola bar. He used both of his hands to pinch either side of the top of the bar's plastic wrapping and pulled it apart, revealing the food inside. He didn't want to think about how the omega couldn't do that.

His papers were tucked between one of his arms as he did and once he was done he stuck out one hand, food in it and offering. "Here."

The other man stared, and Steve could see where his right hand had fluttered like he was going to reach for it but had pulled back in that same moment. He could only try to hide his frown.

"Here," Steve tried again, his body finally rid of the shakes. "It's fine I swear, it's for you."

The omega made a slight noise in his throat as he moved his right hand again, shakily directing it towards Steve's like he was ready to retreat back at any second, and Steve only tried not to let the visuals of all that hurt him.

His fingers slightly trembled beneath the bar once he reached it and Steve just let him have it. He kept his expression schooled, trying not to let the anger in him leak out at how beat up the omega's fingers looked. The very last thing Steve wanted to do was to freak him out further.

The omega didn't break one second of eye contact until he had brought the granola bar into his personal space. He then looked at it and back at Steve, staring at him like this was all some sort of trick. Steve kept his expression the same.

The omega looked away for a brief second and took a nibble at the bar. The way his expression melted was far more satisfying than anything Steve could describe. The bigger man took one bite, then another, and then scrambled the whole thing in his mouth.

The way his expression shifted was almost scary, wild and far too open. There was nearly a slit of a contorted smile printed across his face as he chewed, too stretched out and full of teeth. The peeling cracks of his lips did none but aid into the eerie expression.

As deranged as he looked, his arm being brought up made Steve flinch. Even as he was just using his hand to wipe his mouth, he ate and bit, making another guttural sound. Pale eyes open.

Steve just stood there and fought back the urge to tremble with the new and far too hot emotions flooding through him, despite the fear. He knew why the omega was eating it so fast.

Sugar was highly forbidden in Gilead. Unless it was in the from of fruits, at least for Handmaids anyway. That, and the man was probably starving. Even to its most literal sense, Steve could only imagine how long he had been out there before getting here. It couldn't have been anything short of awful.

He finished the bar quickly and wiped his mouth again. There was another expression now, one that Steve couldn't quite read. Probably because he wasn't looking at Steve. But then he did, and Steve could read it clear as day.

Hunger, that and something else. Pleading and fear, a look that made Steve's stomach twist again. Because no one should ever look at someone like that. Especially over a granola bar of all things.

But it didn't matter, Steve said he was going to help. So he was going to help.

"Do ya want another?" Steve asked and tried not to let the other man's eyes bore into his soul the way that they did earlier.

The omega didn't move, not purposefully anyway. Instead he just trembled like he suddenly didn't know what to do, like this had all been some big test and he'd just messed up somehow.

"Hey, hey, it's fine!" Steve stage whispered, palms stuck out.

He straightened up and turned around quickly, a little too quick. "I'ma get you more 'kay?"

The brunet didn't respond but Steve could only assume that he undoubtedly wanted more based on how the bed creaked under him. Steve walked to the door swiftly and looked at him before leaving.

"Just uh," Steve said awkwardly. "Just sit tight, there uh, pal."

He didn't look to see how the omega reacted to that, he just left. He walked towards the elevator and cringed at himself the whole way there. Internally, Steve repeated over and over again in his mind that truly, he really shouldn't talk when he's nervous.

The first thing he was going to do was get his inhaler from his office because holy moly he could not breathe. Then maybe after that give his papers to Natasha, and then meet up with Sam because there was no way that man was not going to be mad at him for dipping out on him like that.

He stood there for a moment and waited for the ding of the fourth floor. He wanted to go straight into his office but someone else had other plans, and that someone was Natasha Romanoff, standing there right there at the door, arms folded.

Cheese 'n Crackers.

Notes:

Our very first Steve and Bucky interaction! It took me awhile to write everything the way I wanted to and I actually went through three different scenarios before I came to this one, I think it's the most natural lol.

Comments, kudos and questions are always welcomed and as always let me know what you guys think!

Chapter 4

Yeah alright, so maybe he should have thought about what he was doing before he actually did it, but that didn't mean he regretted it.

Natasha was mad- alright, maybe mad wasn't the right way to describe it. More like aggravated. She had told him not to do something and he went and deliberately did it anyway. Whatever. Steve didn't care.

"Come on Nat, didn't you see him in there?" Steve said in a voice that was considered whiny as the two walked down the hall.

Natasha sighed. Of course she saw Steve in there, she had been in the conference room when Steve decided to go in and check on the omega. She had sat there and saw the whole thing because apparently that's all she had been doing all day.

Apparently she had a plan, or was at least coming up with one. She had spent the entire day in the conference room, staring at the live feed she had cut on this morning ever since she had gotten there. Just watching the omega.

Her first instinct when she saw Steve go into the room was to rush down the stairs as soon as possible and get him out of there. Although at that point she had decided against it because having two people in the same room with a man that was seemingly that unstable probably wasn't a good idea.

"Yes Steve I saw him," Natasha said back, voice tense. "That doesn't mean you should've gone in there."

And she was right. Just because things went seemingly okay didn't mean that Steve should have just decided on his own without consulting anybody to take matters into his own hands. Good intentions or not.

Her heels clacked against the floor of the hallway, Steve struggled to keep up. If he didn't know her any better he would venture to say that she was pissed although there was never a moment where Natasha was really not overworked.

He couldn't help but take her words personally, let them sink in as if it was a personal slight. Was it smart for him to go in there on his own, probably not. Did it help? Yes. He had actually done something productive today; it was just like she couldn't see it.

"What?" Steve said, lungs buckling as if he had run a mile. He stopped walking.

"Natasha you didn't see what happened back there?" Steve said halfway out of breath. There was something else to his voice as well, something that sounded almost strong and proud. Determined.

Natasha stopped and turned to look at him, her face scrunching up like a parent to a child that had asked a particularly stupid question. She moved her mouth but Steve was quick to cut her off.

"God that was progress, real progress." Steve said, eyes a little weak. Like he was pleading.

"Come on," He continued. "He hadn't eaten anything all day, not for the past thirty six hours, and I got him too. Isn't that something?"

Natasha's frowned face lightened but it didn't completely go away. Steve's face took up on the expression, his own face dropping in a bit of disbelief.

His recklessness from earlier was dumb. He had said it was dumb, it wasn't like he was standing here defending the fact that he had done it at all. But it was like she couldn't register what he actually accomplished. She was mad at him, sure but couldn't she just see the results?

He didn't say anything else to her, instead he pulled out all of his notes from yesterday. He held them in his left hand, fingers clenched around the papers.

"Look at this." Steve said in a voice that was verging on being tense. Natasha's frown dissipated and her face changed into a look that Steve had only seen once or twice in the past decade of working with her.

And Steve didn't like seeing that face because it made him feel things he hadn't felt since he was a teenager. That same soft look his mother used to give him when he came back from school on some days beat up and bruised.

His eyes burn and prickle. Steve shook the papers in his hands, urgently encouraging Natasha to take them from his hand. She did.

"I stayed up all night doing that," Steve said, his voice reaching a certain intensity that he hadn't had all day. "I wrote down everything I could. I know it's not a lot but I figured after what just happened I might have even more stuff to write down, I thought you might be able to use it."

His words came out of his mouth quickly, like he was struggling to get all of his thoughts out but he wanted to make sure she heard all he had to say.

The redhead's eyes never left the pages, reading one after another and placing one page on the back of the stack when she was done. It was a lot. She wasn't quite sure how he had managed to get six pages worth of information from a man who didn't so much as speak. Who up until now Steve didn't even have an interaction with.

Most of the pages however were filled with illustrations. There was a diagram of the left side, where he had even written down how he hypothesized the procedure was potentially done despite his utter lack of medical know how, still, he tried. He had to. He needed to. There were diagrams of his hair, his face, even the bite mark embedded on the left side of the shoulder.

Steve had managed to get the bite mark to look just as deep and detailed as it was on the slide from yesterday. Somehow he had even gotten the detailed texture of the grease and sweat that soaked through the omega's hair a little too accurately.

He was good at this though Natasha remembered. Steve drew all the time, it was his most valuable asset to the team. He could sketch out an entire room based on a description, draw someone's face down to the most minut detail without even having to see them.

He took art classes all throughout high school and even before. Had even started his first year at college to be professionally trained before Gilead had started and took that opportunity with it. It was his passion though, a flame that not even Gilead could snuff out.

She sighed at the last bit of information before placing it at the back of the stack and closed her eyes. God dammit Steve.

How could she be mad at him?

He was just trying to help. If there was anyone that counted as the most enthusiastic or obliging person on the team, it was Steve. He was always right there. Ready to lend a helping hand or voice, his dedication to the whole thing was concerning at times even to Natasha.

She would tell him that he didn't need to do this or that, that he could take a break or just relax. Which was more than hypocritical coming from her, Clint had literally had to lock her out of her own office on more than one occasion.

Perhaps it was. Because she would tell everyone not to worry about her, though she constantly worried about Steve. At times almost smothering him in a motherly behavior that made their relationship just as complex as it was nonchalant.

There's a thick silence before she spoke.

"Fine."

Steve grinned at her, his frustration about the conversation seemingly disappearing. She rolled her eyes with a smile but even if it wasn't for that Steve could tell she wasn't really mad, the honeysuckle in her scent spiked slightly and that was more than enough evidence.

"But," She said, and of course there was a but. There was always a but when it came to Steve.

"We are having a meeting about this first." Natasha stated as she turned around and started walking in the direction of her office. Steve of course followed, his own workspace was just across the hall from hers. It was where he wanted to go anyway.

"Alright." Steve humored with a dry laugh, he was definitely going to get that inhaler out of his office.

"And," Natasha continued. Steve rolled his eyes from behind her, fully expecting her to continue chastising him. "We're gonna get you some more of those bars."

"I told Carol those were good." She said to herself with a smile aimed at him, heels still clicking.

"I told you they were good." Steve said with a bit of a grin. He could see it in her eyes that she was a bit nervous about the whole thing, not just about Steve but probably about the newest visitor in general.

He had made absolutely no progress the day before and barely made any today, though barely something was better than nothing at all. This was important to her and Steve knew that, it was why she didn't want him going in there in the first place.

There's a bit of a laugh from her and it made Steve feel better about the whole ordeal. As much as Natasha had herself put together she was still a person, she still felt anxiety like anybody else. Though Steve felt like he was one of the few people that saw it.

"Yeah, yeah." She said back, her green eyes seeming a lot less tense. It made Steve relax a little.

Finding a bit of light in the darkest situations was what they did best, it was what everybody who worked at the shelter did best. It was practically in the job description. So many people had came in damaged feasibly beyond the point of repair, but it was their job to provide comfort and some sort of stable environment.

And of course it got to them. It got to everyone, constantly being around such a low atmosphere that sometimes Steve was more than grateful to have moments like this. It made the whole world seem less bleak despite what the world was like right now.

"Sam's gonna be pissed huh?" Steve questioned with a bit of a laugh. Natash smiled.

"Oh yeah." She said, a smile on her lips. "He's not gonna let that go for a weeks, you know that right?"

"Yeah," He said laughing. "I do."

He was nervous, of course he was. Natasha was and he wouldn't be surprised if the whole crew would turn out feeling the same way after they inevitably we're going to hear what happened. Natasha would definitely pull them together for another meeting, she said she would and Steve knew she was not one to bluff.

But it was okay, at least he kept telling himself that because at the bare minimum they were going to get that man some help. Even if Sam nagged him for weeks on end, and even if Natasha kept peering over his shoulder. That's all that mattered to Steve.

That man had to matter to someone.

---

"Remember Steve, this is an interrogation. Not a visitation."

The voice came from Natasha, sitting at the front of the large oval shaped table in the conference room. She looked a lot less stressed out now, a lot more calm. Everyone did.

True to her word she did call a meeting and true to her word they did discuss this. The idea of sending Steve of all people in an enclosed space with the omega the day before had been more than enough to fuel a discussion.

Natasha unsurprisingly was more opposed to the idea than the others. Sam had joked that he was more than happy to send Steve in there after abandoning him on cafeteria duty, Natasha didn't find that funny at all.

She was nervous and her scent didn't hide anything at all about how she was feeling. Though her doting was well appreciated, sometimes it made Steve feel like a child, a lot of the things she did made him feel like a child although it was always from good intentions.

He had assured her once, twice, a thousand times that he would be fine. Telling her that he would be more than fine made him feel even more childish. It reminded him of lying to his mother on more than one occasion that he was fine coming home from school after a fight, that he could hold his own.

Especially in front of all the others. Especially in front of Maria and Carol, not to mention Sam. Alphas were supposed to demand respect and be a figure of authority, not have a nervous beta smothering them.

He felt like somehow they were looking at him in disapproval, like they were somehow judging him about it. He knew that they weren't these three specifically would never. But still, call the insecurity but the feeling of embarrassment was still there. Not that he could blame Natasha.

"I know, I know." Steve said with a wave, dismissing her worries even though he couldn't lie and tell himself that he wasn't the teeniest bit intimidated. "Go in, get intel, get out."

He knew why she was saying that of course, his little stunt from earlier didn't go unnoticed. Not by her or anyone else in this room. Sam had teased him about it and Maria had scrubbed his hair a bit but that's as far as acknowledgement from the others he had gotten about it.

He couldn't help it as much as he tried, as much as Steve tried to explain that to Natasha. She understood of course but it wasn't an excuse. He acted on impulse without authorization, this whole thing could have been botched because of him.

But the scent of an unbonded omega was enticing especially to an unbonded alpha, especially when that omega smelled anywhere near as distressed as the man from earlier had been.

"Yeah, no goo goo eyes Rogers." This time it was Carol, at ease of course but it was a jab. Her voice was calm, warm and friendly.

He knew what she was trying to do, probably trying to just de-stress the situation with a joke. Sam did it all the time, honestly Steve didn't blame them. He didn't blame any of them. He would be trying to find jokes right now if he could.

So he smiled at her instead. "Roger that."

Natasha swayed on her feet as Steve gathered his supplies, probably because the items in his hand made her even more nervous.

A pencil, a notepad and his phone. The latter of the two things didn't make her as nervous as the first but she didn't speak on it and Steve knew why. He switches the pencil for a marker. Natasha looks visibly more relaxed, Steve didn't speak on it either.

Instead he headed toward the door and made his way out, quickly moving from the hallway and into the elevator. He already knew the plan.

It was pretty simple aside from the fact that Natasha had been pretty opposed to it. But the rest of the team was completely on board, the omega has shown some semblance of progress towards Steve so it would only make sense to send Steve in again.

“Make a pattern with him. Say hey in the same way you did before. Don’t raise your voice. Be conscious of your body language. That kinda thing."

Sam's advice bounced around in his head as the elevator traveled down, it was all he could think about. Steve had to trust his judgment, he was considered to be unofficially the primary counselor of the shelter. Typically he wasn't used with most people for more obvious reasons, but he was still the best of the best. Steve trusted him.

He squeezed the back of the notebook a little tighter, fingers digging into them. An obvious self-soothing gesture to cool his nervousness because this was the biggest thing he had done in the past three years or so, at least since his mother had passed.

The elevator rung and he wasted no time exiting it and makes quick moved down the hall to their newest occupant's room, careful not to overwork himself. Cameras were all in the hallways. The last thing he wanted was to seem tired or uninsured, Natasha would've pulled him with no question if he did and he knew she would.

They were everywhere in the shelter. Once Natasha had taken over as head operator she insisted on it, Nick was a bit more lax. Or it could have been just because Natasha was the most un-laxed person he had ever met.

Walking up to the door just reminded him of how relieved he was that he had taken a huff of his inhaler before they had started all of this, before the meeting had even started. Steve would have definitely been winded right now if he didn't, due to either nervousness or all the walking. He wasn't sure which one.

He pulled one last deep breath into his lungs before placing his hand on the doorknob, and breathing out. Just because he was on blockers didn't mean that the omega wouldn't be able to see his nervousness. He needed to be calm and conducted.

So he walked in.

Immediately he was greeted by the omega the same way he had greeted him before. Laying on his right side with his fingers digging into the soft flesh right below his ribs, bunched under covers, left thigh lifted.

The bed creaked under all his weight and he made a sound in his throat that Steve couldn't quite grasp. It did however make him nervous though. But he remembered what Sam said. He straightened his back up instead, mustering up whatever confidence he had.

Last time the man seemed to have at least registere Steve, better than his fellow co-workers anyway. He did exactly what he did before, another sound left his throat and Steve could see that he saw him. He shifted over in his cot, sitting on the edge of the mattress. Head down.

The omega’s eyes were upon him though. Tracking Steve, and he looked awful. Steve had seen him already of course. Not just earlier in person but also from the camera footage the group had been watching today while forming up his task, but viewing somebody in a video was different—it made Steve uncomfortable in a way.

Somehow even though he had just seen him in person, Steve had forgotten that quickly how bad the man looked. Or perhaps he didn't want to remember.

“Hey,” Steve greeted, trying to keep his voice gentle, so gentle it nearly reminded him of his mother. Her soft tone felt foreign in his mouth. “How are you feeling?”

The omega stared at him with red, veiny eyes. There were bruises on his face. Dark purple smudges that blossomed along his jaw. They looked raw, especially when compared to the chalky dry paleness of his face and sunken in lids.

He had slept overnight, about three hours in five separate rotations. Steve only knew due to Natasha discussing it over their second meeting. Apparently she had came in and watched all of his footage, even from his time overnight.

She had clocked in extra early just to make sure she could see all of it. Each time he’d jerked awake panicked and afraid; she had shown them the recordings. Steve steeled and the omega remained motionless, and he swallowed down his anxiousness with a breath.

But the omega didn't blink.

He didn't look alive.

The intensity of his eyes were boring down on Steve in a way he hadn't felt in a long time. Actually, he wasn't even totally sure if he'd ever even seen a stare like that. The omega's eyes weren't wavering, they weren't doing that thing normal people's eyes did where they looked back and forth between each eye. It was like he was staring straight through Steve.

It made the blond feel too uncomfortable. Like prey underneath a predator's gaze, and knowing this man's track record wasn't helping. One of Steve's hands fumbled into his coat pocket at it.

"You okay?" Steve's voice almost broke trying to form the sentence. The omega hardly moved. If anything he got even more tense at Steve reaching down in his coat, and the omega suddenly reeked of deep, earthy rain.

He's scared. He may not look scared but his scent absolutely gave him away. Most people would have gotten more confident at that realization but not Steve, a scared man was not a stable man. That much he knew.

He made sure his movements from then on were slow and easy to calculate. But even then the omega's eyes were glued directly on his face and Steve tried not to shake.

He knew what this must have looked like back in the office. Undoubtedly Natasha was probably ready to pull him out by now, likely the others were keeping her calm. Most likely of all Sam and Carol. The thought of that is somehow both comforting and embarrassing.

He was a grown man, he paid taxes and could handle his own. He wasn't a toddler, even if he absolutely looked like one right now. But in front of someone like the man in front of him who wouldn't?

The man's gaze was hard and unwavering all the way up until he heard something, a crinkle. The omega's eyes snapped to where the sound came from within Steve's pocket, and Steve pulled the object the rest of the way. It's another granola bar.

He looked back up at Steve after getting a good look at the bar, pupils blown wide. Steve let out a nervous chuckle, trying to be comforting.

"Told ya I'd get you some more didn't I?" Steve said in the friendliest voice he could muster, not even looking at the omega as he tore open the bar.

The omega made another sound, one that was close to a hum, and Steve figured that's the most recognition he's going to get for that sentence. When he did look back up, the brunet had a twisted look on his face. Like he couldn't quite comprehend what was happening.

Steve pretended like he didn't see it and extended the bar over with one hand just like he did earlier. He remembered Sam's advice on staying predictable to him. Offering food to him the same way he did before was likely not going to freak him out.

The taller of the two hesitated but moved, Steve was just relieved he wasn't trembling as much this time. Although this time he took the bar from its edge, keeping his fingers as far away from Steve's as physically possible.

He smelled it intently for a moment, checking it as if the entire thing was a trick of some sort before cramming the entire bar in his mouth. He barely even chewed it, and took two bites before the whole thing was swallowed down.

He didn't look back at Steve but instead at his fingers. Inspecting over them and sucking out the little crumbs that were stuck between his fingernails.

The sight didn't make Steve feel sad or angry. It makes him feel something else entirely, something he couldn't exactly put a word on. His nails were filthy. Overgrown and certain ones were cracked and chipped off, and the omega was putting his mouth on them like it didn't matter. Because somehow, those little crumbs stuck between them mattered more than the gunk.

Steve swallowed, he wasn't sure how much more he could watch. That was a person, a man no different than him sucking and biting dirt from beneath his nails for just a crumb of granola. Nobody should ever act like that over a granola bar.

Steve had to stop this. He's honestly not sure how much longer he could just stand there and watch him. "Hey hold on,"

"I've gotcha another one here." He quickly pulled out another bar from his pocket, covered in that oh-so promising crinkly blue wrapping. That's what caused the omega to actually stop.

For a second, the omega glanced at him before his gaze skittered away. It was the most unprompted acknowledgement he had given so far. Steve breathed out, remembering what the purpose for all of this.

"Look, we're going to help." Steve said softly, trying to prompt the brunet to look at him again. He didn't.

"You're not in-" Steve cut himself off. Some people couldn't even stand to hear the name of the place. He had seen it before, people going into blind fits of panic at just the mentioning of Gilead, like it still had a hold on them. He goes for something else instead.

"That place anymore." He said instead. "You are in Canada as an accepted refugee of the Canadian government."

The omega wasn't even looking at him. It was like Steve wasn't even speaking at all to him, instead his gaze was out of the large window in the room. It made Steve want to swallow even while speaking, he wasn't sure if the man planned on flinging himself through the glass and taking off or if he was just taking in the snow.

The fact that he didn't know which one this man was doing made Steve's gut wrench even as he spoke. "You're in a shelter and we're trying to help you."

"We will feed you and house you. You will receive regular bathing and a change of clothes if you prefer." Steve continued as the omega continued to stare out the window. It was like he was zoned out, in a trance of some sort. "But we need to ask you some questions first."

He sighed, the brunet hadn't looked at him once. "Will you cooperate?"

The word seemed like it reached out and slapped the other man. Cooperate. His body turned so quickly on his cot that Steve was sure he could hear the other man choking on a dry breath at his speed. His eyes were nearly blown open, staring at Steve.

He didn't say anything though. He didn't talk or make any indication that he actually registered what Steve had said, only that he had heard him.

And his eyes were big, too big. Fat and round and scared as they darted across Steve's face in a way that they hadn't done before. They were intense and expecting, but still he gave no response. It made Steve nearly want to cave.

Still the blond moved his mouth. "Do you understand English?"

Silence.

A tense breath escaped Steve. What was this? He had to understand English, otherwise how would he have known what he had just said? English was Gilead's primary language anyway, no other secondary languages were taught. Not even in schools. It was forbidden.

Steve felt desperate and a small part of him even felt angry. Although perhaps it was more unfiltered confusion that had morphed into some semblance of anger. This didn't make any sense. Ethnically or logically.

Unless.

He tried something, something Natasha would have probably said was dumb due to the fact that this wasn't part of the plan but Steve didn't care. He was sent down here to get answers, and he was going to get those answers.

He shifted all of his supplies into both of his hands, his movements purposely drawn-out and slow. Not freaking the man out was imperative to all of this.

Obvious and deliberate he placed all of his things slowly to the ground and then showed the omega his hands, palms sticking out in flat. He didn't want him to think there was anything else in them. The omega stared.

He breathed out another deep breath, there was a chance that this wasn't going to work but it was the only other form of communication he knew. Clearly talking wasn't working.

He took his right hand and pulled his fingers to where he's pointing at the omega. His hands balled into a fist and only his pointer finger sticking out at him. He didn't waste any time and pulled his hand up towards his ear in the same position.

Except now instead of pointing at the omega he pointed at his right ear with the same hand, moving it quickly from his ear to his mouth.

The omega's face formed a look Steve could actually understand. It was soft and subtle, with barely a hint of change but he could see it clear as day. Bewilderment, though barely noticeable behind his hard gaze. It made Steve desperate, made him want to try again.

He pointed at the brunet the same way he did before. You he was saying. Steve did it again, watching as it seemed to captivate at least a small shred of the omega's attention.

You Steve tried again. This time he took his other hand and turned it into the same shape before putting one finger underneath the other with a small gap in between them. He then twirled them. Sign

Steve did it again, but faster. Do you sign?

There's something new in Steve's eyes, desperate and pleading. Almost like the omega's eyes were before because he wanted to talk to him. He deserved to talk to him. The omega had the right to speech at least.

After everything he had been through he at least deserved the right to talk. What the hell had they done to him to make someone so afraid to use their own right to basic speech when they had it?

There's a moment where nobody said anything, hands or not and there was this defeating let down that only Steve could feel. They had sent him in here because the omega had progressed with him, otherwise they could and definitely would have sent someone else.

For all he knew, all of that hand movement could have freaked him out even more and Steve didn't know about it. It was why Natasha had wanted him to stick to a specific plan. But it didn't matter, at least not to Steve. Him not sticking to protocol was why he was here in the first place.

The omega blinked and then looked down towards the floor, Steve could see his lip twist but nothing comes out of it. Then something happened.

The man blinked harder and lifted his wrist, jagged and shaky. His eyes were smaller now, peering at Steve apprehensively. He moved his fingers into a fist and squeezed it hard like he was going to slam it on the floor. That didn't happen though.

Instead his next two movements were quick like he had been electrocuted somehow. His wrist popped as he shook the fist up and down like a person nodding their head. The sound would have made Steve wince if he wasn't so focused on the omega's hand.

Yes

He signed yes to him.

Chapter 5

Yes

Steve was still hung over by that.

This wasn't at all what he expected. Of course succeeding was what he wanted but for it to actually work was more than astonishing to say the least. He couldn't help but stare. He actually talked back.

Nobody had ever done that before. As far as he knew, Steve was practically the only one in Little America that was fluent in ASL. Somebody else to actually know it was a bit more than disbelief, it was something else entirely.

For the longest time only he and his mother really knew it. So for this stranger, this complete and utter stranger to actually know it was amazing. But even more amazing than that Steve could communicate with him. He had a voice.

He couldn't stay on this forever though, Steve had a job to do and that job was imperative on not causing this man to go into a panic state based on how he was staring at him. He needed to ask questions, at least while he still had the omega's attention.

He tightened his jaw and swallowed, slowly bending over to pick up the notepad and marker on the floor. They would need to establish some things first, Natasha was imperative on that.

Immediately once they were both in his hands he started to scribble something on the page. The brunet seemed to catch some sort of anxiety at that because Steve could hear the sounds of the bed creaking under his shifting weight.

He looked cold and somehow too hot, fat beads of sweat forming up on his forehead and just above his brow. His eyes shifted around the room as Steve wrote, his single hand digging into the sheets. That was until Steve stopped writing and turned the paper over.

CAN YOU READ THIS?

The omega didn't move, at least he didn't move his body anymore. His fingers stopped digging and the only indication that he's alive was his pupils skittering across the page. His eyes moved from left to right across the paper but he didn't say anything.

He didn't even do anything when he finished. Instead his eyes shifted to the floor and he made a small sound that could have been nothing more but a tense breath, but his eyes got all big again. His body racked and there was barely a change in his scent at all. He's terrified.

Steve's eyes went to his face but the omega was looking everywhere but at Steve. Choosing instead to keep his head drawn away, looking down at the floor.

He could read. Steve knew he could. The way his eyes had tracked across that paper was in a way that his own would have done. He looked just like he did earlier with the wrapper. There was a level of comprehension in his eyes that Steve couldn't mistake.

So he could read, he was just pretending like he couldn't.

Of course Steve already knew that he could, he figured he could anyway from earlier. Gilead's existence had only been around for a decade, and many of it's adult population knew how to read; it had only been banned outright for women anyway- non alphas specifically. It was the younger children and teens that didn't know how to read, all little girls unless they presented in a certain way.

Male omegas weren't necessarily banned from engaging in the activity as much as they were heavily disencouraged, but Natasha had insisted on doing this exercise anyway and Steve knew why, they had to actually confirm it. But for him, it didn't do anything but piss him off further. This grown man could read and had to act like he didn't know how.

Because even within the safety of Canada, even within the safety of these four walls, he still wasn't safe. In his mind Gilead was probably just right around the corner, waiting to drag him back in. The thought alone made his stomach turn.

"Hey it's okay," Steve said in the same gentle voice he had used earlier, taking a step forward. "I'm not gonna-"

The omega flinched.

Steve stopped dead in his tracks. The way he had done it nearly made him jump, the brunet had done it so abruptly, like someone had just reached out and struck him across the face, and was bracing himself like someone was still going too.

He didn't even try to defend himself, and something about that hurt. The man viewed Steve as a threat, as something that could reach out and just take whatever it wanted from him with no consequence.

It was pathetic, and a small part of it made Steve felt a little dejected to watch a man who would have outranked him in literally any other situation shrink in on himself. Still, he did his best to hold his composure even though his mind was racing.

It didn't make any sense, none of this made any sense. He hadn't acted that way before, and to be perfectly honest Steve was still confused on why the omega even acknowledged him at all.

Steve wanted to be mad at someone, anyone. Not just for this but for the entire situation, taking it out on anyone at that point would have been peachy.

But his anger was pretty short-sighted, at least once he looked back at the omega again. Somehow, if at all possible, he had made himself smaller. Eyes practically gawking at Steve.

He was doing that thing now, eyes looking back and forth between Steve's. They were vivid with fear and now that he's actually doing it, it only made Steve want to get closer. His instincts were practically screaming at him to help, to get closer and comfort the omega. Protect him.

It was stupid. Steve could hardly protect himself and honestly the bigger of the two looked like he could do more than take care of himself, even with one arm and a pregnancy. Clearly he could, otherwise he wouldn't have gotten this far. But Steve's instincts didn't know that, they weren't logistical, that's what made them instincts.

But still the blond held his ground, he's not an animal. He could control himself even if it was difficult to do, him not controlling himself was why he was here in the first place.

Something about that whole thing made Steve's eyes burn but even still he took a step back. He remembered what this was all about, not freaking the man out and getting answers.

"Sorry." Steve said. He placed all of his items back on the floor and showed the omega his palms, hoping he would find some sort of comfort in seeing that Steve was empty-handed. "I'm sorry, I should've asked. I'll ask next time, okay?"

The omega didn't answer, nothing about his face changed.

This was hard, incredibly hard. Steve had seen patients like this before but usually he wasn't the one that worked directly with them. Usually Steve was the man that worked behind the scenes, he helped patients take baths and washed their clothes.

He did cafeteria duty and drew sketches of suspected terrorists in Gilead from victim descriptions, he wasn't a counselor. It wasn't who he was, and he definitely wasn't an interrogator by any means.

Now Natasha was good at this, Sam was good at this. Practically anybody who wasn't him was good at this. Hell, even Clint would have probably been a better choice. Still he sighed before trying to talk with him again, being calm and not scaring him was imperative.

"Are you hurt?" Steve asked before clarifying. "In any pain?"

The omega looked at him for only a second then lifted his wrist. Yes

The answer made Steve frown, still he went on. "Anywhere specific? I can see if I can get you some medication to help."

There's a second of silence before the omega did anything and for a brief moment Steve wondered if he had heard him at all. He didn't look at Steve as began to twist his fingers into shapes, only giving a brief glance towards the window before looking back down at the floor.

E-V-E-R-Y-

He stopped.

Steve didn't say a word, he only watched as the omega pulled another face and shifted his weight on the cot again. He made another guttural noise and then froze before moving his fingers again.

A-L-L

All. He spelled all to him. Steve's face dropped a bit at that. All. So he was hurting all over more than likely or just felt like the majority of his body was in some sort of pain.

The realization creeps onto Steve that he only has one hand and the sign for all required two hands, so he was forced to spell it. Steve felt something deep within him go hot at that.

It got even hotter once he realized why he changed it. He was probably trying to spell everywhere, and all was a lot shorter to spell. Even then it still required two hands to sign, something that he didn't have.

"I'm sorry about that." Steve said, this time he wasn't quite sure if the gentleness was forced or not. "I'm gonna get you some help, see what I can do to get you feeling better."

The omega didn't say anything, his gaze just stayed somewhere unfocused on the floor. Steve looked at him and everything about the man looked utterly exhausted.

His form was completely off and he wasn't even sitting up straight. He was hunched over and looking at the floor, fingers squeezing into the mattress with nails long enough to honestly be considered weapons at that point.

He needed a bath and was likely close to being dehydrated and on the brink of sleep deprivation. The thought crept in Steve's head but he was probably still hungry, he doubted three granola bars could've possibly quenched anything for him.

"Here." Steve said before going for another granola bar in his jacket. He retrieves it rather quickly and tears it open for the brunet and then tosses it on his cot.

There's a moment where the taller of the two watched the food beside him. A moment that didn't last very long, as instead, the man slowly pulled it towards himself and brought it up towards his mouth. It almost disappeared with his speed, inhaling it just as quickly as the ones before.

The omega didn't even bother to wipe his mouth that time instead he just stared up at Steve unprompted. His eyelids had dropped a bit now but his eyes were nowhere near relaxed, staring straight through Steve as if he were invisible.

Steve patted his jacket down for a moment and then gave the brunet the most friendly expression he could muster. "Sorry, I think I'm out."

Nothing about the omega changed, and for some reason Steve felt guilty even at that. He felt like he had to say something. Even if that stare was terrifying, even if he had no idea what it meant.

"But hey, I can get some more if you want." Steve offered, remembering what Sam said about body language. "Maybe even get you some water too."

Man in front of him seemed to swallow at the mention of water but he didn't say anything, he didn't even blink. There was a moment where Steve could have sworn he made a sound but nothing further.

The blond swallowed as well. This was hard, harder than he expected it to be. But he wasn't sure if that was because being around this man was difficult or if all interrogations were just difficult in general.

He slowly bent down and picked up all of his things, trying to stay as predictable as possible. He could feel the omega staring at him the whole way but didn't look back up at him, somehow feeling as if he looked at him that's what would make the whole thing real.

Once everything was gathered in his hands Steve took another step back and the man looked away from him and back towards the floor. His expression somehow looked different than it was before, more somber and less- well, whatever it was before.

Steve walked towards the door and sucked in his bottom lip. There were so many questions he wanted to ask, so many questions he was supposed to ask but didn't. Natasha had sent him down here with a list of things to ask but he just couldn't, the man just looked so stressed out and scared. Steve didn't want to overwhelm him.

He looked bad. Everything about this was just bad and Steve didn't know what to do, didn't want to make anything worse.

He hadn't completed his task fully but maybe he could come down here later. Maybe he could explain it to Natasha, ask her and the others if it sounded like a good idea. He was supposed to ask him everything there and then but Steve just couldn't do it.

He had never seen a grown man that terrified a day his life. There had been people in the past that had come close, plenty of victims seeking shelter in the safety of Canada had came so close it was nearly uncanny. But this? This was a new level.

He nearly got all the way to the door before he stopped. Maybe he couldn't get everything, and he truly was scared of stressing the omega out. But that didn't mean he couldn't get the majority of this done here and now, at least the easier questions.

"What's um," Steve said, being sure to keep his composure despite all of this. "What's your name?"

His eyes suddenly got wild, glaring around the floor of the room. He was looking anywhere but at Steve but even Steve could spot the obvious fear hidden underneath the initial panic.

"Hey it's alright." Steve tried to say it soothingly, remembering his reaction from earlier and not moving any closer to him. "It's fine."

That didn't do a single thing to deter the omega's reaction as the bigger man begin to squeeze his fingers into the mattress again, breath quickening in through his nose. Steve felt the lump in his throat and swallowed it down, he was beginning to scare Steve.

"Hey! Look, look, it's fine! It's fine!" Steve stage whispered, again. He couldn't yell, he knew if he did it would only further escalate the situation.

The man hadn't moved an inch from his cot but his fingers had sunken themselves deeper into the mattress. The omega was breathing as if he had just ran a marathon as more sweat pooled on his face. He didn't look at Steve once, as a matter of fact it appeared as if he was trying to do everything but.

It left Steve more confused; he already didn't know why he was acting like this, why he had even bothered to give Steve so much as a passing glance. But now he was looking like he was on the verge of a panic attack all over asking what his name was.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" Steve said, continuing to whisper. He was trying to figure out how he could remedy this, they had already come this far. It wasn't much but it was to progress, as little as it was.

"H-Hey look it's alright, it's alright." Steve relaxed his voice as he spoke. "You're not in trouble or anything."

Now that seemed to have some effect on the omega and there weren't enough words in the world to express how much Steve hated that. He was an adult, the fact that any adult was afraid of being in any sort of trouble was ridiculous.

It didn't do a whole lot but his pupils seemed a lot less shrunken in and tense. Steve relaxed if only a little.

"Yeah look see? You're fine, you're fine." The way Steve said it in any other context would have been considered patronizing. Hell, to Steve it felt patronizing. He knew good and well that if anyone had spoken to him in the tone Steve was using he would've thought they were making fun of him somehow.

The bigger of the two didn't seem to care. He didn't seem to give any real reaction at all except for his breathing evening out, though Steve figured that had more to do with what he had said earlier.

"I'm sorry." He repeated. "Look it's fine, you're fine."

"I just-" Steve started but then cut himself off, it didn't matter what he was trying to do. He had freaked him out, and restating what he had just said wasn't going to help anything.

"It's okay." He was really talking more to himself than to the omega at this point but it could still be applied.

He thought about just opening the door and leaving at that point, but he couldn't just walk out with them both left on that note. The last experience the man would have had with him would have been negative, he didn't want that to alter his perception of him later.

"My name's-" Steve started, thinking very carefully about what he said, then swallowed all his thoughts down. "I'm Steven by the way."

He didn't know why he said it, it just kind of fell out of his mouth and the other man didn't seem to give any indication that he heard him anyway. Steve could already feel his palms getting sweaty and turned around, a hand already on the doorknob. But that's when something else happened.

There was the familiar sound of the bed creaking again but the omega didn't make a sound. Steve couldn't help but tilt his head a bit to see him and then slowly turned back around once he saw what he was doing.

His fingers were flicking into shapes, bending into weird irregular patterns. He was sure that the others watching this probably had no idea what he was saying, that only Steve knew was him spelling out something.

Steve didn't even know what he was really spelling until he was halfway through and it made something deep in his chest plummet. He didn't even look at Steve as he spelled, deciding to hunch his body over and stare everlastingly at the floor.

But he had answered Steve's question.

O-F-A-N-T-H-O-N-Y

Chapter 6

"Anthony?" Natasha said pacing around in the office space.

She had been pacing back and forth for a while. It was just something she did whatever she was thinking deeply about something, or was just stressed and honestly in this case Steve wasn't sure which one. It was probably a little bit of both.

They were all sitting down at the oval shaped conference table, save for Natasha who was still contemplating on the information Steve had given them all.

"Yeah." Steve said. There was something solemn about his voice, something that was almost disappointing, almost tired. "That's what he said. Ofantony."

She didn't say anything else after that and instead finally decided to take a seat at the front, legs crossed over with intertwined hands at her mouth. Natasha wasn't happy about it, and of course she wasn't, and Steve wasn't expecting her to be. He wasn't expecting anyone to be, not with what he had just relayed to all of them.

They had all seen what had happened from the cameras, Steve knew that he had been being watched that entire time, it was no secret. They had been quiet most of the time then he was talking earlier. Because even though they saw everything, somehow he felt the need to clarify and they felt the need to listen.

Nobody could communicate in ASL, nobody except for Steve anyway and a small part of him felt delighted at the situation he found himself in. The fact that now he had found himself in a somewhat pivotal position.

Now he was more than just the only person the omega would acknowledge, now he was the only person who could understand him. He just wished it was under different circumstances.

It was only by chance that even Steve knew the language that all, he never thought he would actually put the skill to any use in all honesty. The only reason he knew it so well was ironically because of a childhood health scare.

His hearing in his left ear has started rapidly degenerating at an alarming rate in his youth. So much so that some of his doctors had feared he would lose his hearing in it all together, and that it was quite possible he would completely lose hearing in his right ear as well.

It was suggested that he learned the language early on so if things did turn to the worst, at least communication wouldn't be to difficult for him. Luckily though for him the process seemed to come to a halt in his preteens, and now he only had slight difficulty with hearing out of it.

His mother though, ever the worrisome, insisted that he stayed on top of it, just in case. For a while he had hated it, it was just a constant reminder of how much was wrong with him, and now it seemed he couldn't be evermore grateful for it.

Though the silence in here was so thick that for a moment Steve wondered if he was deaf. One thing was for sure though. He definitely was sick, or at least felt sick. There was this weird impending mix of nausea and an incoming headache, it was likely what everyone was feeling now.

Natasha just sat there, jiggling her thigh up and down. Riley had his head down, Maria's fingers were stitched together. Nobody seemed to want to say anything, maybe they were all thinking the same thing he was thinking, that speaking somehow would make this all real.

"Damn." It came from Sam because Sam didn't care. Sam didn't care about anything.

He was brave like that Steve supposed, which made it all the more boggling that he was a counselor of all things. Clint watched as the alpha rubbed the top of his head in some sort of self-soothing gesture and sighed.

"Okay." Sam breathed out. "So 'Anthony', at least we know that. He's been with an 'Anthony' at some point."

"That could be anyone." Natasha said, a palm out and voice dry. "Literally anyone."

"Maybe not." That time it was Carol, pushing her fingers through her hair as she let out a harsh breath. "His upper scarring is still connected to Pierce right? Maybe this Anthony guy is connected to him somehow?"

"He could be part of the Sons of Jacob," Clint said, finally making himself known, looking at Carol. "Pierce is their head figure. Maybe he's on their board."

Riley squeezed the bridge of his nose and speaks in a low mumble. "Sons of bitches."

Sam squeezed his mate's hand reassuringly as Maria started. "Could be, I mean if 'Anthony' was part of their little clan wouldn't that make this guy one of their a 'highly valued assets'? Like, how would he have even gotten out?"

Steve knew who she's referring to, the omega. He spoke up, though dryly. "Maybe he had help, maybe someone from the inside got him out 'stead of the other way around."

"Maybe." Natasha said. "It's a maybe. All of this is maybe because Maria's right, if he's a Handmaid to one of the Sons of Jacob, then how is he here?"

Her scent spiked when no one said anything, Steve didn't even say anything. She was right, as much as nobody wanted for that to be a reality. Steve wanted to solve this, everyone wanted to solve this quickly and easily. Too tie up with a little bow and call it a day.

It would be easy to just simply go through the records and see who's currently a member of Gilead's leadership roles, to simply shift through the list of top Commanders and name check each one until they were able to tie one of them to the omega somehow.

But that would be too easy, and it didn't make any sense.

Natasha was right, Gilead kept it's Handmaids under almost constant supervision, especially the ones assigned to the Sons of Jacob. They had too many Guardians around their houses twenty four seven, and they were practically swarming with Eyes in and out of their homes.

Getting a Handmaid out was pretty much impossible at this point, getting one out that was assigned to a high Commander? It was impossible. Especially one that was pregnant.

And even if he did, surely they would have caused some sort of stir by now. Commanders held authority in Gilead, the Sons of Jacob especially and with that authority came respect. Immense respect and fear. With fear came to power, with power came privileges.

Surely they would have tried to come to Canada and bargain for this omega somehow. Children were very important in Gilead, the youngest amongst them especially, and with a supposed confirmed pregnancy like this it seemed unlikely that they would just let him go, whoever his Commander was.

It was far more likely that whoever Anthony was, he had nothing to do with the sons of Jacob. He was probably just some Commander, which only made their job harder.

There were probably a billion Anthony's across millions of homes in Gilead, and though not all were Commanders a good handful of them would be and there was literally nothing to go off of. There would be no way to figure out which Commander would have been his.

"I just…" Natasha said, rubbing her forehead with her eyes shut. "I don't know."

"Yeah." Steve sighed. He had been trying to make sense of this, trying to place some sort of piece in a puzzle where it didn't belong. It was like he was desperate to make it fit, to make some sort of coherent image so they could move forward somehow.

Usually the simplest answer was the answer, at least from what he's been taught. The chances of a pregnant Handmaid escaping a high-ranking Commander was implausible at best. Whoever his Commander was, he was probably just minor in the chain of command.

"Look, maybe he is just some guy. Maybe he's just some low-ranking Commander in the middle of nowhere, I don't know." Steve said all the while blowing out a breath.

"But we've got a name, that's better than nothing right? That's better than yesterday at least." Maria looked at him as he spoke, part of her he could tell felt a little guilty for her suggestion. It had been bleak, but it had been the truth, or at least very very likely.

Things had always been bleak, for the past decade everything surrounding their very lives had always had this dark cloud hovering above it. But she was right, it was better to acknowledge it, to try to find the silver lining in it instead of being ignorant to its presence.

"Maybe I could talk to him again, maybe tomorrow. See what else he might know." Steve said with the most reassurance he could muster.

There was a different sort of feeling in the group now, maybe it was relief, Steve didn't know what it was but whatever he had said it had elevated at least some of the tension and overall gloom in the room.

It was a good suggestion, and really it was the only one they had, the only one that could come out with some sort of successful or useful outcome. Even if he didn't want to go back in there again, not after how panicked and afraid the omega looked.

Something about the way the man's face contorted made Steve feel more than he ever wanted to feel while working here. It was disturbing, like everything else had been stripped away and there was nothing but a deep primal fear left in him, all instinct and no thought. Like the person inside was gone.

Maybe it was Steve that needed the break, maybe the man's panic was just his crutch, an excuse for Steve to not go back in there. Maybe he didn't want to see how hollow the man's eyes looked again, or how his face sunk in all the wrong places.

Nobody said a word. Not even Natasha, and Steve could have sworn she would've the first one to say something to that idea. At least object to it, but she didn't. Instead it was Sam's voice that came through.

"Yeah," He said with a brief nod of his head, almost as if he was zoned out just before. One of his hands finds his face. "Yeah, yeah that's good. That's good."

He looked stressed, everyone in this room did. Steve rested a hand on Sam's shoulder, comforting others may not have been exactly his strong suit but the concept wasn't foreign to him.

"Yeah?" Steve asked with just the smallest hint of a smile on his face. "Is that going to make up for cafeteria duty?"

Sam cracked a smile and looked at him, no matter how small it was. "Yeah."

Sam swallowed before an exasperated grin creeped his face. "Yeah, keeping up that pattern, he seems to be doing better I think. We keep this up, you'll have him singing like a canary."

"Hopefully." Carol said, unweaving her hand from her hair.

Steve looked to Natasha who hasn't said much of anything, it wasn't anything compared to how she usually acted. Usually in meetings like this Natasha was the lead voice, the head honcho. Hardly anything got under her skin and yet somehow this case did.

It wasn't like they had seen trauma stricken people before, especially in this line of work. Perhaps it wasn't the fact that the omega was like this, perhaps it was the fact that there hadn't been a survivor in so long. Perhaps they had forgotten what Gilead had truly done to people, the fresh hell these people endured.

They hadn't truly forgotten, there was no way anyone could. Not after all of the faces they had seen, not after all the tears and broken families, the disfigurements and psychological abuse so many people suffered through that had come through their doors. Even if it was months or years ago, no one could forget that.

The fact that Steve had been relieved- no, ecstatic at the fact that someone hadn't held the man down and torn his tongue right out from his own mouth was terrifying. The fact that people had came in there before, like that was normal, was terrifying.

But maybe it was a good thing, him coming in. Maybe it was all a good thing. Maybe it reminded them all why they were here, why they had to keep going, why this man deserved treatment. Deserved help. Deserved to be treated like a human being

Maybe they had all become too comfortable and this was their reminder.

Steve hoped it was, if this was his reminder, if this was why this man was here then so be it. Even if every step of the way made him sick to his core, that omega was here and at the very least he deserved compassion.

He looked at her until he saw her lips move, until she finally looked up from the table, a compressed look on her face.

"Yeah," She said. "Hopefully."

Chapter 7

This was bad.

When Steve had woken up to a frantic phone call from Natasha the first thing he thought was that somebody was dying or that their newest resident had made some sort of suicide attempt.

Her calling Steve this early in the morning was never really a good thing. The last time she had called him this early it had been when her and Clint's dog, Lucky, had ran off somewhere and gotten lost on an early morning walk.

He wondered briefly what she was doing up so early in the morning, the sun was hardly out and his eyes were crusted over with sleep. Natasha had never called him this early in the day before, not even with that whole situation with her dog. Even that, somehow had been later in the day than this. That was up until Steve heard the state of her voice.

It was erratic and shrill, bearing a newfound shakiness to it that resembled more of a nervous teen than a more than grown woman. Steve could barely even understand her, he had to sit there and ask her to repeat herself twice before the message was clear.

He got up and dressed quickly, something was wrong. Very very wrong, and he knew she didn't have to say a thing further than that. He quickly got dressed, and in his daze, shoved a couple of those bars in his coat pockets that the omega seemed to like so much. He was going to need them.

Steve didn't even get more than ten feet out of his apartment before he saw the problem. Something in his chest fell at the sight of so many silver dresses, at the white hats and their matching shoes.

Pearl Girls.

They were everywhere, practically swarming the sidewalks and taking up every inch of the area that wasn't the street. Steve watched them, watched as their string of pearls hanging across their necks seemed perfectly in place on their bodies even as they walked.

Something about the sight made him stop, it was just something innate in these women that made him feel that way, something deep and uncomfortable. Maybe it was the way all their dresses matched, maybe it was their weird plastered on perma-smiles and light voices.

Whatever it was Steve didn't like it, especially when there were this many of them. They looked like ants crawling around the streets, scattered yet somehow uniformed, it only further fueled his uncomfortableness.

They were never this many before, and it made Steve want to sweat, want to turn around and crawl back into his apartment until they all disappeared. He wasn't sure if that was because of his disgust for Gilead and their tactics or if they just made him that uncomfortable, and he didn't really care.

Instead he trudged on. Natasha had called him, panicked, and that was enough to get him to practically walk though a minefield. Natasha never panicked, she just didn't. That was simply the way she was. Calm, cool, and collected. Steve was the panicky one. He need to be there.

He walked past the first two pairs without much of a problem, they hardly even noticed him due to the darkness. The sun wasn't just hardly up at all, it straight-up wasn't. It was pitch black outside, with only the street lights illuminating the sidewalks.

Steve's vision fell down to the ground, he knew that if he didn't look at them they were less likely to engage with him. Many Canadians and Canadian immigrants absolutely despised them, not that Steve could blame them, he despised them too.

They would likely assume that he had a certain disgust for them and leave him be. So instead he focused on the snow, watched how the street lights seemed to cause it to reflect small twinkles of holographic wonder. Mini flashes of rainbows in the cold, delicate snowflakes.

He used to do this all the time as a kid, whenever the streets were clean enough anyway. Truly they usually were abysmal. It was the city and even in the winter the snow would usually be sludged with debris, trash and whatever drink someone didn't finish and poured out. Usually with the can with it.

It was the city, and finding yellow snow regularly wasn't even a crazy sight. But whenever he could find the snow like this, Steve would cherish it, the small little pockets against the street lights then instead of huge piles like this in Canada now. He would always fight the urge to play in it, living in an urban area, Steve could only ever guess even as a kid, what was secretly on or in it at any given time.

Even though the cold wasn't really too good for him, even though his mother was far more insistent on him being inside, and the cold always giving him frostbite. Now as an adult, there was something almost comforting about it and it almost brought him into a different world. Back to his childhood. New York.

Well it almost did anyway. All the way up until he heard a voice speaking to him like a mother cooing a babe.

"Oh why, hello there."

That voice, that sappy, sugary sweet voice that made him want to strike her in the face. It's how they all spoke, the Pearl Girls, it was meant to be endearing. Comforting and kind, but there was something about it to him it just sounded arrogant in a subtle way. Passive-aggressive, like they all knew they were better than him.

He peered up at her and something about the imagery made him want to shove right past her. It was the outfit, more specifically the headdress they wore. It reminded him nearly of the Handmaids' "wings" except twisted in a way that made him nearly want to puke.

Instead of covering their faces in a dome, instead of restricting their peripheral vision and hiding their faces, they complimented them. They sat atop their heads almost like halos, like they were sent from God, angels here to take free men from their earthly sins and into the cleansing love of Gilead.

Fuck them.

Fuck that, fuck all of that. Steve knew what they were about. They were young women, alphas who acted as Gilead's missionaries, going abroad to try and recruit more people for Gilead.

He despised them, all of them. Aunt's. That's all they were. Aunts in-training, every single one.

Female alphas were raised to be Aunts from birth from within the Republic, that much Steve knew. They were the only ones ever allowed to hold such a position, and it was the only position they would ever hold for their entire lives, at least from within the walls of the regime.

This is what they did, what they always did. Recruiting young people abroad to initiate them in the ways of Gilead as their "Pearls". They then brought their precious little "Pearls" back to Gilead and removed their necklaces for the next group of girls ready to depart for their own missions before becoming full Aunts.

A small part of him wanted to feel bad for them, most Pearl Girls were mere teenagers for the most part, just barely children themselves. They had been raised since childhood to be this way, likey separated from their own families at Gilead's beginning. Indoctrinated and pushed in at their most vulnerable age. They probably never saw their families again.

They were victims themselves, victims of circumstance. Brainwashed and forced. More than probably, Steve knew that absolutely, there wasn't another choice for them. Even if they didn't believe it, what they were taught.

But then he would always remember what they were about, every time that thought would creep in. Always and so soon after the guilt and empathy for them would fade away at the thought of what they were actually doing, what they did to others, what they caused others to go through. What they put them through, intentionally or otherwise.

The omega.

He looked into her eyes and felt his own grow a bit hard at just the sight of her. At her satin dress and matching little silver bag, no doubt filled with fresh water bottles and granola bars that were probably no different than the ones he had in his pockets.

The audacity, the very thought that these people went around giving water and food to the homeless and struggling as ruse to indoctrinate them, to prey on the suffering and lead them straight to the gates of perpetual hell. All so they could get some promotion, to her even more, to do more damage, to prove their loyalty and faith in Gilead by bringing in another.

The woman bent down with both of her hands on her knees, smiling. There was something about it was patronizing, and he just knew why she was doing it. He just knew that she thought he was an omega. A small omega out in the cold. Perfect.

"Are you alright today?" She asks, a warm expression on her face. Steve wanted to hit her.

"Go away." He said instead, because he knew better and because he didn't have it in him to curse at her despite his- well, everything. She was a child, she looked like a child and it ate away at him. The guilt.

"Oh." She said, her voice was never changing despite her semi shocked expression. "Well okay then, if I could just offer you some-"

"I said go away." His voice was low, almost in a growl. There was a bit of a threat tainted just on the end of it as he walked past her, his head not looking back. He didn't want to see whatever bribe she pulled out of that pack of hers, whatever brochure or candied good she had.

He could actually hear the hurt in her voice when. Soft and admittedly, genuinely wounded. Her expression saddened, a soft and pliant look. "Go in grace."

The voice of her partner next to her didn't sound as hurt at all, there was a bitterness to it as she berated the girl. A girl because that's what she was, she couldn't have been any older than seventeen. Steve's fed up, his head held down. He wondered if she could even remember when it happened.

The before.

"I told you not to talk to ones like that." Her partner snapped at her. "Now come on."

Her partner sounded older, like she was maybe in her thirties. She had likely been doing this for a while, watching other women successfully bringing in others and bumping up their statuses while she hadn't been able to bring in a single Pearl. That would be the only reason for a Pearl Girl to be older any than their twenties.

He wanted to feel bad when he hears the soft mumble of the girl, of the quiet "sorry" that left her lips. The woman had been particularly snappy towards her, and she had probably been doing this for years now. Probably since Gilead's first conception, had probably grown bitter in it's wake.

The poor thing sounded so naive, the girl. She looked naive, and a couple of years ago he might have actually felt sorry for her. He didn't now.

If he offered help she wouldn't take it, if he offered her sanctuary she would refuse. He had tried before, with others. She would spew to him that he was a heretic and a terrorist, an enemy of the state.

That's why they waited until they got like this to make them Pearl Girls, they always did. They were already too far gone at that point, the girls. They were just proving their loyalty now. It's why Gilead trusted them to be on the outside, this was merely their final task to express their true commitment to the cause. To God.

He almost felt bad for them.

Steve trudged on in the snow, watching as each pair of the missionaries seemed to make way for him, likely seeing that he was not in the mood for any of their pamphlets or promises. This hadn't been the first time this had happened to him anyway.

Omegas were their targeted demographic, male omegas especially. He was on blockers now but even without his sweet scent, his height wasn't particularly helping in the distinction. But his speed walking and having both of his hands crammed in his pockets told them everything they needed to know about his opinions of them.

He made it to the shelter with relative ease but was nearly winded and he silently thanked himself for remembering to bring his inhaler with him. He took a quick puff and attempted to open the door with his other hand. It's locked.

The first thing he did was try to push on it again, surely Natasha wouldn't have called him all the way over here just for the doors to be locked. When that didn't work he fumbled for his key card and pressed it on the locking mechanism on the door. It's still locked.

Alright now he was worried, she had told him to meet her here and everything was locked. There were Pearl Girls swarming the streets in higher numbers than usual and even he was beginning to sense that something was wrong.

This time he knocked on the door, with a little bit of force behind it, not enough for it to seem panicky but enough to surely gain someone's attention from the inside. It definitely was getting the missionaries attention from the outside.

They knew better than to go near him, to make any sort of contact with him just from his body language alone. But that didn't stop them from whispering to one another, and that sure wasn't helping Steve feel any better by a long shot.

There's a brief second were he fumbles for his inhaler again before the door swings open and a pair of hands usher him inside. It's Natasha.

She pulled him in the building with so much urgency and force he could have sworn his neck snapped. There wasn't a moment long enough for him to register anything though before the door closed behind him, automatically locking.

Natasha- well, she didn't look too so good. She looked tired, which wasn't a lot considering who he was looking at, Natasha always looked tired, like she was always on the brink of sleep exhaustion. But this time she looked really tired. Because even in her fits of sleep deprivation she still always looked somewhat put together.

Even though she still looked put together, it was just a little less than usual. Steve knew from experience that if anything changed about Natasha, even the slightest thing, it usually meant she was in deep shit.

"Hey. Steve. Sorry." She said in a swift succession, like it was meant to be one sentence but her brain was moving faster than her mouth.

"Yeah um," She started, smoothing a hand through her hair. "Yeah, um so-"

"Breathe." Steve said in the calmest way he knew how, sticking his palms out to face her. Although he couldn't lie and say a small part of him wasn't stressed.

He looked at her until she took in a breath following the motions he made with his hands and exhaled.

"Okay," He said, looking up at her with an more than forced relaxed expression on his face. She needed it. "Now can you tell me what happened?"

"He's gone."

"What?"

"He's gone Steve."

A small and yet all encompassing part of Steve wanted to curse at that but he was able to save his tongue at the last minute. He already knew who she was talking about, the omega.

Except something was off and it took Steve less than a couple of seconds to figure out what. He was here.

He couldn't be gone because he was here, Steve knew it because he could smell him, smell that same deep scent of fear stricken rain, of petrichor. Although he was really confused as to why Natasha would think he was missing because it was strong. Stronger than it was yesterday.

"How?" Steve asked and didn't even try to hide the flabbergasted tone in his voice. He was right there, Steve knew he was, there was no way she could have missed it, and he hoped she got what he was asking.

"I mean-" Natasha said with a swallow, one of her hands fluttering to Steve's shoulder for support. This must have been bad. "He's gone. Mentally. Up here."

He watched as she pointed to the side of her head before bringing that hand back down and placing it on her hip. "We can't get him to calm down."

A million thoughts rushed through Steve's head. The first of which; what could have possibly caused him to get any more panicked than he was yesterday? The man was completely out of it, barely moving and hardly breathing. If that wasn't peak panic then Steve didn't want to know what he was like now.

But then immediately a new thought came into his mind. That one being, how did Natasha know he was panicked? It was far too early in the morning for her to be on the clock, and while the shelter was open twenty four hours a day, she didn't have the graveyard shift. She shouldn't be here.

"Wait. Natasha-" Steve said. He cut himself off mid thought, squeezing his eyes shut and bringing his fingers to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Why are you-"

"Don't worry about that." She said in a tired voice that sounded slightly too defensive for Steve to accept, he stared at her instead.

"Okay look," Natasha said without even looking at him, she already knew what Steve was going to think. "I pulled a double shift okay?"

"Nat." Steve said, only to have Natasha swiftly continue.

"It's fine I just-" She cut herself off before she could even finish that lie, smoothing her hands along the fabric of her pants. "I just wanted to keep an eye on him, you know? I just really didn't know if Hill would've-"

Steve didn't even let her finish that sentence. "Nat."

There was something in her face that deflated the little bit, like she knew she was wrong. Ever since their newest arrival had gotten here she had been like this. She used to be like this before, back when people came in on a monthly basis but it never got this extreme.

She was stressing, burying herself in work, and usually that was a good thing. If it wasn't for her the place would have likely been in shambles by now, but that didn't mean it was healthy, and that really didn't mean Steve didn't notice it.

She came over less often. She used to swing by his apartment every now and then, and now she seemed to even be at her own home less and less. More distant from Clint-

"Where's a," Steve swallowed, looking behind her from where the thick scent of the omega was drifting from. "Where's Clint?"

"Oh he's-" She said, breaking contact with him. "He's at home."

Yep. Of course he was at home because Steve remembered everybody leaving through that front door except for Natasha. Clint had stuck around a little bit longer but he assumed they were both probably just packing up some things to take home. They probably had another argument about her staying, and she stayed anyway.

He didn't want to focus on any of that right now though, it's not his relationship and as far as Natasha was concerned she clearly didn't want to talk about it. His attention landed back down the hallway.

Natasha noticed and seemed slightly thankful for the subtle subject change. "He's back there still."

Steve looked at her as she continued. "Under his bed I think."

Under his bed? That was the only thing Steve could think upon hearing that, and his face must have told on him because Natasha nodded her head as if she could read his mind.

"Yeah," She said without prompting, she was looking down the same hallway Steve was looking at before, he knew she could smell him. She breathed out harshly before finishing, looking right at Steve. "I think it's the Pearl Girls, I think they're freaking him out."

"I think Carol might've been right." Natasha breathed. "I think- I think that they might be here for him."

The idea made Steve's stomach twist a little bit, even though the entire thing made complete sense. There had never been this many missionaries before, and usually when they were around it was only during daylight, it was never this early in the day.

They would've came in here, Steve wouldn't even doubt it if it wasn't for the unspoken rule that they weren't allowed onto the shelter premises. It seemed like a line even they didn't want to cross, or perhaps they were only told not to do so by Gilead to save their image. Steve didn't doubt that either.

But the thing about them with their little white shoes and hats, was that they were more than just missionaries. They were little spies, all of them were, at least until they returned to Gilead and became Aunts. It was another thing they did.

While they were out and about in other countries they did more than just collect naive people from other countries, they also spied on them. It wasn't uncommon for them to go back and report to Gilead what they saw while they were out.

The thing about it was they could only return after picking up a "Pearl" no matter how long it took. If one of the women in the pair collected one in the other didn't then she would leave and a new Pearl Girl would take her place and become the other's new partner.

So perhaps Carol was right, perhaps there were so many because they were looking for him. Perhaps his Commander was high-ranking, perhaps Anthony was a bigger threat than they imagined.

"Maybe." Steve said as his brain wandered. Because even if that is why there were more silver dresses in the streets, typically Commanders tried harder than that when it came to the things they wanted. Radio pleas, televised broadcasts, some even flew all the way to Canada for diplomatic negotiations.

But even all of those times it was never over a baby, because Steve was sure that was all the omega was to whoever his previous Commander was. He wasn't a person to Gilead, just a child making machine, pushing out kids until his body wasn't useful anymore. Until he was useless.

And right now that very omega had harbored and stolen away something was "theirs", and if there was anything that their Commanders and Wives- hell, that all of Gilead would go all out over, it was their future, secured within Gilead's children. Yet they weren't going all out. At least not yet.

"Don't you think that they would, well, ya know..." Steve said, hoping she would understand what he was insinuating. She did.

"I know," She said. "I thought about that."

Natasha squeezed her eyes shut for a moment and shook her head before looking back at Steve. Her eyes looked tired and her mouth pulled into a light frown.

"Steve." She said, her voice sounded low and tired. "What if they're just starting?"

Chapter 8: The Red Center

We're supposed to be sleeping in what had once been a gymnasium. The floor is of polished wood, with black stripes and circles painted on it, for the games that were once played here; the hoops for the basketball nets were still in place, though the nets were all gone.

An omega had used some once to make a makeshift rope and hung himself from there. I remember. An Aunt had to take him down. We aren't allowed to imagine that sense of release anymore.

A set of folded bleachers were on one side of the room, for the spectators that used to be in here. I thought I could smell, just for a moment, the wafting scents of all different kinds of people in the air from before. Of barley and freshly cut grass, of strawberries and black pepper.

Highschool dances would have been held here too; laughter lingering in the air, styles upon styles of gowns and dresses, the undercurrent of cheesy pop music. There would have been a little buffet table and decorations made of soft tissue-paper flowers. Perhaps even multicolored lights on the ceiling, illuminating the dancers with something that could only be akin to the Northern Lights.

That's all gone now.

There's a new feel to it now. Loneliness maybe, and expectation for sure. It was of something without a shape or name. I am constantly yearning now, for something that was always about to happen because something always inevitably did.

This had been somebody's high school once, and I just can't shake that. How can I? Kids went here once. I had met my fiance in a place like this, though he's long gone now.

It's funny how things work. I never thought I would find myself here, laying in a gym again after my freshman year, I remember being so happy when I was done with it all. I thought I would never have to walk through a gym again, I was so happy to be done with it. It dwarfs my desire to be rid of this place now.

He wouldn't have taken this. I know he wouldn't have. He wouldn't have stayed in this god awful place from this long. He would've gone out fighting, likely swinging on and at everything on site, or would've died trying.

That's probably why he's dead now. Dead or alive, I don't know. I don't try to know, not anymore.

I try not to trouble myself with such things anymore since being here. There's no point in trying, indulging myself with endless fantasies and wild daydreams that led me nowhere closer to him. There's no point. I have to stay focused to imagine my new end goal now.

It's not that I've forgotten or given up, I don't think I can. It's just a problem now. My old life, what I used to have. I miss it, every day I think about it, everyday. It's what keeps me going, the fact that one day, I just might be able to escape this hell hole I've found myself in. So I have to keep it together. Just for now, just until I can concoct some sort of feasible plan.

I don't want them to pluck my eye or take a limb. I've heard they do that here. Word speads fast. I've learned, and quite quickly at that, that they had already done that to another man in here.

At first I just thought he was simply an amputee, at first, one from before. There's so many different people here now. So many shapes and sizes, weights and heights. People I didn't even know existed until now, all from so many different walks of life. It wouldn't have shocked me. Anything could have happened, especially from the before. I was just one of the newer ones.

I first I thought it was just rumors, something spread by the boys and men around me as something to talk about, something to do, as people quite often did in places like this. In environments like this.

People turned against one another, people's minds turned against themselves even. An us against them, that even in a state of otherness we would create other others, something to make us feel less like another than and more like an us, something relatable, trustworthy, something familiar and less horrifyingly cruel, even if it was cruel ended up itself isolating another in the very same way we were.

A comforting cruelty.

I suppose this is what it all was, to the Aunts, to all the others. A comforting cruelty.

I then figured, very quickly that maybe it was something they themselves spreaded around. The Aunts themselves. Something to spook us into in-line, to maybe do verbally with the cattle prongs couldn't. The shock the brain just as much as the body.

But I had to learn that they took it from him, a hand. His right one. I still don't know what he did, they refused to tell me, or maybe they just didn't know themselves. I've never seen them do it. But the looks in their eyes, those prongs slung over their hips-

A smart tongue, it seemed, could only get it taken out. Or at the very least tased by a weapon made for animals, nearly multi-toned animals, and if I'm ever going to leave this place I would like to leave in one piece. Or at least unscarred as much as possible. So for now I obey. I Iisten.

But I have to be strong. I have to have willpower even if it's hidden underneath all of this compliance.

This place really takes those things out of people. Truely. The Red Center they call it, or really we call it. It's a Rachel and Leah Center in actuality, or at least that's what the Aunts always said it was to be called and to call it by. The Red Center is much easier.

I should have left back when all of this started. I should have left when they snatched our suppressants away from us, when they started cutting hours from our jobs. When people started going missing, when they inevitably took our jobs away, when we needed a signatory to hold a bank account. When they took the right to hold one altogether away from us.

Us, male omegas; Unmen now. That's what we were, that's what we had always been, according to Aunt Carter anyway. Unmen. We just didn't know it then like we do now, but now we did know, the Red Center made sure of it.

Men should not be able to give birth, the concept in it of itself was outlandish and unnatural. That paired with the fact that there weren't many of us in the first place just made it even easier to convince people we were simply a glitch from the start. A genetic hiccup.

They made sure to drill it into us every day, what we were, why we were here, why nature would allow such abominations to exist if not to aid in the bearing of children for our infertile counterparts. That this could be our only purpose.

We weren't women, and they made sure we understood that, cross-dressing and such things weren't allowed now, things like that could get you put up on the wall. No. We are men, just deformed. Just with abnormalities and malformations. Unmen.

We were born wrong, like misshapen clay, they told us. But that Gilead had found us our true purpose, and that we should be in turn, eternally grateful for their mercy. That they could've culled us all, but instead chose the path of scripture for guidance. That they gave us a chance to atone for our very nature, through the sheer grace of God and his word alone.

That they could see God's plan for us clear as day in scripture, and chose to follow it in pursuit of spiritual cleanliness, instead of just apparently following the natural path of what our fellow men would have done to us, and we should be forevermore humbled to serve Gilead and our Lord's civilized commands in return.

But it didn't matter if we wanted to comply with their commands or not, they would make sure we did. The Aunts. They always made sure we knew our place.

There are morning drills we're expected to perform here, daily tasks and exercises to help reinforce our newly bestowed roles and to gradually accommodate us to our positions in our new, more of evolved society. Quite literally at times apparently.

If we were going to be here we were going to serve a purpose, Aunt Carter would say. All men were created for a purpose, as God had created us in his image, we all must be as efficient as he. We must all in the end serve a purpose, men and women alike. Otherwise we only hinder the progress of others, a sin like no other, the hindrance of God's plan.

In scripture we had purpose, we had meaning. Unlike in the before according to her.

"Before you had freedom too, now you have freedom from."

Our new freedoms apparently involved safety, in our new sacred positions we no longer had to worry about it. About housing, about work, about food, or water, or shelter. About dating or heartbreak. About sin and temptation, and adultery.

We were now able to be set on the right path, to serve God with our Biblical purpose, the opportunity truly given to us for a chance straight into heaven with no liabilities or excuses except for the ones we create for ourselves.

We were now more than just omegas now, omega men. We were sacred workers of God. Our inherent and clear masculine thinking, the inerrant thinking of a man unlike a woman, gave us the clear-headedness to do what we had to do without too much emotion or hysteria. The ability to do what needed to be done.

We where to be there when the women- when the Wives would fail, providing them what they couldn't themselves. We would aid our fellow omegas with their struggles, ease their despair and womanly sorrows nobly, despite the sacrifice. And on my first day, that day, I've never cried quieter in my entire life.

"Sacred vessels are you now,"

She'd say, pacing through our white cots, as I was positioned in between the legs of another man no different than myself. His grip on my wrists were shaky and nervous. I could feel his pity, his fear. He could feel mine.

"Your purpose before was unclear, aimless. Even by us."

Her voice sounded strong and clear, her pacing aimed up almost flawlessly with the other Aunts that patrolled through our cots, checking our form and position. I'd lay between the other man's legs, watching as their plain brown skirts would slowly and momentarily prowl through each bed, the sense of nervousness in the room spiking and dropping with each click of a heel.

They'd comb through the beds with ease, through the corn fields of white bedding neatly laid out. Rowed to perfection.

I had tried to look up at first, into the face of my partner. I refused to look at them, the Aunts, to acknowledge their presence even in this moment of compliance. I would not let their presence torture me, not anymore than anything else in this place did. Until I saw him.

His face. It was nothing short of mangled. Something had happened, I don't know what happened, but he was quiet. Very quiet.

I had heard some whispers in the room buy some of the others before being silenced by the Aunts. A few of them would verbally correct, particularly with the quieter or the few younger looking others in the sea of red. But not all, I heard the shocks of a few prongs going off. The yelp of a boy, the back of his head dipping and reddening between his shoulders, and then the verbal correction to pay attention and to go back to holding his partner.

My partner hadn't said a word, I didn't even know his name, but he looked older. At least older than me, at least in his fourties.

His face could only be described with the word grotesque, it looked like he had been in an accident. Some sort of accident, an accident that caused severe malformation of his face. It looked surgical, yet accidental as well. As if it had been done out of anger, out of force. Something that had hit him in the face, something hard or strong, leaving a print that looked like waves of electricity coming out of one eye, eating the rest of his face in the process.

His eye was gone.

It could have been torn but that didn't explain the rest, the worst part was there and only seemed to spread out from there onto the rest of him, seeming to only destroy that one half of his face. I couldn't stand to look at him any longer.

What had they done to him?

"We were all ignorant of God's word before, and we failed you as you did yourselves. Every single one of us."

Her voice faltered with sadness, however the sternness of her steps conveyed otherwise. The posture of her back. Her true emotions. I had turned my head away in that moment, I had too. I couldn't take it anymore, not anymore.

I had disappointed myself for the action at first. He was a man no different than I, no better than I. But I could not look at him. Why? I could not look at him as a man I knew was matured enough to be my father, was old enough to have raised me, holding me down preparing me for what was to come. What was to come for us both.

His face looked sad, his stare vacant and gone. His lips never moved. What had they taken from him? What had he lost? I could not look at him, that was not a man I was staring up to anymore. Just a being.

"We did not know the gifts you were."

I'd learn from then on, from that first exercise, most of the activities surrounding our sacredness as incongruous as I was, required us to take on more of a sexual nature.

It had confused me of that fact at first, when we first arrived here I was told over and over again about why we were here, and not just here but here in the sense of Gilead. Why we needed it, why society needed it, why the world needed it. Why it could not stand the way it did before.

Lewitness. Gluttony. Sin. Selfishness. Immorality.

All things from the before, all things taught to us by our culture. Aunt Carter says it's not our fault, the reason why we strayed away from God. We were influenced, taken hostage by our culture, since birth. That they needed to reset the damage the world had caused to create one it went back to its proper stage, a one that follows God's will.

Sexual immorality was not to be tolerated, it was not tolerated. Not in our new world. The world. It spreaded disease, destroyed families, separated us from our pursuit of holiness. It destroyed the very fabric of marriage, the chastity and sacrifice of it all. It's stole away the gift that rightfully belonged to others, cheated them out of love.

Yet and still our "sacred" duties seem to require still so much of it.

They were sexual, least to me, to us. Mostly sexual in nature anyway. Though that phrase was probably not the best wordage to by used for it, but I isn’t quite exactly sure what else to call it, the mandatory stimulation of sexual positions, the ones we were to have with our "Commanders" and their wives. Taught to us and aways punctuated by the one of Aunts’ harsh critiques of the ‘old ways’. Watching us as we follow their instructions, hands in wrists, heads between limbs.

I had asked once how that was during one of the many awkward, role playing drills, we were expected of daily. Rehearsals of the sacred "Ceremony". How? How was this not part the oh-so perverted and "ungodly" act of adultery?

Of even, gender treachery.

I did not know what it felt like then, the long, electric cattle prod used to silence any dissenters. Or, apparently. Stupid questions. I have only ever felt the sting of it once since being here, and it was enough to make me wish that I had never evolved the ability to possess speech. I did not ask any more stupid questions after that.

We would sit through slideshows. Seeing things, awful things. All caused by man's defiant want to stray away, and our eventual loss of God's favor, apparently.

There was screaming on the screen. A woman, perhaps a beta, being taken by force by two men. She kicked and screamed, her body pulling away and convulsing from their touch. By the way they looked they were alphas maybe, it was hard to tell. I couldn't tell any more by then.

I had seen so many.

“You were all animals to them,” An Aunt declared strong and clear, standing behind the screen, with her arms folded over behind her back, her voice falling out and over the grunting and screaming emanating out from the screen.

The scenes played out. Horrificingly slow and raw, but I knew better than to look away. The woman's voice sounded hoarse, piercing and curdling. Her clothes were torn from her and the men who held her blocked the view of the screen. I knew what was happening. I knew better than to look away.

Her sobs echo in my head.

They sill do. They always do.

“But to Gilead, you are gifts.”

We wear ankle length culottes and long shirts tucked into our bottoms to match, everything is the same color on us now. Every single article of clothing is embroidered with the deep shade of red, save for our shoes and head attire, with undergarments that matches the latter.

Individuality is gone. It comes to represent us now, it has become us somehow. It was the color of blood, of birth, of life, of sacrifice. Everything except the white wings they make us wear and our brown boots is of the primary color; a color now which defines us.

I'm thinking too much. Nothing is supposed to take place in these cots but sleep; or no sleep. So as always I will try not to think on things too much. It will likely only me in trouble if an Aunt sees. Either that or cause me to lose my sanity, and I can't lose my sanity or I won't last here. I must last here, because I'm going to make it out of here.

I just haven't quite figured out how yet.

I can't deny that I'm anxious for the future. We all are. It's always thick in this room, and I can feel it. God, when did we all learn this? This new talent for insatiability? It practically clogs the air when we all try to sleep. The army cots that are set up for us don't help either, spaced out just enough so we couldn't run.

It it's like a maze in here, the way the beds were set up. Fleeing would be near impossible. The beds were too creaky anyway, everyone heard whenever anyone moved. It wasn't worth it. You wouldn't even make it halfway through this room.

They had given us flannelette sheets and worn army issue blankets, old ones that still said U.S on the sides. They make us sleep in different outfits, white long-sleeve pajamas sets. Aunt Agatha says it is a testament to Gilead's clemency, that they were kind to give us pajamas of any kind. They cared for us, provided for us.

The lights are turned out, and now the only light is starting to come up from the peaking sun. Aunt Carter and Aunt Agatha are patrolling along with their electric cattle prods, slung on thongs from their leather belts. No guns though, even they could not be trusted with guns. Guns were for Guardians only. Beta men.

Thankfully Guardians aren't allowed inside the building except when called, but we aren't allowed out, except for our walks, twice daily, two by two around the old football field, which is enclosed now by a chain-link fence topped with barbed wire. The Guardians always stood outside it with their backs to us.

They were supposed to be objects of fear to us, but there was something else there as well. If only they would look. If only we could talk to them. Something could be exchanged, we thought, some deal made, a trade off.

We still had our bodies and supposed fertility, and if there was one thing everyone wanted now it was fertility, or at least for the men, what came with it. That's why we were here in the first place. I've heard even some Econowives had difficulty conceiving, so even The Guardians of the Faith weren't beyond persuading with that sort of bribe.

Especially if we promised a son, and one like them at that. Healthy and strong, another beta boy to carry on his last name. Even though that wasn't a guaranteed reality, one of them might just be dumb enough to believe it. Maybe one of us could find the weakest link. The most gullible.

We would persuade just one of them to let one of us go. Maybe in exchange for a good night or a promise for a babe from one of us. That just once wouldn't hurt. Then we could take his gun. Kill him. Take out the others. Get the rest of us out. That was our fantasy.

The fantasy always ended right there.

We learned to whisper almost without sound. In the semi-darkness we could stretch out our arms, when the Aunts weren't looking, and touch each other's hands across the space between us. We learned to lip-read, our heads flat on the beds, turned sideways, watching each other's mouths.

In this way we exchanged names, from cot to cot: Scott. Kurt. Josef. Pietro.

"James."

Chapter 9

He was freaking out.

Everyone could see that clear as day from the live video footage. It came straight from his room and directly onto Natasha's desktop, being presented on the presentation board in the office as clear as day.

Natasha had ordained another meeting because of course she did, Steve was annoyed with the entire thing. Of course he understood the formality and the reasoning behind all of this, they couldn't just go and do things without alerting the others. Steve had done that and now he was in this entire predicament.

It wasn't the fact that she had pulled the meeting, it was the fact that she had pulled everyone into the meeting, everyone.

This was a staff meeting, it had been a long time since Natasha had actually bothered to pull one of these. Most of the time she just told Steve whatever the plans for the shelter were for that day and it would be his job to spread the word around.

As her unofficial, official, assistant it had practically been everything Steve did around the place. Particularly when he wasn't on cafeteria duty or washing clothes for the residences. Hill was the one who was truly second-in-command, she had been second-in-command even when Fury was alive.

Perhaps that's why Natasha wanted her to stay out of everything. Maybe she was threatened? Steve never really knew, but what he did know was that after Fury had chosen Natasha to take up the mantle in his leave, Hill really didn't care, or at least she didn't seem like she did.

As a matter of fact she was here right now sitting around one of the many chairs Carol, Sam, Maria, and Riley had pulled in before the meeting had actually transpired. She had an almost bored expression although that's just how her face tended to look.

She was serious where Natasha was tired, stone-faced where Natasha was exasperated. Even now she sat there watching as Natasha got up to speak, back straight and face unreadable.

The beta woman practically scared everyone who met her, she would have scared Steve if he didn't know her or at least knew of her. Maybe that was a good thing. Even Sam didn't play around with Hill, Steve wouldn't be surprised she scared him, he always acted like she did.

"So," Natasha said with her fingers interlocked with each other. "It has come to my attention that a situation is currently transpiring on level one."

She gestured towards the video where everyone could see an almost entirely empty room, all of the furniture was still there of course but the omega was gone. Or at least was gone from direct sight.

But Steve could see, just as clear as the others, the bit of red fabric that was peeking out just from underneath the newest resident's bed frame. The dark burgundy in contrast with the white tile floors made it stick out like a sore thumb.

It was only a little, just a small peek, but it was enough to alert everyone that he was still there. He could see as some of his coworkers had rubbed their palms against their forehead, he couldn't tell if it was out of annoyance or out of a place of sympathy.

He knew it had to be sympathy or at least hoped it was, but then again today had been a particularly rough day. Many of some of the standard residents had been a bit secluded since all of the Pearl Girls had started to come in and droves, practically clogging the streets.

It had been all hands on deck today, ever since Steve had came in that's all everyone had been doing. There wasn't a single break taken for the entire day and for the first time in a long time both night and day shift workers were all called in, a thing that hadn't happened in months.

"There's a situation happening everywhere." One person said, an omega, the debilitated tone was clear in her voice.

The thing was, she was right. Most of, if not all of the residents we're unsettled by the numerous women clad in silver gowns just outside of the shelter's premises. It wound up with Natasha needing all hands on deck, with the instability that came to possess many of the shelter's inhabitants.

He couldn't blame them, the residents, for being unsettled. There had been a reason that many of them had chosen to stay instead of going to one of the many apartments that the Canadian government provided. Many of them just couldn't, they just couldn't do it.

Some of them just couldn't reassimilate back to normal society, or at least something that even remotely resembled normal society. For a lot of them Gilead had tainted their own views of life, their ability to trust, their ability to socialize. It was impossible for some.

And Steve could understand. But it did mean that the people who worked the night shift had to continue working until now, the sun was actually beginning to rise now so many people have been working at least five hours overtime. He had been called in early as well but it was nothing in comparison to everyone else.

"I understand," Natasha continued trying not to stress, even Steve could see it in her body language. "But we have to try to hold it together, at least for now."

"Just tell them to leave." Someone else quipped. Hill's brows bunched together just as Natasha was about to speak, her words got out first.

"Lillian. Moore. Can it."

Her voice were strict and sharp. That was the thing about Hill, something about her was just authoritarian. Commanding. Not that it was necessarily a bad thing, honestly without that sort of energy Steve wasn't quite sure if the shelter would even be up and running anymore. But the omega and beta had immediately shut it as Hill stood up.

She walked over to where Natasha was standing, her body language was strong and her face looked even stronger. Steve looked over to where Lillian was sitting, a member of the night crew.

He watched as the blonde seemed to shrink back in her chair at Hill's scolding. A scowl formed on her face as she looked away, seemingly being caught up in her embarrassment. Natasha had tried to hook her up with him once, he knew that something about that lip piercing was a red flag.

"We're all tired," Hill said, eyeing off her side of the staff particularly. "That doesn't mean that we get to slack off and complain when things get hard. What do you think you're all here for?"

Her crew said absolutely nothing, Steve said absolutely nothing. He had never been more eternally grateful for being on the day shift.

Another thing about Hill was her complete lack of humor or just anything that wasn't completely by the book. She didn't play around and made that much was clear, it almost made Steve wonder why she had even started working for Fury in the first place. The guy wasn't completely jovial but he sure as hell wasn't like her.

Hill looked back at Natasha in a way that could only be searching for approval, at least to Steve. Even then Natasha gave a breath before going back to the video feed.

"Anyway," Natasha said, straightening up her own posture. "I've gathered you all here to relay to you that the first floor is off-limits, at least for the guests, for the next twenty four hours."

Steve was more than relieved to hear absolutely no one complain about that, although perhaps he was just relieved that he wouldn't have to hear anybody else get chewed on by Hill. Although the smallest part of him found it a bit entertaining, it was a little separate from all of this doom and gloom.

"All the lunches and dinners for the day will be served to our standard residences by trays." Natasha continued. "Each one of you will come down at eight to grab a tray and deliver it to a room I will assign to you."

She briefly looked at Steve for a moment before continuing, it only raises curiosity in him. "Once they're finished you will bring it back, the same thing happens at twelve and six."

Nobody even bothered to ask if she meant p.m. or a.m, luckily they were all intelligent enough to figure that out. Not only that but the cafeteria opened and closed at the same time every single day, there wasn't even a need to disclose that information anymore.

What did get to Steve was that word choice. Standard residences. Likely that excluded the omega from all of this. Perhaps she just knew how he was, Steve understood. Putting somebody else in a room with that man with a tray probably wasn't going to end well, at least not while he was like this.

The first floor being closed made a lot of sense as well, likely it would be the floor that should any event happen, would be the first to be compromised.

The Pearl Girls were non-violent, it would be bad for their image if they were, but Steve didn't put anything past him. He learned not to put anything past Gilead anymore. Not after what he's seen, but there was a problem with that.

The omega was on the first floor.

Steve wanted to ask, it was probably the only thing that was eating away at him at this point other than the obvious situation. The omega was the only resident on the first floor.

Actually so was the cafeteria and bathing areas. The only staples of the center that weren't on the first floor were the storage rooms, laundry facility, and medic ward. Everything else was practically on the first floor.

"Everyone's schedules will go back to their standard times tomorrow, as for now you're all pulling all-nighters." That was all Natasha said before she waved her hand, calling for a dismissal.

Hill stood there watching her team as they got up to leave, Natasha's team did the same. Nobody uttered a sound of disapproval or annoyance, nobody but Clint who sighed on his way out. It was loud with vivid intent for Natasha to hear.

Natasha didn't say a word but she did look at him, who didn't look back at her. He walked out the door with his back slumped, Steve wasn't even sure if it was out of just being tired or if he was genuinely annoyed.

Hill looked at her but didn't say anything to Natasha either, choosing instead to follow the last of her team out the door. The rest of the day shift workers followed and soon it was only Natasha and Steve left standing.

She hadn't even looked at Steve but somehow he knew she wanted him there. Even a few of the others were a bit reluctant to leave, Maria and Riley included. They all had this unspoken bond, when somebody was out of whack they all knew it, and Steve definitely knew it.

Ultimately though everyone did leave, soon enough it was just him and her. He took a step forward, she cut him off before he could even get a word in. "Nata-"

"We're going to work on him." She said, rubbing her hands on her pants leg again. She was anxious about something.

"Sam and the others already know," She looked to the floor and continued talking as if he wasn't even there. "I've got the first floor cleared out and the next twenty four hours to see if I can get something out of him."

Clearly Steve already knew who she was talking about but that was besides the point, at least for right now. Was she using him to not talk about the other apparent situation? Or was she that focused on that did not even notice what just happened? Either one was pretty bad.

He wants to say something, the urge to shut her down mid-conversation and figure out what the core issue was beyond tempting. But he doesn't, he knows what she'll do. She'd just stand there and deflect onto another topic, he knows Natasha.

"I figured if I could close off the first floor we could give him our undivided attention right?" It was like she was practically talking to herself at this point.

She walked straight past Steve and went to grab some random papers off of a countertop as she continued to speak, one hand placed on her forehead while the other one hung off of her belt loop. "Sam came up with this really good step-by-step you know?"

"I figured I might send you back down again, maybe you could coax him out?" She continued talking and Steve didn't say a single word, he already knew by this point anything he said it would go unheard.

"I could watch from here and everything. The whole way through." Steve didn't even see the point in talking; she was practically relaying everything he wanted to know without him even asking.

Maybe it was both. Maybe she really wanted to help this guy because it had been their first resident in months that had been new, and helping him would be something Fury would have done. It would have made him proud. Natasha took her stuff pretty seriously when it came to the refugees in the shelter anyway.

She had made every single one of them her top mission once she had taken over. It had been her first priority above all else to situate each and every one of them, even the ones that weren't on her shift.

"Sam came up with it like I said," Natasha said, grabbing a nearby chair and dragging it over to where Steve was standing. "It's pretty good."

There were papers in her hand that contained who knew what, Steve knew without even having to ask that she was undoubtedly going to relay everything written on there to him.

She sat down in the chair and didn't even bother to look at him as she shifted through the different papers in her hand. She crossed one leg over the other and Steve just sunk down into a nearby chair.

"What do you think?" She asked before she was inevitably going to go over everything in her hands.

Was he worried just the smallest bit about her? Probably, yes. But even he couldn't deny the small bit of curiosity and since of excitement at what was in her hands. Whatever that was contained within them would help the omega, that was the only thing Steve was concerned about now.

"Sure Nat," He said, with just the smallest sense of ironic laughter, the day had already gone completely left. At this point, as long as he could function in some capacity that could help, he didn't even care anymore. "Sure."

---

The plan seemed pretty simple and straightforward, true to Natasha's word. Steve what's going over it in his head even now, thinking about how he was actually going to get any of it to work.

His first step of the whole thing seemed already impossible given the omega's current state. The first step had been to get him from underneath the bed, and since Steve had been the only person he had given a non-violent, or just any response to in general, he of course was tasked with this.

It was a dream come true in a couple of ways, the fact that he was able to help with a case at all let alone one this extreme. But a slightly bigger part of himself felt the daunting emotions of it all, the fact that they even had to do any of this at all quelled any positive emotions he may have felt.

He was still in his room, that much was good, although he didn't look like he would have been leaving it anytime soon anyway, at least when Steve came in the day before. The man looked like he was practically glued to his bed.

He tried to remember every piece of Sam's advice he had told him the day before, the thing about posture in body language. The fact that he even had to remind himself of that, only reinforced the fact that he was nervous.

Why? He shouldn't be nervous, as a matter of fact the omega was the only one who had the right to feel any semblance of that given the situation. In this new place, surrounded by familiar faces, hostile familiar faces. Or at least their outfits.

Maybe it was because of the omega's actions from before. The fact that he almost snapped off the finger of a medical staff member. It probably also didn't help since that staff member happened to be an alpha of all things.

But he shouldn't be nervous, he shouldn't be, travelling down the elevator and reciting everything in his head. Rationally didn't make any sense. There was no way that omega could have possibly known they were an alpha, they were all on blockers.

Steve didn't even know which staff member it was, Natasha didn't tell them all of that. It was probably for the best though, it would have probably just freaked Steve out further.

But perhaps, whoever it was, had a bigger frame or was tall. That didn't mean anything though.

Using that logic, that would have meant that this omega was an alpha and they all knew better than that. Perhaps whoever it was in the medical wing just got a bit too close and he lashed out, maybe they just happened to be an alpha.

Even that wasn't helping Steve's nerves though, the idea that he might just snap at him for any given reason. Although he was a bit predictable, he obviously didn't like it when people got too close. Perhaps if he kept his distance he'd be fine.

He didn't even register when the elevator dinged, he just walked out as soon as the door opened. This time he had brought nothing with him, though Natasha had tried to assure him to bring other things.

The thing was, it was a good plan, it really was. But they were going to need more than twenty four hours for all of that. Right now he's focused on the main task, getting omega out. She wanted so much so quickly out of him Steve just didn't think that's possible right now. Not after what he saw.

His first instinct was to just open the door the same as last time, predictability was important if he was going to establish any form of trust. But then he thought about it.

The omega was probably terrified right now, he was already beyond frightened the day before, he could only imagine how the man probably felt now. Steve wasn't even sure if terror what's the right word to use he described the brunet anymore, not if he was feeling so much fear that he hid underneath his own bed like a child.

The fact that he was even considering that the word terror couldn't even describe him, that Steve needed more powerful word than that just to sum up the omega's fear, was beyond dejecting.

Still he pushed on, trying to hold his head up and pushing away such thoughts. He had a job to do. Instead of just opening up the door and waltzing right in, he knocked.

"Hey." Steve said just loud enough to where he was sure the omega should be able to hear him. "It's me again."

Silence.

Steve swallowed and pressed both hands against the door as softly as he could, as if somehow the brunet would have known or even seen him doing it. "I'm gonna come in now 'kay?"

He stood there for a while hoping, praying that the omega would give him some sort of response. Yesterday he seemed to acknowledge him a little bit. It was with a whine sure, the most outright submissive sound a person could ever make, but it was acknowledgement.

He would take that now, Steve could take anything over the silence. Silence left gaping questions that no one dared to answer, it left empty spaces and its wake that could only be filled with the worst imaginations and conclusions.

And he didn't want that, more than anything Steve didn't want for his current conclusion to be true because he knew what the worst thing that could happen was. He's seen it. He didn't want that to happen, not again.

He placed his hand on the knob of the door and begin to twist it open slowly and deliberately. Steve wanted him to know that he was coming, at the bare minimum it would save him from panicking any further than he already was.

"Okay." He whispered as he pushed the door open, it was really more to himself than anyone else.

Entering the room made him shaky. Somehow it reminded him of just how dire the situation was, of how cold and clinical this whole thing really was. The room was practically empty both presence and warmth, it reminded him why he didn't usually deal directly with patients. It was too dreary.

He took a couple of more steps in and looked to the other side of the room. He didn't know what he was expecting, as always there was nothing there. It was bare except for the mattress and bed frame, along with bed sheets, a thin blanket. There was a door on the wall just opposite to his bed, to a lavatory, and a single pillow. Steve wasn't even sure if the large window in the room could be considered an accessory.

He didn't see the omega anywhere and for the briefest a seconds he had forgotten that the man was likely still hidden beneath the bed frame, the emptiness of the room had taken him that far off guard.

It was only the small sliver of red fabric sticking out from underneath the bed that reminded Steve where he went. He took a step closer.

"Hey," Steve said in a much quieter voice compared to the one he used at the door. "It's me again."

He walked a bit closer at the lack of a response and swallowed. He was under there, that was for sure, the cameras surely would have seen him if he had moved from upstairs. That and there was no way Natasha would have just continued to go through with this if he wasn't.

But there was a moment where a brief flicker of panic arose in Steve, not that he had fled but that he had done something worse. Something Steve didn't want to walk into.

"I'm uh," Steve started. He took another step. "Just here to check on you today is all."

The quiet had began to scare him, seemingly being an omen for something else. Still there was a chance he was still under there, alive and well and the last thing Steve wanted to happen was for him to panic and lash out. He wasn't even sure if he would have blamed him at this point, not with all the white hats outside.

So instead of walking right on the bed, he decided to come towards it with some distance, standing more so the other side of the room then just directly in front of the bed. "You okay?"

Steve wasn't expecting him to talk. He couldn't talk, or at least was being uncooperative when it came to verbalization right now anyway. He was, however, expecting some sort of noise.

Maybe a grunt or a groan of some sort, maybe even just the sound of the bed making some sort of movement from underneath just so he knew he was there. Hell, Steve would've even take a whine at this point, just something, anything to let him know that he was still alive.

So when nothing happened he instead got down on his hands and knees, he wasn't above that, and crouched on the floor. He didn't care that he's pressing his cheek against the floor of a used guest room, or that he's bracing himself on his hands and knees.

He would do anything at that point just to look underneath the bed, anything to confirm that the omega was at least okay. Remembering what he had said yesterday, that he was in pain of some sort really wasn't helping Steve's nerves.

But Steve saw him.

He was not okay.

Steve could see now, why the fabric of his Handmaid uniform was sticking out from underneath the bed. He had been wondering the whole time why because the omega could fit underneath the bed rather well, none of his clothes should have been peeking out in the first place.

The brunet had stripped down to his white undergarments, balled up in a corner where the bed was pressed up against the wall. He was looking at Steve as if he were a beast, spheres the size of saucers, staring at Steve with eyes so bright they were practically glowing from under the dark.

Steve couldn't help but stare back, almost wincing at the scene but catching himself right before his face could form the expression. The man was wearing nothing but a tank top styled undershirt and boxers, along with his socks.

Steve could feel his arms beginning to tremble, and he wasn't quite sure that it was because of whatever the sight in front of him was, or because of how he was holding himself up in his crouched position.

His stare. Steve had seen the moment he started staring at him, how his face changed in a split second. He wasn't even sure what the omega looked like right before Steve entered his line of vision but it definitely couldn't have been this bad.

"Hey." Steve said only because he didn't know what else to say, he knew not to get any closer. The man didn't look stable in the least.

He had pushed his body back deep into the corner, that's where all of the beds were placed in refugees' rooms, right on the wall in a corner. It seemed to work in this man's favor because he had drawn his knees almost fully into his chest and had his single palm pressed on the floor.

Steve felt his eyes sting at that, he was so afraid. Something in his eyes read back nothing but sheer and unfiltered panic. His eyes strained as he blinked, as if he was terrified to lose sight of what was directly in front of him even for a moment, even for bodily essensity.

It was like Steve just couldn't help it, he had to look at him. He knew if he looked away that he wasn't going to look back, as if his brain couldn't process that this was real but somehow knew that it was. That didn't seem to be helping though.

Pretty soon the omega had morphed into trembling, his body racking against the side of the wall in a way that Steve just knew should have hurt. His eyes grew more erratic if it were at all possible and started to become glossed over.

Steve had instinctively opened his mouth, trying to say anything that could have calmed him down at least a little bit. But the omega beat him to it.

Except this time it was different. It was more raw, more desperate than before. A rasped out groan. No longer a whine, no longer tired and dry. Broken up into small strained noises that sounded nothing like it should be coming out of a fully developed man, or anything remotely human for that matter.

His eyes were huge, far too big considering how sunken in the rest of his face looked. It was like he was trying. Like he was trying to elicit speech but it just wouldn't come out, and Steve could hear his fear, as if it was twinged into his voice at that point.

Steve couldn't look away, it was like part of him couldn't help but stare at the whole thing. He was locked to the floor at the desperation of it all, the sudden intense feeling of commiseration keeping him there.

But it wasn't helping the omega at all, if anything it made it worse. He started to panic, no doubt feeling the sense of frustration for not being able to get it out. He was so scared though, that Steve wouldn't even doubt if he thought that he was going to drag him out there for the Pearl Girls to take just because he couldn't get the sound out.

Steve had no idea what was going through his head. If he was terrified because he thought the women were going to come in and take him from this very room, or if maybe he knew 'Anthony' was looking for him and that they were going to report back.

Perhaps that's why he was straining so hard, maybe was trying to appeal to Steve. Making himself smaller and less of a threat. As far as he knew, Steve was the last person he had spoken to before all these silver dresses, maybe he thought Steve himself had reported him.

It wasn't until the omega had gotten worse, until he had started choking back on the sound that Steve knew he had to do something. He was on the verge of pushing himself into a panic attack and Steve could see the beginning of tears pooling up in his eyes threatening to spill, he was shaking too hard for them not to.

"Hey, it's alright it's me." Steve tried, keeping his cheek pressed against the floor as he did. He wasn't sure if that was helping but it sure did look non threatening. "It's just me."

Steve didn't know why he thought that was going to do something, the omega didn't know him. He didn't know any of them, for all he knew they could have been all spies themselves.

It frustrated Steve because that meant all of yesterday's progress was thrown completely through the window. He had been beginning to trust, at least a little bit. Enough to communicate with him if only for a few seconds.

Now he was worse. At least yesterday he seemed to get a grasp that the people in the shelter were to be given a little leeway except for perhaps alphas. Now he didn't look like he trusted anyone at all. Steve would have to start from scratch.

"Hey come on," Steve said without moving any more muscles that are required to make that sentence. He didn't want to suddenly jerk or anything. He didn't want to scare him. "It's me, you're alright."

He had felt bad for more reasons than one. It was manipulation sure, but he was just trying to help. He didn't know Steve, he had no reason to trust him but Steve needed him to.

It was something else he remembered Sam saying, something on top of building a pattern in setting a predictable routine. He had to appear friendly at all times, which was something Steve was going to do anyway.

But he also had to make the omega want to be near him. Associate himself with good things so that the brunet would feel more inclined to trust him. So slowly and carefully, he reached his hand inside one of his coat pockets.

This felt wrong, it felt like he's training a dog more so than just speaking to another human being. He didn't like it, nothing about any of this felt right. Steve just knew that if this was him, he would be offended on some ground, being spoken to like a pet or a child. He didn't want to, but it seemed to be the only other language the bigger man understood.

"I've got some stuff for you." Steve said and god that sounded so wrong. Bribing the man's trust with basic necessities like food felt so degrading. Not that the omega seemed to care.

Whatever Natasha had been saying earlier she had been correct, the man in front of him was gone. He didn't react to anything Steve did at all, not even when he unwrapped the bar and slid over to him on top of its wrapper.

It made it about halfway under the bed, maybe less than a foot away from him and the omega just stared, looking at Steve as though the alpha had just sprouted two heads.

Steve swallowed and tried a different angle. "Are you still in any pain? Discomfort?"

Nothing.

He did nothing, said nothing. Steve could feel that familiar sensation with his eyes starting to pickle up, this time more so with frustration. There was a little pity mixed in, but it had nothing compared to the sheer amount of exasperation that bloomed in his chest.

Biscuits. He thought to himself. Biscuits, biscuits, biscuits.

Cheese and fucking crackers. He couldn't help it, his thoughts. Though he would never utter his frustration out loud, especially using such foul language in front of such a delicate case, but fuck he was mad.

All of that progress, all of that delicate paced out planning, all up schitt's creek. Because a bunch of goody two-shoes, know it all, asshole "missionaries" decided. Because that's what they did. They decided.

They decided that today out of all days what's the time to practically clog the streets and right in front of the shelter of all places. They indirectly decided to freak out nearly everyone who had lived here, people who had finally found some sense of peace and sanctuary.

They indirectly decided to upset all of the peace all of the staff members had worked so hard to establish, and they weren't going to leave until nightfall. Steve just knew that they weren't going to leave until sunset, but even then they would be back early and before the sun even rose.

Steve didn't even need any evidence because they had done it today. Usually the Pearl Girls didn't start walking around until sunrise at least and they had to be back in their apartments by sundown, it was too dangerous for them to be around at night.

The only rule Gilead seemed to establish was that they couldn't start their missionary work until the morning. But they never said when in the morning, and he just knew they were using that loophole to patrol the streets as early as possible.

It had been without question now, at least to Steve, they were looking for something. They had to be up to something for them to be up that early and to have so many. And if they were looking for the omega, this could be weeks, months of this.

Fuck that.

Chapter 10: Assignment

Aunt Carter has summoned me again, and I don't know what for.

The sun had just begun to rise. It was one of the small things about being in this place that made it a bit more bearable. Ever since coming here I've tried to bring myself to look onto the small things, the pretty things, and hold on to them the best I can.

But there's nothing pretty about this. What I'm doing right now. Getting off of this cot and weaving myself between all the rest of the beds that were laid about within the gymnasium. It's almost funny how they could take such a room that had caused so much excitement once and drain everything from it. Then again, maybe that's just what Gilead did to everything. To everyone.

I've seen it since day one, since they brought me in here. How everything that made sense started to crumble in on itself, how they drained the life from everything within like a shot bird. How people fell out of the sky.

I don't want to be like them, those birds. I want to keep my wings, I want to fly as best I can. There were very few people in this center who even fluttered anymore.

There had been so many vivid personalities when I first arrived here. All of them were drained away and dissipated into nothing now. Or perhaps they're just buying time. Maybe they're like me. I have to hope so, I have to believe that. The alternative is far too solemn, I refuse to believe they can just drain them all like that so quickly, so suddenly. As if they were never people to begin with.

I do know of one though, one that I do believe for sure it's only putting up a facade. His name is Josef. His bunk being right next to my own, we try to talk every night when we find it possible. They make us walk together as well, side by side out on the football field every day in a pair. He had a wife and two kids before all of this, twin boys. I hope sees them again. He hopes so too.

I walk towards the end of the gymnasium we've all been calling home for the past few months. My head tilts downward as I reach her, a new custom for me.

"Blessed day." Aunt Carter says, sounding just as bright and soothing as she always sounds. I look up at her, I'm only allowed to look up at people once spoken to.

I know what she wants me to say and I say it because this is a test. I've learned, very quickly, that everything in this place is a test. They need to make sure we are ready at any given time. Obedient, submissive. Perhaps that was why they would menace us when we spoke out of term, mangulated us with the sharpest of static for the slightest misdemeanor.

We had to be perfect, dolls set exactly in place and where they needed to be. Waiting to be played with and used, and I will be the best doll there can be.

"Blessed day." I say, allowing my eyes to fall back to the ground afterwards. It's proper for the new position I've found myself in now.

Somehow I know without the slightest shred of evidence that she's looking at me, a thin smile printed on her round face. I can barely just see her out the corners of my eye when she nods her head.

Then she turns on her heel. "Come now."

I follow her without another word, remembering to keep my head down, knowing that somehow the whole world is watching. Everything we do now is seen, by someone, anyone and everyone. I have to be perfect, I have to seem perfect.

The way we followed others was taught to us early on; our head was to be down and we were to follow the beckoner's shoes instead. Because that's what we were now, followers.

It feels so weird now considering who I used to be. I was strong, a leader of sorts. I was to be followed, not to be following. It's odd how quickly a cattle prong or the threats of freshly flogged thighs reminded us all that we were to follow, most of all now. Pain is a strong motivator. Though something I knew even before now.

She's bringing me down a long hallway, one that I've never been down before. I know better than to panic, or to at least show that I'm panicking because I am deep down inside. But Handmaid's are trained not to show fear, lest we begin to disobey. To think for ourselves instead of blindly doing what's told for us to do.

We are to walk into the unknown with stride if given the command, we are like soldiers in that way. It being a feeeling I never knew how much I missed so much until now, it's the only familiar thing from my past life I can still grasp onto with a sense of certainty.

The hallway is long, with so many doors that we walk past on our way to wherever we are going. As much as I don't show it, I do feel fear. I don't know what's happening and Aunt Carter's voice isn't giving anything away.

As much as it was a facade of comfort it didn't mean anything. I had seen her use that every voice after recomposing herself after participating in an punishment, whipping an omega's back out. She had stood firm, making the rest of us stand and watch the other Aunt's demonstration until he had slipped into unconsciousness and had to be dragged back to his cot, with her talking us through the whole way.

I could be awaiting punishment. I can't help but think of every little thing I have ever done, my memories racing in my mind like a tape on fast forward. Perhaps she knew something I didn't, some form of disobedience I had done before but thought I had gotten away with.

Perhaps she had seen me speak to Josef earlier, we had been talking early in the night. My mind is so scrambled I can't even remember what we were talking about anymore, it wasn't important enough for me to receive whatever horrors are surely waiting for me.

I start to peek into the small windows that are on the doors we pass. No one would see, my head is down and my eyes stay to the floor. I can only see with my peripheral vision the doors that seem to flash pass me.

There are Aunts, I can see a few of them from inside of some of the rooms. There only seems to be one in per room, sometimes I can see desks and some papers, office supplies and pencils. These must be their offices, I've never seen them before.

I fight the urge not to chew on my bottom lip once Aunt Carter stops walking. I stand behind her so she can't see me. It is the custom around here for Handmaid's to stand behind others, but also I do not want her to see me showing such nervousness. It's one of her pet peeves. It's not proper.

She doesn't say a word to me as she said she has a pair of keys out of her pocket, they jingle as she pushes it into a lock and twists them around. I've thought about stabbing her with those very same keys before, I knew it wasn't worth it. I wouldn't get far anyway.

She opens the door and stands to decide before beckoning me in. Her voice is cheery, like she was encouraging an overly nervous dog. "Come on now!"

Though perhaps it's also because I've never been back here before, I have learned to distrust new places but not to show that I have discontent for them. Especially this room, it looks so clean. Too clean. I feel the fear in me spike.

It's so neat and put together in there, like one of those office spaces from commercials. The ones where they advertised tax services. It makes me remember a saying my mother used to tell me all the time. If something is too good to be true, it probably is.That could be said for all of Gilead really.

Despite myself, I follow her inside anyway.

She seems happier than usual which often meant that things were going to be worse for me. They called us Gilead's "special helpers", that it was their duty to train us and bring us to the path of righteousness that all omega males must follow.

I know what it really was though. I had heard it from whispers from other Handmaid's, gossip and news spreads fast around here. It was all we had.

We were to them what a manager was to employees. We were both their success and their failures, if too many of us failed to commit to our new part they would be replaced, maybe even sent to the colonies. When we disobeyed they took it personally.

I don't know what happens to them when they are revoked but all of them seem to want to avoid it. They seemed to fear it more than harming us. I hope whatever it is, it's something horrible.

She sits down behind the single desk that is in this room, it was on a swivel chair. Seeing it behind the desk in here looks almost foreign now, I haven't seen one in so long.

Her voice is gentle when she speaks again. "Come, sit now."

My common sense tells me she wants me to sit down on the single chair that was in front of the desk. I do, and the moment I do, she claps her hands together and crosses her legs with a smile on her face. Excitement is in her voice as she starts to talk. I keep my head down.

"Today is a blessed day indeed!" Aunt Carter says, seemingly unable to contain her excitement.

I look at her as she continues talking. I get the impression that she wants me to, though this is not an invitation for me to speak or respond. “I have such wonderful news for you today.”

My heart drops into my stomach at her words. There is only one kind of news in Gilead. Bad.

"God has truly blessed us, you begin your first posting today."

For a long crippling moment, all of her words are beginning to sound like they are coming from very far away. I feel like this isn't real, although this had to have been the inevitable conclusion. They didn't train us for nothing, and a Commander would have been assigned to me at one point or another.

My stomach jumps and I want to heave but there's no nausea, like the feeling of going downward in a roller coaster. My only coherent thought is that I wish for whatever punishment I thought I was going to get instead.

I know my mouth is open, I feel the air on my teeth but somehow I know I'm not gawking. Aunt Carter would have surely shut that down. The world is spinning and nothing is real, it's all still but somehow moving too fast. I'm not real, nothing is real.

I feel myself nearly sway in my chair and I have to speed up my blinking to keep that from happening. Aunt Carter smiles at me and squeezes my hands from the desk like a prayer.

“Blessed be the fruit Ofhoward.”

My tongue moves but it feels too heavy. Her fingers are the only thing reminding me that this is reality, I stare at her face. I know my expressions must be blown wide, overly animated, because my grip loosens within me though she squeezes on.

My tongue feels too fat when I speak, my throat is dry. But I know better.

"May the Lord open."

Chapter 11

Steve couldn't do it.

When the omega had started panicking, he had gotten to a point to where he was unconsolable. There was a level of fear in his eyes that not even Steve could take. It was like after a while, it was hurting him in some way, and maybe that was the problem.

Maybe he was taking it too personally, not looking at the clear picture and the endgame of it all. But still, it didn't make any sense for Steve to stay there. It seemed to be doing more harm than good anyway.

Hours had passed by, and in those hours Steve had kept himself busy. The first thing he did was report back to Natasha. He didn't even have to say anything when he came in. She just waved her hand away at her desk, back still turnt. Perhaps she viewed this as big a failure as he did.

After that he had just turned around and walked away. It was clear she didn't want to talk about it, or maybe she had other things on her mind. Either way there was much more work to be done.

Everyone was still working around the clock, and everyone was tired. Steve ended up taking on two residents instead of one, because even with everyone in it still wasn't enough.

It became exhausting very quickly, some people were taking on three or four other people at a time. The medical staff had been traveling up and down every single floor of the building, there were inhabitants that had daily medications and others who only needed them today.

Some people panicked, there were one or two of them that had attempted to flee in their paranoia. Insisting that Gilead was coming for them, that they had infiltrated Canada somehow and they needed to flee. Others were just on edge, side-eyeing every person that came through their door.

Hostility had gone up amongst even some of the most docile people, people who had been living there for nearly a decade. One of the two Steve was working with had tried to break through her window before falling into a fit of tears.

She had been a Martha.

Her name was Maggie.

Maggie had to be sedated.

Steve had seen her when some of the medical team that had taken her before came back in with her, a spaced-out look in her eyes. She reminded him of the time his cousin had their wisdom teeth removed, mumbling gibberish after they brought her back in, dazed and delirious. She went right to sleep once they laid her down, going out almost immediately.

He stood at the sidelines the whole time. When they brought her back in and when they took her. There was so much feral panic in her, something that reminded him of the omega downstairs. Steve could only hope he didn't get like that, kicking and lashing about like an wounded animal. Steve could only wonder what she had seen. That he would ever see it.

They didn't know if she was going to hurt herself or not, not when she was in such a irregular state of mind, and usually she wasn't like this. She played chess in the common area with the other staff members and liked to read magazines when they came in on Saturdays.

Now she was knocked out cold in her cot. At least now she was calm Steve thought, at least she would have a little peace for a little while. A good rest. She deserved that at least, honestly most of the residents did.

Most of them weren't as bad though. They had only used it for her because she posed a threat to herself, most others didn't. Which was more than fine by Steve, he didn't want to see anybody else get done like that in the first place.

The rest of the day went on quite smoothly save for some of the breakfast and lunch times. Some of them had flung trays back into the faces of some of the workers, some refused to eat at all. The majority didn't though, it had only been a minor bump in the road.

Everyone for the most part had settled down around dinner. It was also when the sun was setting, when the Pearl Girls finally started to file out. The night shift finally got excused to leave by Natasha, though she seemed stressed about something. Steve didn't know what nor did he have the time to care given everything.

Everyone that was still here was still fairly busy, routinely checking up on the inhabitants of each room at random. Usually every thirty minutes or so. Steve had tried to keep himself clear of the first floor, after his retreat from the omega he felt like he couldn't bear to go on the floor all together anymore. But it seemed he wouldn't get a choice in that either

He didn't want to go in there and that much was clear to everyone. Some others even asked him to help bathe a couple of folks who just wouldn't settle, sometimes a nice warm bath did the trick. He could see why. So many of them had come from a place where a hot bath was a luxury. He could have used one too honestly.

It wasn't usually like Steve to decline the offer, he was after all the first one to stick his neck out for someone. But today he just couldn't, the failure felt too great. That wasn't until someone walked past him.

Steve knew exactly who they were, another member of the day crew. He knew her a little too intricately, another alpha who had joined their staff nearly five years ago. Tall and typically built as per her dynamic. But that wasn't what got his attention.

It was her smell. It was strong and thick, almost like she was wearing a signature perfume of sorts. It couldn't have been her own scent because it was too familiar. That and he had seen her before, multiple times, and she had no scent. She was on blockers. Same as him.

Yet when she walked past he couldn't help but turn around. She paid him no mind, continuing to go about her day. Something Steve was more than grateful for. The last time they had talked- well, it hadn't gone great.

A large and overwhelming part of Steve was grateful for the fact that she didn't even seem to register him, though small part of him still felt oddly slighted. It was werid, but she likely had other people to get to. That's how Steve chose to see it, instead of the obvious answer that she just didn't want to talk to him. Which-

Steve shook his head, that wasn't important. That scent was still lingering in his head full. She had done it so casually, breezing on by if the smell radiating off of her wasn't practically clogging up the hallways, and clearly she knew the rules. She had been on blockers every single day since the very first day Steve had met the other alpha.

It took a second for him to finally get it, once the click of the woman's heels had already turned down the hall, echoing off the walls. The smell was distinctive. It smelled like something damp. Like petrichor.

Like the omega.

He felt so dumb suddenly, likely for his inability to recognize such a smell. But that only lasted for a moment until a new feeling blanketed him. It dawned on him that she must have been in contact with him, maybe she was the one that was tasked with giving him his trays today. Which meant maybe, just maybe, he may have eaten.

Natasha must have assigned her to him after Steve's hasty retreat, he was supposed to have been the one to do it. It had been part of the plan likely but maybe Natasha had given up on it, maybe that was why she looked so dejected earlier.

The thing was that she looked fine, the woman that had just passed him looked more than okay. No severed fingers or bloody legs. Fine. Which meant that the man hadn't tried to attack her. Or maybe he was still under his bed.

Anxiety soon took over at the thought. That he wasn't fine, that he wasn't okay, that he was still crammed underneath that bed. That he was still scared for his life and the smell of him on that woman didn't do anything to subdue that idea.

Has she been feeding him all day?

Has he eaten anything at all?

Is he alright?

Fuck. Steve thought to himself, turning around completely towards the elevator before he stopped himself. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

He had already broken protocol enough times. It's what got him into such a mess in the first place. A mess he was never supposed to be a part of and yet, such a large part of him wanted to disregard protocol all together, he already had one foot in the door. Why not put the other?

He had felt so dejected earlier and now all of those feelings seemed to have evaporated. It had been too much for him, that much was true but his head was clear now. The omega still needed help, or at least that's what he told himself. Truly he just needed to know if he was at least okay. Functioning.

There's nothing wrong with that. Steve tried to convince himself. He had already served and returned the last dinner tray for today, there would be nothing wrong with just checking on him. Just a peek.

That's the justification he ran in his head over and over again once he had gone over and entered the elevator.

Usually Steve wouldn't be this obsessive over patients. Except for, of course, at the beginning when all of this at first started. Every patient and occupant became a form of an obsession for him. He felt drilled to do something, and if there was a way he could help, nothing would've stood in his way.

It was a fire that had slowly dimmed down over the years. Not because he didn't care, just he had grown accustomed to all of the maimed faces. To all of the wayward eyes and husks for people. Desensitized.

They had to be. Being calm was the key part of this job, like a doctor or a therapist, no matter what they saw they had to remain calm. If only to calm the others around them. But there was just something about that omega that made him uncomfortable.

Steve was used to the broken jaws, he was used to the missing teeth and fingers. He wasn't used to this. He wasn't used to the shattered mental states, the traumatized looks and actions. He stayed away from it all, it was more of a Sam thing. He couldn't handle it.

Steve usually didn't even see them, that's how far away from it all he stayed. He knew good and well he couldn't handle it, it was too much and Natasha never asked him to. She knew that it was. But now he had thrusted himself outside of his comfort zone all because of a scent.

That's what he got for deserting protocol he supposed, maybe this was what he got.

Just for a second. He rationalized, waiting for the elevator to reach the first floor. Just look, don't talk. Look. Leave. Look. Leave.

Steve was barely paying attention when the elevator rang, he didn't even feel the light jostle of the machine stopping. He only knew he was there once the elevator doors opened.

Taking steps towards the room that contained the omega felt like the very first time he had come over to get a look at him. He knew it was wrong, it could even be called obsessive. But he would do it for anyone. He had done it before. Except usually he wouldn't come physically.

Steve had heard of the ones so broken down that they couldn't function, and while he couldn't bear to see them himself, he would usually nag Sam about them. He would ask if they were okay, if they were eating enough, if they seemed a bit better.

Sam of course would tell him to relax about it, that he had everything under control, that they were just fine. But Steve couldn't help but worry, maybe it was because he had grown up a sick kid himself. Maybe he didn't like the idea of others suffering. He didn't know.

But this omega didn't have what they had. The brunet was locked away from everybody, isolated on the first floor where no one was at. Granted, he didn't seem to want to come out and Steve knew it was because he had been so aggressive, but that was only out of fear. It had been the only way Steve could rationalize his actions and how inconsistent they all were.

He was afraid, and him being locked up with no social interaction wasn't going to quell that fear, regardless if the omega wanted it or not.

Steve got up right to the door after a mere couple of seconds, his palms sweating. He was nervous, and of course he was. He didn't want to botch it like last time, he didn't want to make anything worse if that was even possible.

So instead of walking in or knocking he got up on the tips of his toes and gripped the small window's ledge to peek into the room. He would check first, he told himself. Just a quick look to see if the omega was out or not. Steve didn't want to startle him if he was, and he was.

The sight made Steve hold his breath for some reason, his own fingers gripping harder on to the door to keep his balance.

The omega was sitting there in an almost crouched position, his body almost crumpled on the floor. Steve could just see as his single hand fluttered up to the large window's ledge inside of the room, gripping on to it like a vice.

His muscles fluttered and spasmed in his arm and Steve could just hear the hard labored breath from the man inside as he attempted to push himself up with it. He didn't move very far though, only moving his head up a centimeter or two.

For a moment Steve didn't know what he was doing. He could tell by the omega's kneeled position that he had likely crawled over there. He folded one leg up to try to brace his weight and pushed his head up higher, barely able to catch a glance out of his room's large window. That's when Steve got it.

He's checking. Steve thought, watching as the man's hamstrings started to tremble underneath all his weight. He felt his eyes fill up with something hot at the man's desperation. He's looking for the women.

He did that for a second longer and Steve only stood there and watched even though his own calf muscles were beginning to strain in this position. He ignored it. It didn't matter.

He watched on as the omega's body slumped, he must have figured they were gone now. A beat passed where he didn't do anything and then he made a sound, something deep. Steve thought it might have been relief.

Relief. That's what it was because no sooner after that did the brunet turn around to face the door, eyes closed and chin up. Steve swallowed as he watched the omega slide his back down the side of the wall, his rump hitting the floor.

He looked blissful for a second, or perhaps maybe Steve was just misreading it but there was something on his face that hadn't been there before. Something Steve had never seen before. Maybe it wasn't bliss, maybe it was just plain relief. But whatever it was it looked almost foreign on him, legs sprawled out on the floor.

The man had his palm pressed into the coolness of the floor. Steve wasn't sure if that was soothing or not, maybe he was just relishing it, a moment of calm. Steve wondered how many of those moments the omega had missed in the past decade.

He looked so serene, a look that had only lasted a mere couple of seconds. He cracked his eyes open. He saw Steve.

In an instant that look was gone, his face had morphed quicker than it had relaxed. He made a sound halfway between a raspy whine and a croke, making a staggering attempt to both move away and push his legs ajar simultaneously. It made Steve's heart plummet to his knees like a brick, fuck he hadn't meant to get caught.

Steve immediately let go of the ledge, nearly stumbling backwards. His palms were suddenly drenched with sweat and he had to wipe them profusely on his pants leg. Now he had to go in there, there was no backing away from this.

The man already probably thought he couldn't be trusted on some level, leaving him now would probably just freak him out further. He couldn't have that, Steve couldn't have that thought on his mind. Especially with how relaxed the omega was only seconds ago, and Steve had managed to ruin it, again.

He couldn't leave him now. God maybe he should listen to protocol, maybe it was there for a reason. Guilt rushed to his core along with the already resident anxiety. He could feel his throat go dry, like he was on the peak of an asthma attack. He had to go in there.

He couldn't rush this though. The omega had already seen him, he was already scared, there was no need to push anything any further. He remembered to knock.

"H-Hey," Steve tried his best not to stammer, standing at the door with one hand on the knob and the other flat on the surface. The brunet wouldn't be able to see him from this angle, Steve was shorter than the window yet somehow it still felt comforting. "I'm sorry I scared you. It's me again."

He didn't receive a response of any kind but that didn't mean he had the okay to just go on in. Steve had to wait for something, he just didn't know what.

"I just came to check, see how you were doing." Steve said with his forehead against the door. He felt so selfish, the anxiety fled and had only left the guilt behind. The omega was doing so well before he came in, now it was all probably ruined.

Steve sighed, balling the hand that was pressed on the door into a fist. He felt stupid all the way up until he heard a slight rustle, like skin on metal. It was the sound of the bed, he had to go in there.

The only idea that filled his mind was the vision of him crawling back under that bed. Those women were gone now so if he did that, that would mean he wasn't afraid of threats from Gilead, that would mean he was afraid of him. Steve couldn't handle that.

"I'm gonna come in right?" Steve was so nervous he couldn't even form a sentence correctly. He didn't know what to do, so he pushed open the door.

The omega's eyes were huge. He was balled up as far as he could go near the bed without phasing into it, cramming himself where the edge of the bed and the wall lined up. But he wasn't underneath it, that was good.

"Hey," Steve swallowed, he wasn't sure why he kept saying that so much. "I just came to check on you. Again."

He felt himself cough. Steve knew was practically repeating himself at this point, but he was nervous, and he couldn't help it. All he knew was that the omega needed something, rather it be food or company, Steve just knew he needed something. If just somebody. It couldn't be right being alone like that all day at the very least.

"Did ya get anything to eat?" Steve said, squeezing his fingers.

Silence.

Steve blew some air out of his lips, he had no right to be nervous especially after what he had just done. But still he couldn't deny his feelings, he was anxious in a couple of ways. It wasn't just because he was in here but that he still had that question floating around in his head. Has he eaten?

Just because that woman had smelled like him, just because she had likely been in the room didn't mean she actually brought him anything. His brain couldn't help but to go to the worst. What if she did but he didn't eat any? What if she got afraid and never set the tray down? What if he scared her? What if she scared him?

Steve couldn't help but think of the worst because he had seen bad, and the omega was worse. He had to have been the worst case Steve had ever seen in his life. But that still didn't mean he could go without nutrition, and Steve knew he had to be hungry. It had to have been at least days since he's had a real meal.

Steve was still standing at the door, it would take him less than a second to go back into the kitchens and get him something. The cafeteria was closed, but he still had his key card with him to get in and out if he needed to.

It would only take a second, just a quick second to get him something to eat. Even if it was light. He still had a few bars in his coat pockets but the omega didn't seem to be very receptive to them earlier. He would need more than that anyway.

He had already ruined everything he concluded, whatever semblance of peace the man had earlier was gone. The least he could do was bring him some food, it would give Steve peace of mind anyway.

Steve put his hand on the doorknob behind him, turning as he opened it to leave.

"I'll be right back."

---

The moment he turned the corner, his heart had been racing, practically pounding in his chest.

He had only been away from the omega for mere seconds and he was already right back where he was before, palms sweating and blowing breaths through his lips.

Steve had never meant for the other man to actually see him, everything he decided to do had been on a whim. He hadn't even particularly planned on giving him any food, especially since it was technically after hours for the cafeteria now.

This was stupid, he knew it was stupid but still he felt the urge to do something. He had to, he couldn't just sit there while that man sat in that room like that. There was something in his eyes that Steve had seen clearly that time. Something that he hadn't seen before, that shred of human emotion in the omega that wasn't there before.

He looked so normal, so human. Steve knew he had to still have humanity in him, of course he did, he was a person after all. But it had been so long since Steve had seen someone pushed to that level, years. It was like they were getting better at stripping that away from them.

He didn't know what they were doing to them, Gilead. But whatever they were doing it was far worse than it was in the first five years. Survivors had always come in shaken up, it was to be expected. Steve had gotten out before Gilead had truly set its foundation, he didn't know what they had seen. Part of him never wanted to know.

But that omega and Maggie, they had gotten out after the first half a decade. When the rules had gotten stricter, when Gilead had gotten worse. When survivors started coming less and less, until they stopped altogether. Until now.

And right now Steve was fumbling with his key card, trying to find the right one for the cafeteria door. Once he did, he pressed it next to the reader and the door opened with a click.

For some reason he was surprised it actually opened, he shouldn't have been, he had come into the cafeteria during late nights before all the time. Usually when he was on his way out and needed to grab a snack. Maybe it just startled him, his thoughts really were racing that fast.

Come on. Steve thought to himself, trying to regather his thoughts and focus. In and out Rogers.

He stepped inside of the darkened cafeteria rather quickly. He already knew what he needed. Something light and quick for their newest resident, he didn't want to risk a stomach upset with anything too harsh.

He made his way into the back kitchens and started to look around. Carol had done most of the food prep today, she stored things differently then he did. She had done pretty well though all considering, today had been a strange day for everyone.

Steve knew she had a helper, or at least figured she did, there was no way she could have fixed all of those trays on her own. There were far too many and usually that was Steve's job anyway, he knew how many plates usually had to fix up daily. Even he needed a helper when he was on duty. Or two.

He swiftly kept on looking, realizing that Carol had rearranged where he would usually put the cans at and started looking elsewhere.

He couldn't help but let his mind wonder back to the omega, as much as he tried not to. He supposed it was the only thing he could really think about.

He had never really seen quite a man so large be so small, never smelled a scent that was quite so dampening and lonely. Then again Steve had never smelled an omega with such an earthy scent before, typically they were much sweeter, like his. But the smell.

The smell seemed to linger around in his head, it had even gone home with him. It lived in his skull practically, ever since the first time he smelled it.

The first time he saw him wasn't even the first time he smelled it, he realized he had gotten an unexpected whiff of it lingering behind on the ends of Riley's hair after he had gone in. At the time Steve just didn't know what it was, figured maybe it was wearing cologne or something that day.

They really hadn't interacted on that particular day before Natasha had called that meeting. Steve figured maybe he was just smelling whatever Riley was wearing for the first time. But no, it just seemed to soak everything it touched.

It wasn't good. Scenting on that level was fairly known as a sign of distress and Steve didn't like it, the idea that he was scenting so hard and so much. It couldn't be good for him. He was depleting himself of more energy by constantly doing that, and Steve wasn't even sure how much energy the man had left.

It was just so much stronger when Steve was in the room with him, when Steve had truly smelled him at his full capacity in that hallway that he made the connection. He couldn't help but to think about it, even as he searched along cabinets for cans.

He kept looking, using his fingers to skim along the edges of the metal shelves until he finally wrapped his hand around something cylinder shaped and pulled it down. Soup.

He could just barely read the label of it from the light that was still coming through from the hallway, he didn't want to turn on the lights. Just because guests weren't allowed on the first floor right now didn't mean staff members weren't allowed to come in.

It wasn't to hide all of this from Natasha, god, knowing her she probably already knew, but he didn't need anyone to come in here and stop him. If Natasha knew she sure wasn't trying to stop him, and she was usually the first to have an opinion on his endeavors.

He cracked open the can and poured it into one of the clean bowls he retrieved from the dishwasher, placing it into the microwave soon after. A minute and a half.

He started to think about other things, his life, what it could have been. He could have been a painter by now, or maybe even an official forensic sketch artist. He would have surely had his degree by now, maybe even would have graduated with honors.

It was his dream job, sketch work. It provided two of his favorite things; art and civil service. He had wanted to join the war before, to help the rebels fight against Gilead's supporters and its rising power when this whole thing had first started.

He had the heart. The spirit. He had the drive. Steve had everything except for the build. The muscle. A recruiter had once told him but he could make a fine soldier one day, but they needed able bodies. He understood, though it had happened so long ago that now the conversation sounded like a legend in his head. He wondered what that recruiter was doing now.

The microwave beeped, snatching Steve from his thoughts. It would have to be a ponder for another day.

He frowned to himself once he had gotten the bowl from the microwave and looked down into it, it was too thick. Steve wasn't sure about giving the omega that, it could upset his stomach.

It was simple, just a can of mushroom soup. Steve figured it would be easy enough on the stomach but then reassessed that the chunks might prove to be a bit much. He had taken on those granola bars quite easily but Steve didn't want to push it, the omega had been through enough already.

He went over to one of the large refrigerators and pulled out a carton of chicken broth, making sure it was the one that was low in sodium. The brunet looked dehydrated to say the least and chicken broth would likely be much easier on his stomach. He grabbed another bowl and heated it up as well.

The timing on this one would be only a minute. It was far more liquidy and would warm up a lot faster, he didn't want to risk the omega burning his tongue.

It was out soon enough, warmed to perfection. For a brief fluttering moment it reminded him of hot cocoa mugs, it's warmth just enough to not burn, but to blanket his palms and fingers in something so cozy he could almost smell the chocolate from his mother's old kitchen.

The memory soon faded away as he placed the bowl down on a nearby counter next to the other and went to retrieve a spoon. It was then, and only then did he realize he had made two bowls.

Immediately he cursed himself silently in his head. He wasn't just going to pour it out, it had already been made and heated now. He didn't want to think about it too much. It was a waste of time and he was already stressed. He decided to take both instead so he wouldn't dwell on it.

Maybe the omega would pick the one he liked most and Steve could just eat the other on his break. That sounded good.

He left as quickly as he entered, right before making sure he had put everything back in place. Afterwards he closed the door with his hip, and took a breather. He had done a lot of walking today but that was nothing compared to what he was feeling now.

He walked up to the door and sat one of the bowls down on the ground and knocked on the door.

"Hey, it's me again." Steve said, he wondered how many times he's said that. He must sound like a broken record. "Told you I'd be back right?"

Steve didn't get a response but he fully expected not to now. He just continued on talking instead. "I've got some stuff for ya, I think it might get you feeling better."

When the man on the other side didn't say anything Steve just continued. "I'm coming in now, so, uh…"

He should not talk when he's nervous, he knew that. Instead Steve swallowed something down and shook his head, his forehead nearly scraping the door with closed eyes. "Hang tight."

No sooner after that did he twist the door knob open and opened the door partially. He used his foot to keep it open while he got the other bowl off of the floor, standing up with a smile that was too shaky for it not to be nervous.

"Hey." Steve said, it was like he couldn't stop talking. Maybe he was just that desperate to humanize the man in front of him who looked more than uncomfortable.

He was still balled up in that corner, still looking at Steve as if he was the demon that was sent to drag him back to hell. His hair was spilled low across his shoulders, some of the strands curtaining his face and chest. Though his eyes were smaller, they were still peering at Steve.

Steve was a lot of things. Impulsive and stubborn were on that list, but being a fool wasn't. That man was not calm. He was everything but calm, he looked dangerous. Like he would tear Steve in two if he wasn't so crippled by his fear. Maybe that was a good thing.

"I uh, got you something like I said." Steve tried, he made sure his body language was open and slow as he approached him. Every muscle in the omega's body flexed.

Just based off of the bigger man's body language alone Steve stopped. His bottom brow was down and his eyes didn't look as big anymore as they were sharp. It was like he had gone from fear stricken to defensive in a matter of seconds, and Steve didn't want to push him any further.

"Okay." Steve said, leaning forward only a tiny bit to lay the bowl down in front of him in the middle of the room.

"That's fine." He breathed. "I forgot to ask, I'm sorry."

Steve knew what he was apologizing for, he had so much to be sorry for. This was his fault. This whole thing was his fault and he only seemed to be stressing the man out further.

So instead he took a step back, and the moment he did the omega's eyes flickered to the bowl and then immediately back at him. He made a sound that could have been almost a grumble, Steve wasn't sure.

His eyes looked soft for a moment and then tensed right back up, eyes darting again. This time they were somewhere far away from Steve entirely. Trained on some random spot on the floor. His eyes never seemed like they wanted to move away from that spot, his blinking slow, like he was zoning out again.

Steve could see the way he chewed his bottom lip hard enough to make Steve grimace, hard enough that it should've bled. He then made another sound, his legs trembling close to his chest, eyes still low. He's desperate.

Steve took another step back, watching as the bigger man's face twisted and pulled into a plethora of emotions. It was like he was trying, he was trying so hard to make a decision. The omega's eyes watered up again, seemingly frustrated with something only he knew.

Steve knew he should have just left. If he hadn't eaten earlier it was probably because the women outside had stressed out him far too much, if he had eaten then maybe he just prefered to eat alone and he was still hungry. Maybe he was just nervous.

But Steve couldn't. It was selfish and it was wrong, but he just couldn't do it. Those eyes were of a man who needed help. Even if the omega didn't know it, even if he didn't want it, he needed it. Steve looked down at the warm bowl of mushroom soup cupped still in his hands.

He's going to stay.

Steve didn't care if it was illogical, he didn't care if it was stupid. He needed to help, to clean up his own mess for once. He wasn't going to just leave him like that. Not when Steve was the one who caused it, and not while he was still the source of the omega's fear. The only source at the moment. No.

"Okay." He said with a deep breath, Steve needed reassurance even if it was only from himself.

"Hey." Steve said, looking at the omega. He didn't look back, that was more than okay with Steve at this point. "I'm gonna stay in here for a while if that's okay."

When the bigger man still didn't say anything Steve felt the urge to keep talking despite himself. "Keep you some company. It might be good."

The other man didn't say anything, he didn't even look at Steve. It might have been a damper in Steve's spirits but that wasn't going to stop him. He had already gone this far and the omega at least seemed to acknowledge his presence, that was better than a few minutes ago.

With that he decided that he had enough common sense to know if the brunet truly wanted to be alone. Steve knew he had no problem with lashing out at least from the account in the medical wing from earlier, and he hadn't yet.

Although not breaking Steve's back could have been seen as the absolute barest minimum, Steve was going to take it. It might have been almost nothing, but it sure was better than absolutely nothing.

He had enough sense to know not to get closer to him though, so instead he took his bowl and sat on the opposite side of the room. Steve's first instinct was to sit near the door, but he decided against it. Being right next to the door would probably just stress the other man out further.

He may have been on the opposite side but Steve was still more so in the middle of the floor. He sat crisscrossed and put his own bowl out in front of him. The whole time the omega watched him, his eyes seeming only moving when Steve moved without his head so much as tilting.

Steve did his best to push the eerie feeling of that down and focus on his own bowl instead. He took a sip from his meal with a spoon and didn't look at the balled up man in the corner for a moment.

Eventually though he did look at him and what he saw was a man with his pupils blown wide, but body far less tense. Steve could see him glancing at the chicken broth a few feet away from him, he stared at it and Steve could practically see the gears in his head turning.

Maybe conversation would help.

There was a moment where the idea of small talk fluttered in Steve's head, there was a common Gilead saying that Handmaid's used to say to each other that he knew of. He shut that idea down the moment it popped up, it was something about the weather. Steve knew better than to say that, at least with him.

For some people when they first arrived in the shelter they tended to be so shaken up that slowly assimilating them out of Gilead what's best instead of going cold turkey. It was easier to transition phrases and customs out slowly, like greetings and certain forms of small talk.

But this omega didn't look stable, he looked like he wouldn't have appreciated that at all. It might just send him into a frenzy, so Steve went for something else instead.

"I've seen a few folks pull out their snow plows lately." Steve prompted, going back to his soup. "We're really getting a storm down here huh?"

The omega didn't say anything but he did go back to staring at Steve and Steve put on the most genuine smile he could muster, this was good. Even if he was staring at him like a hawk, it didn't explicitly look like it was out of fear this time.

Steve took another spoonful and looked at his bowl, he didn't want to push it. "Yep, I had to pull out one myself last week."

He looked up for a moment just to see if the omega was still staring at him, he was. Steve didn't let that deter him. "I even saw some of the salt trucks come through."

He continued to look down into his bowl as he spoke, a small laugh left in this time. "It's just so funny how people can't drive here in it though."

Steve didn't know what he was doing but he couldn't just sit here and complete and total silence. There were so many things he wanted to say, so many questions he wanted to ask. It was hard to contain them all quite honestly.

But he knew somehow without any prompt that the omega probably didn't want to talk about any of that regardless but how much information Steve was itching to know, information that they all needed. Natasha especially. Information that he knew the omega had to have known.

But he's scared. He's scared and lonely, and in an entirely different country. In a place he's never been, surrounded by people he's never met, and he didn't trust anybody.

Steve couldn't help but think he was right to not trust anyone. He couldn't even imagine the things the man might have done, the things he might have seen. The things he might have been forced to do.

Steve wondered when the last time the omega had ever had a conversation without it being watched was, without having to choose every word carefully. Without having to calculate each move he made, each step he took.

That moment of relaxation on the wall earlier probably felt like the only time in a long time he could be a person and Steve ruined it. Those few seconds of him relishing being a human being were over because that's how terrified he was of everything.

Steve didn't want that. He didn't care if it was delaying getting information, or that likely this whole thing was unprofessional. There was a man deep down in there that was buried under so much fucking trauma, to the point were he couldn't even act human.

So no. Steve was going to talk to him, he was a person first and information dump second. It wouldn't have gotten him anywhere if Steve had tried to do it the other way around anyway. It would have probably just shut him down even further and made Steve feel worse.

So if he was going to get information, this was the way Steve was going to get it. He didn't care how unprofessional it looked.

"Like, it's Canada." Steve continued with a shrug, he swallowed down his mouth full before continuing. "How do you not know how to drive in the snow?"

Steve already knew he was practically talking to himself if he was measuring this conversation on responses. It didn't seem to bother him though, he took another mouthful of soup when he noticed the omega's arm was down.

It wasn't much in terms of progress but his knees were less crammed into his chest and his palm was on the floor. He still didn't trust Steve that much was clear, and Steve didn't expect him to.

He was still peering at though him, his eyes looked so much brighter against the veil of his ebony hair shielding over his face, his hair made everything about his face honestly look so much paler except for the darkness around his eyes. He did, however, have his pupils less blown open though he never stopped staring.

"As weird as New York City was, at least everyone knew how to drive right?" Steve said before swallowing. "I mean you'd think snow wouldn't be that big a deal up here."

"Maybe it's the Americans though." Steve continued when the omega blinked at him. "It's like I know some of us just can't drive, and there are a lot of people from the south here now,"

Steve pretended like he didn't see how the omega's softened to a degree, focusing on his bowl instead. "But still though. You would think it'd be in driver's ed or something right?"

"Like this should not be some of you guys' first time driving in snow." He said and gave the omega a quick look. "And then they turn around and drive in the rain just fine, like it's all not water. Like tires don't slide in the rain too."

"I always thought they were just being dramatic." He said with a shrug, bringing his spoon from the bowl to his lips. "Just sayin'."

Steve didn't know if it was the revelation to him that he was American, or if all of the blond's constant chatter just took some of the pressure from the room. But he could see the other man's arm flutter out towards the bowl that Steve had left for him.

Steve had to keep talking, if he stopped now then the poor guy might've thought he was caught in the middle of an act and shut down all together again. As if the act of getting food that was left for him would have gotten him in trouble.

Steve ignored how that idea made him feel.

"Snow, rain, sleet. It's all the same if you really think about it." It was a fight to keep himself from looking at the bigger man hook one of his fingers on the rim of the bowl and pull it towards himself. Steve knew now it was best not to acknowledge him.

"I mean tires are going to spin regardless on any kinda water, right? So like, what's so special about snow?" He continued, fighting to keep his eyes honed in on his bowl.

Steve knew he had to look more casual, so he shrugged as he went on. "I mean hail I guess I get. Can't really drive when a giant ice cube plows a hole through your windshield right?"

The way the bigger of the two pulled the broth towards himself was shaky and he kept looking at Steve. Like he just knew he was about to get caught. Steve couldn't help but wonder how many times he's had to sneak food before. He knew Handmaids had a very controlled and strict diet.

"I dunno, just seems kind of like an excuse to stay at home." As Steve was talking he could hear the omega make a small struggling noise in his throat, like a tense hum. His fingers were trembling and Steve just had to ignore it.

"Now freezing rain I get. I do not play around with black ice." Steve said, looking into his bowl but waving his spoon around like a wand. "It's like you don't even see it coming, you're just driving and then boom."

"Wham, bam, thank you ma'am, and now you're in the middle of a ditch." Steve went on. "It's like, at least with snow and the rest of them you get a little bit of a warning first to adjust your driving. Like you see it coming."

Steve had been talking, so much so that he had just now noticed the man fiddling around with the spoon. The shorter of the two nearly held his breath when the omega dipped it in the bowl and brought it up to his lips, shaky or not it didn't matter. He was doing it.

Steve had to keep going. This was good. "Then most of the time the news can't even warn you about it because they don't see it either until someone gets in a wreck or calls it in. And then that's just a mess."

Steve didn't know how many sips the omega had taken but it was a lot. While he was talking he noticed how to spoon just kept going up and down, looking at Steve though still drawn away.

He was listening to him.

That realization fell on Steve like a ton of bricks. Did he like hearing him talk? He wasn't talking back, but it didn't take a genius to figure out that he was somewhat paying attention.

Steve didn't know if he was doing that because he was still terrified of him and didn't trust him, if keeping an eye on the alpha was a way of keeping himself calm. Or if he was actually listening, if he wanted to be talked to and not spoken to like a child the way Steve had been doing earlier.

Steve didn't know if casual conversation would have been good before, he seemed like he didn't understand anything before. He was still fearful and Steve knew if he moved so much as an inch there was no telling what he might do. Better didn't mean cured. Better meant just that. Better.

And this was better. As secluded in that corner the omega was, this was still so much better. He couldn't trust because he was afraid, but that didn't mean he didn't want company. He was still lonesome.

He wasn't now.

Chapter 12: Arrival

"...and so you must commit to your duties dear. Our High Commander here is a very, very important man."

I'm not listening. Aunt Carter has been going on and on about my new Commander, my new owner and yet for as long as we've been inside of the Birth Mobile I haven't brought myself to hear a single word she's been saying.

I don't even truly remember getting into this vehicle. I don't remember sitting down in this van nor putting on my handmaiden uniform, I don't remember what happened.

I know she told me of my new posting but things got fuzzy after that. I believe my heart rate must have dropped or my mind was too busy swimming around in my own sense of disbelief or shock to pay anything any mind.

I know what must have happened. She must have told me and we must have left together, she must've told the other omegas in a grand announcement and they must've clapped for me with smiles.

I must have pulled the small handheld red suitcase from underneath my cot that had been there since the day we all arrived under each one of our beds, and then they would make a path for me with their bodies.

They would've stood shoulder-to-shoulder and made two lines horizontal from each other for me to walk down the middle, a path leading me to the Birth Mobile. Which I must have gotten into. They would've been wearing their white day clothes still while I was officially in uniform for the first time, wings and all.

I would have walked from my bed inside of the gymnasium all the way outside to this very vehicle, with each one of my peers wishing me good fortune as I passed them. There would have been no Aunt to walk with me, I would have walked alone.

There would have been only an Aunt in this very van waiting for me, Aunt Carter apparently. Then the other Aunts would have given them a speech, telling them how I could be them. That they could walk the path to righteousness, that I was walking on the path of the Lords will.

I know this because I remember this. Not because I had done it, but because we have. I've been the one in the many, forming the lines for my fellow omega's to walk through, and I know what they were all thinking though their mouths said otherwise. I've thought it before too.

That poor bastard.

Please don't let me be next.

Maybe that's why I can't remember anything. Maybe I still can't believe I'm that poor bastard. I'd rather get shocked in the mouth with a cattle prong again than be that. But I don't have a choice. I don't have a choice in much of anything anymore.

The only thing I do have a choice in is playing my cards right. Although that is a freedom I have to take lightly, to play carefully. One mishap and it could be the wall for me, or the colonies even. I heard the district beside our own did that, even to their Handmaids. It seems that our position doesn't protect us, as coveted as we are.

I think it's because of the system, the way they have it set up. All male omegas are Handmaids that much I get, a fact that Aunt Agatha seemed to remind us of every day. It was to atone for our sins, our very nature.

But the Lord never gave more than we could take, a scripture I'm not even really sure truly exists but a phrase they preach in our moments of weakness. We were this way because he knew we could thive in the task he had displayed for us. God made no mistakes. Even if we were ones, we are omega's, we are fruitful. But as men we are expected to hold some sort of position, one of importance and now we do. A sacred one.

But there were times, occasionally, where I would see a different set of Handmaids. Beta and omega women from across the road at the other Leia and Rachel Center making their rounds. Two by two, behind another link chain fence in what had once been a parking lot.

We didn't see them often, not even when we went out for our daily laps. But sometimes I could catch small glances of them in the cafeteria. There was a large blurry window we could make out there smudged forms in when the Aunts weren't paying us any mind.

First I thought they were male omegas, same as us. From such a distance we couldn't see that they wore dresses, they looked the same as our pants. Their uniforms hid their figures just as much as ours hid our own and whatever they painted the windows with kept us from making out any faces, though they were too far away to tell anyway.

But the gossip grapevine at the Red Center seemed to be long and vast. Piedro had told me that he heard from another Aunt that they were women. That day we had an announcement.

"I have bought you all on your path to accept such a very honored and blessed way of service. The most fulfilling role of your very lives."

"But there are others, sinners, that have abandoned the roles God has bestowed upon them. Fallen women! Who could think of such a thing? Girls who think they knew better than God? So inconceivable."

"But our Lord is as glorious as he is merciful, and for those sins there can only be redemption through hard work and dedication to cleanse the soul. To redeem themselves in his eyes."

I had wondered for so long why she even told us that. Though perhaps she had overheard our rumors and gossip, rumours I didn't even believe until she told us. Although maybe it was because she didn't want the outside world to surprise us.

Female Handmaids, it seemed, were these "fallen women" in need to redeem themselves to save their souls since, apparently, they were too unfit to be Wives and Econowives any longer. Though to fruitful to serve as Martha's, paired with their imperious actions from before, God has given them a new calling, one to renew their salvation. I guess what Aunt Agatha had said was true, just that she had said it in so many flowery words.

Only fuck ups were Handmaids, we were just fuck ups from the start.

I haven't been paying attention for too long, I can tell because the sound of Aunt Carter's fingers suddenly snapping nearly makes me shit.

"Are you alright dear?"

It takes everything in me not to panic here and now, but I don't want her to see it. I am not weak. "Yes Aunt Carter, I think I'm a little nervous is all."

I can feel the sweat sticking to my forehead. Then she gives me the sweetest, yet hardiest laugh I've heard in a while. She looks almost amused, like a parent to a child who had asked a particularly stupid question. "Oh Ofhoward."

Her hand is on her chest for a moment until she brings both of hers to mine and squeezes them together, leaning towards me with a bright expression. "I've had even my most brightest boys get the jitters before their new postings."

She gives me a bit of a wave off, and sits up. I haven't looked at her once, I know what's best for me. Keeping my head down. But Aunt Carter, it seems, has other plans.

She puts one of her hands gently underneath my chin and lifts my face up to look at her. I can feel my soul burning as I fight to keep my hands where they are, neatly folded in my lap.

"And you my dear are the brightest." She says, scrunching up her face like people did when petting a dog. She gives my chin an encouraging shake. I want to kill her.

I want to push my thumbs into those brown eyes, I want to push them back so deep she can see her brain gush out of her eye sockets. I want to beat that oh-so-pleasant British accent from her throat, to scalp that pretty head of hair that matches her eyes, always prim and proper in a bun. I don't.

"Thank you Aunt Carter."

"Of course dear." She says and then lets go of my face. I should've bit her fingers off.

She leans back a little further and then looks at me, I get the impression again she wants me to look back. I can always tell when she wants me to, she straightens her back and always takes a deep breath when she does.

"Like I have said, Commander Stark is a very important man to us." She says. "Practically the pioneer of our war effort against those savages."

I don't even have the time to take in what she's saying before she starts again. Her face was a bit in a snarl before, as if the mere thought that some people appreciated their freedoms and were willing to fight for it disgusted her. As if not wanting this disgusted her, is outrageous even.

"So I need you to be on your very, very best behavior. Do you understand?"

"Yes Aunt Carter."

"Good." She says with a reaffirming nod, looking off somewhere and smoothing out the dark brown skirt of her dress.

She looks back at me, her face serious yet encouraging. The way the Aunts do that makes me sick, it's a certain type of nausea I've never felt before. A feeling I could point out I never quite knew what it was. Or maybe it was just rage.

Maybe I still want to punch her in her face.

"Now High Commander and Mrs. Stark have never had a Handmaid before. So I have given them the very best of the best, and I know you will bless them with many great things Ofhoward." She says softly, and I still want to punch her in her face. I want to punch her harder.

Things. Those things were going to be children, my children of my flesh and blood. All given away over some ceremonial bullshit, created by some ceremonial bullshit. Children I wouldn't even have had otherwise.

I want to punch her, I want to kill her, I want to do something, to hurt somebody. Anybody.

I do nothing.

I don't even respond, I don't have the time to. My lips were just partying to say something, and perhaps God really is watching me, because I don't know if what would have come out of my mouth would've been so smart. The Birth Mobile heels to a stop.

God what a stupid fucking name for a van.

"Oh goodness! Well, we're here." She says. I don't understand how she's always filled with this much excitement and cheer. Maybe she's batshit insane, I know I'd have to be. Maybe they all were.

And I can't stop myself from thinking, because I always had. Even despite myself, even despite the rules because it is the one place I do still have unlimited freedom in even if my country is gone. Even if my thoughts do scare me.

Even now as I am thinking I can't help but think that if they are all, that maybe they are too. The Commander. His Wife. And even I can't hold back my silent plea, desperation I feel despite it all.

The feeling of something fresh and wet burning in my eyes, of something raw and unhinged in my gut. Maybe it's the animal in me, in everyone. Maybe deep down inside we all had one desire, one hope.

Please don't hurt me.

Chapter 13

Going home after last night was not easy, at least not for Steve anyway. Leaving the omega was just something he didn't think about doing even though the time would inevitably come.

Half of the day shift had left late at night, leaving the other half of them still at work. Steve of course just had to be chosen for the half to leave much to his own dismay, although he wasn't quite sure if Natasha was to blame for that or if it was someone else entirely. But either way he hadn't wanted to.

He had learned from Clint that it was his own announcement. Steve had stayed with the brunet for a bit, trying to find random one-sided conversations that would hold his interest at least enough not to send him back into a panic.

He never stopped eyeing him, even for a moment. The only thing the omega seemed to do was stare blankly at Steve no different than he would at a wall, and would take sips from his broth occasionally.

It made Steve uncomfortable, which was more than obvious. But he didn't know what else to do. At the bare minimum he was at least being registered by the other man, which was more than something considering his initial reaction.

They had finished their meals rather quickly all considering and at the end the omega of course only stared at Steve from his corner, and even Steve could feel his eyeballs on him when he gathered his things and made his exit.

That's when he had ran into Clint, just after closing the door to the room on the outside, his stuff still in his hands.

The first thing Steve thought was that obviously his boss had sent Clint all the way down here to chide him for breaking so many protocols in the span of a couple of days, that it honestly could have been considered a world record.

But no. No chiding. No berating. Just some info that Steve could leave and then he was on his way.

Steve was shocked and of course he was. Usually the smothering nature of Natasha paired with her being such a stickler for the rules and regulations didn't leave much wiggle room for Steve and his shenanigans, but she didn't seem to care or at least notice.

He wanted to check on her but he knew better. If she hadn't said anything yet that probably meant she was in a mood of some sort and it was obvious he was in one as well, and after that weird fall out and whatever else those two had going on? No. Steve didn't want to get in the middle of that.

So instead he had put all of his things away. He returned the bowls back into the sink and made sure everything was put back in place before making his way back, and when he did he noticed the door was still open, cracked slightly from where it didn't fully close.

Steve had wanted to go in, to collect the omega's bowl. He had figured the man had probably shifted his way back underneath the safety of the bed and he could go retrieve the brunet's bowl now that it probably wasn't so close to him.

But that time, Steve noticed through the crack in the door that the omega was curled tightly underneath the light sheet on his cot, his sorrowed scent muted underneath the fabric. His sides were moving with slumber and Steve had briefly wondered how sleep could have overtook him so quickly.

But then he remembered the journey and the amount of fear that had likely given him so many sleepless nights, riddled with nothing but anxiety and sheer terror.

Steve just closed his door and left.

He had spent most of his entire night at home sketching. He couldn't help it at that point, it was an outlet for him. A place that he could go in his own mind and enter into his own world, where only pencils and pens limited the world around him.

He drew swirls and curls, different lines and points of so many shapes and sizes. It reached a certain point where he didn't even know what he was drawing, just that it was something nice. He grasped onto all of the small little nice things now.

Most of his drawings were more abstract now, they didn't used to be. They used to be of cherry blossoms and sunsets, of lakes and birds. Of any and everything.

Maybe now he was just drawing his feelings, maybe he felt more abstract. Maybe he felt more out of place. Or maybe everything else around his life was utter chaos so why not turn that into something beautiful at least?

Or maybe it was just art. Maybe he shouldn't put so much thought into it because that undermined the point. He didn't know.

What he did know was that he drew and drew and drew to the point where his fingers hurt, where he had rubbed the skin between his fingers of little raw and they were puffy and pink at the bottom. He had been so angry he was calm, and so calm he was focused. Too focused.

Because now Steve was irritated. He was irritated because his fingers hurt, he was irritated he had hardly got any sleep last night because he was so irritated while drawing, and he was irritated because he had just checked out his window before his morning shift and lord and behold, Pearl Girls. Everywhere. Still.

He was so irritated as a matter of fact he had nearly forgotten to take his blockers on the way out his door, and even at this moment as he was locking his door he was still irritated. Even the ongoing bitter coldness of the Canadian weather seemed to tick him off.

Everything seemed to take him off guard when he was already mad, or perhaps people were just like that. Either way he was in a mood of sorts and he just knew that Natasha was going to be in today and he was going to have to put up with whatever disagreements from her she was going to undoubtedly tell him.

He had been so focused on being angry that his keys jammed in the door, because of course they did and his first instinct was to madly try to pull them out of the door because acting calm was not on his to-do list for the day even though that would have probably gotten them out.

The only thing that stopped him from giving himself the appearance of a mad man was the sound of his neighbor's door opening. Instead he sucked in a deep breath and closed his eyes, yes he was aggravated but that didn't mean he wanted to look insane to the people he had been living beside for nearly a decade.

Incidentally though he picked up something else entirely. There was something different about them today he couldn't help but look over, his hand still on the key stuck in the door. Nakia, his neighbor, smelled different.

She smelled pregnant.

The thing was she didn't look any different, she looked as fit and thin as she always did. Slender arms, long legs, a small and firm middle. Same as always. But the smell, she smelled different.

Usually Nakia's scent was sweet. A musky layer of vanilla, and a rich, powdery sprinkling of cocoa. The latter was very robust and almost blanketed the vanilla slightly, like an expensive vanilla ice cream with cocoa powder or hot, dark chocolate sauce.

After living beside them for so long Steve recognized them like the back of his hand, their scents just came with that, but there was something else about it too, something personal.

It smelled almost like those white and milk chocolate chip chunked cookies his mother would made on special days. He couldn't help but to feel an instant connection to the fragrance, like it transported him somewhere safe and indulged, despite where he was.

Home, it brought him home. To their little apartment back in Brooklyn. Even when his mother was here, when she was still alive Steve had made that connection with Nakia's scent, nothing had ever smelled so much like home before. Not even the new apartment he and his mother had lived in for so long, the same one he lived in now. It wasn't the same.

But now she just smelled different, and Steve couldn't believe how he was just now realizing that. Her scent was muted, toned down to the point where Steve could barely catch it. But there was something overlapping it all.

She smelled like herself, perfectly recognizable, but whatever was over top of it was something Steve couldn't describe. Only that it was something rich, something gourmade and powdery. Like condensed milk or a rich custard, but even then those things couldn't quite cover the extent of it. It was just something else entirely. The smell of something new.

He glanced at her in a way that he hoped wouldn't come off as staring, watching as she stood outside the door waiting for her partner. Steve always assumed they were couple, they acted like such. Nakia always walked out of their apartment first, mainly because to T'challa would always hold open the door for her. Steve had assumed they were just old-fashioned like that.

When T'challa walked out he smelled as he always did, something akin to wheat grass or something of the Earth itself. It wasn't very strong though, and usually her scent would've overpowered his due him being a beta and all. But now their's were both low, working hand-in-hand with each others.

They strolled past him with a wave and of course Steve waved back, trying not to look as weird as he felt. He couldn't stop his thoughts quick enough though. Of how much her scent had changed, and how much the omega under their care didn't smell like that, even remotely. That maybe he wasn't expecting at all.

His key immediately slipped out the door and Steve just stood there for a moment with that thought in his head. Of course Steve would rather him not be pregnant at all, because that meant if he was, he was very likely stressed to the point where his distressed scent was overlapping everything.

And that level of constant stress couldn't be good for himself or his pregnancy if there even was one. Steve wanted to believe that. That just for a second, maybe there was no pregnancy involved at all. Maybe the test was a false positive or a fluke, it would've made everything increasingly easier after all. Especially for the omega himself.

But that wouldn't make any sense, it didn't explain them. The Pearl Girls.

Those women who were patrolling the streets, even right then at that moment Steve could see them just on the sidewalks. He remembered how at the beginning they used to go door to door, handing out pamphlets and brochures about the beauty of Gilead.

Enough threats from angry Americans to put a bullet in their face put an end to that.

But now there were more of them, so much more than Steve ever remembered there ever being and Gilead was usually so much more subtle than this. They had to be, even their rise to power was subtle, miles more than this.

Which meant whatever they wanted, they wanted it desperately, and didn't care how sloppy or obvious it looked. At least whoever was behind this was, and to them, there was only one thing getting this desperate over was worth.

Steve tried not to think about any of those thoughts. Is that the only thing he wanted to think about was shifting through the mess of silver clad women he was inevitably going to have to go through, and to make his way to work. Maybe even the omega's progress, it was the only positive thing he could see out of this.

So that's what he did, shoving his hands and keys into his pockets before making his way out of the complex and onto the sidewalk.

That day, despite it all, was actually quite pretty. He always noticed how whatever he started his shifts at its normal time that the sun rises were quite a sight here.

He never got that in Brooklyn things were always so busy there and the buildings were so high that seeing a full sun rise was almost like catching a rainbow. Even in Canada he couldn't quite see them at their full capacity. As a child he always wondered what they looked like, the oranges and pinks people said merged together.

He always drew them, there were a bountiful amount of pictures online depicting the sight. But he never quite got to see them, and with all of this snow he just knew they would have to look quite beautiful here. If only he got the chance.

But the air was so cool there like it was in Brooklyn, even better actually due to the lack of car exhaust and constant noise. The feel of the beginning of winter in his lungs was nice when his mind wasn't clouded with anger, even if the snow was a bit much at times.

Maybe it would be more beautiful if it wasn't for all those damn Pearl Girls.

It was like he couldn't even concentrate on the thought of his surroundings or even of the events from yesterday because there were so many. Because god they were everywhere.

It had gotten to the point where it started to make Steve weary, there were far too many for him to be comfortable let alone anybody else. With this many of them it started to make him think they were up to something else entirely, that they were going to do something else entirely.

His thoughts had gotten quite rapid after that, so much so he didn't even realize how fast he was walking. Steve couldn't help but think about his own feelings, which then morphed into the events of yesterday.

His mind went immediately to Maggie, and the poor screams and ramblings of that woman. She had looked so ferocious yesterday, like she was going to die. That image had stayed locked in Steve's head all night, not even sleep could get rid of that.

She was so inconsolable and then she just lost it. She had started to throw things and scream at him, telling him something about Gilead, something not even Steve could make out.

The only thing he could make out were her sobs. When she had given up and slid against the side of her wall crying profusely about something. Something that, whatever it was, must have killed something within her because it was like she didn't even recognize Steve anymore.

He didn't even want to look when they dragged her out, and could barely hold it together when they dragged her back in. She didn't even look like herself anymore, like she was an entirely different person.

That look in her eyes before they had taken her though, wild and worn out. He couldn't stop thinking about it, he couldn't stop thinking about how the omega stared at him just as hard and fierce that very same day. Like he was trying to bore into Steve.

His thoughts kept racing, his body seemingly trying to keep up with his mind with how fast he was walking. His mind immediately plummeted into the memories of the shakened up brunet, terrified and lonely.

His mind kept going, faster and faster until it finally landed on a sudden bullseye somewhere in his brain, and this large, all encompassing thought fell on him with the weight of a impending building. Oh shit.

The omega was probably back underneath that bed again.

Fuck. Steve thought. It couldn't be helped at this point, the speed in which he was practically running to the shelter. He was doing everything in his power to not break out in a full-blown sprint at the idea.

He couldn't just break out in a run, he knew he couldn't. Mainly because he wasn't quite sure if his lungs could take that big of a shift in gear, but also he didn't want to warrant any more attention from the silver cladded women around him.

They were like dealing with street dogs; run from them while they chase you and they just run faster, and Steve has had his fair share of encounters with stray dogs. Those women were no different.

So he had to stay calm, he had to just keep his cool. Just for a little while, at least until he could recuperate in the shelter. But he just couldn't help but think about how all of that progress from yesterday, or at least something that resembled a little progress, was probably all gone. Flushed away like it was nothing. All because of them.

He stuck to his usual strategy; head down, palms in pockets. As hard as Steve was trying not to think about it, the fact that he had to change the way he walked just to not be harassed by them seemed to only agitate him further.

Instead of focusing on it for too long he just walked a little faster and kept his head low, keeping his mind on one goal. The shelter.

It didn't take him very long to get there and Steve had never been more grateful to the fact that the refugee center was a walkable distance, just because he could drive in this weather didn't mean he wanted to.

It was also probably good because he didn't want to tempt himself. Running over one of those women would have been far too easy especially in this state of mind, and with the general discontent for them labeling it an accident would have been fairly easy. Especially in the snow.

Steve shook his head at the thought. Man, he had to stop thinking like that.

It was weird how certain ideas and thoughts that he would have never had ten years ago became recurring things now, things he would have never even dreamed of doing. Maybe that was just Gilead though, maybe that place just brought out the worst in everyone. That place and everything to do with it.

He wanted to believe though, but even though that place was an absolute hell hole, maybe there was some good in it. Maybe it showed how bad people could get, how greedy and cruel. Steve would have never thought that some of those people used to be his neighbors, his classmates and old co-workers.

How anyone could ever support such a thing, to commend it? Let alone people who knew better, who knew that those people were human beings, and went along with it anyway was beyond Steve.

Maybe he wasn't wrong for wanting to run them over and this time Steve shouldn't feel bad about thinking about it. They deserved worse. But he couldn't

Those were children, teenagers. Most of them could probably hardly remember a time before Gilead, most of them had to have been ten at the most. They would've had to have been stripped away from their families, likely all of them placed in new homes after losing their parents in firing squads they didn't see.

They were all just girls themselves, girls that were so easy to hate. They were so easy to shift the blame on, sitting ducks in an open field.

But it wasn't their fault, he had to keep telling himself that it wasn't their fault otherwise he would want to kill them. Teenagers, and that's probably what Gilead wanted.

They probably wanted someone to get mad and take it out on one of those poor girls, to lash out their anger and hate to the nearest thing, just so Gilead could point the finger at them.

To call them violent monsters who threatened little girls, so that they could take pictures and use them in their little propaganda films for even more indoctrination. Even if they had done worse to those same girls and someone finally just snapped, and those thoughts alone terrified Steve.

He finally made it to the doors.

Maybe that place really did bring out the worst in everyone.

Steve didn't waste much time getting in, the doors were locked again and it took him less than a second to come to the conclusion it was probably because of all of the girls outside.

The door was swiftly unlocked though after two knocks and the person on the other side of the door didn't even surprise him, his face just fell before they even got a word out.

Natasha.

Chapter 14

"Nata-"

"I don't wanna hear it."

That's as far as that conversation went.

She had caught him entirely off guard, standing directly in front of the door like a statue with the most blank expression he had seen in awhile. She looked tired, exhausted even in the way she was looking at Steve wasn't quite helping.

She stood there, staring at Steve for a while until she finally let out a breath so tense that Steve could actually feel it from where he was standing, her left finger pinched on the bridge of her nose. Her eyes were shut, it wasn't a good sign.

"Look Steve," She said, opening her eyes to look at the ceiling but never bringing her hand down. As if she was that aggravated, too aggravated to look at him. "I-"

"Look Nat, I'm sorry okay?" Steve said, letting his hands fall to his thighs hard enough for them to make a loud clapping sound. He was tired of all this. "Is that what you want to hear?"

Fuck it, it didn't matter. She was going to be mad at him either way for one thing or another. So if she was going to be mad at him, he figured he might as well give her something to be mad about.

At this point he didn't care and the last thing he was going to do was just stand there after having such a horrible morning, or week really for that matter, and deal with this. Not without at least trying to make some sort of defense.

"I know he wasn't my assignment and I shouldn't have gone in there okay." Now he was the one that looked tired, back slightly slouched with his own eyes closed.

But he looked at her again when he continued. "But he was just sitting there, and I was worried alright?"

"Okay? I was worried, and I didn't know if he had eaten or not and he just looked so shook up." Steve said, sounding just as tired as he felt. "I just wanted him to feel better alright? I'm sorry."

But that wasn't enough for Steve, at least he didn't think it was enough because he kept going and the weird look on Natasha's face only added fuel to it. "I won't do it again okay? I'll just-"

"Steve." Natasha said, using her free hand to rub her forehead. She sighed. "Stop talking."

Her hand was free because, Steve was just now noticing, there was a tray in her other hand. Her right hand was clutching onto the side of one of their breakfast trays for the residents, but breakfast had already ended. It had to have been over for at least a couple of minutes, Steve had arrived a little late.

He hadn't noticed it in his ramblings but it was right there in her hand, a dull green army color with a pack of microwaveable pancakes and sausages on it, still wrapped plastic.

Steve could see the little bit of steam inside of each of the little plastic wrapped meals. They were hot and ready to go as if they were just microwaved, and it came to Steve only then that if they were just microwaved then that meant that she microwaved it. Or at least someone had done it for her.

So he did stop talking. He clamped his mouth shut not only because of the visuals of all of that, but also because of Natasha herself. Her tone was one thing but her look was a whole nother thing in itself.

She looked rundown, more than Steve had ever seen her in a long time. The most obvious thing to him was her hair, how it wasn't in its usual bone-straight silky quality that it was always in.

Steve wasn't quite sure if it was because Natasha prided herself on her appearance or if that was just another way of her keeping some sort of schedule, if her professionalism really ran down even to the way she looked.

Whichever one it was, Steve had only seen her hair and it's natural wavy form only a handful of times, with his mother's funeral being one of the few. She might not have behaved as prim and proper as she looked, but she did try to keep up that appearance most days.

Today she didn't. It didn't even look like she had tried, which for most people would have been a non-issue. Carol had never been one to really go that far with cosmetics and such. Hill never really did either and Maria would only use them casually, maybe some mascara or eyeshadow and even a bit of lipstick

Steve really didn't care or notice for the most part. He couldn't tell the difference between concealer and foundation, and just barely knew the difference between mascara and eyeliner. It didn't make much of a difference to him anyway.

But it was Natasha's thing. She wore makeup on a nearly daily basis. At least at work she did, that much Steve knew for sure. So for her not to meant something was off, clearly.

But before he could even get that thought from his brain to his lips, Natasha started talking.

"Look," She said, looking at him with an expression that looked slightly dejected. "I don't want to hear it and I don't care what you did."

Steve didn't say anything as she spoke, and even then he could hear the twinges of frustration in her voice. "What you did was without any kind of authorization and I should be-"

Natasha huffed a breath and sighed, letting go of that slight flicker of whatever anger was there before. When she opened her eyes she looked at Steve and as tired as she was her eyes still softened and she sighed yet again.

"I should be mad," She said as Steve looked on. "Pissed probably."

He could feel his entire body letting go of a breath he didn't even know he was holding, enough to make him feel like he had lost weight.

"But I'm not." She could see the way Steve opened his mouth to say something and swiftly stop him, her demeanor going back from monotoned to irritated. She held a hand up that stopped him in his tracks. "I still don't wanna hear it."

Then she looked at him. "I just want you to fix it."

He moved his lips and Natasha beat him to it, again. "He's gotten back under that bed again and we've tried to get him to eat, and he won't."

"He just won't and I-" Natasha took another breath as she cut herself off.

"I want you to fix it. I want you to do whatever you did yesterday, and I don't care what it was, and I don't want to hear you explain anything because I don't feel like getting mad." All of her words had come out so quickly but it sounded like it was one big sentence.

Somehow even with the speed and the wording, he knew she wasn't mad. She couldn't be because Natasha just didn't get mad, really Steve had never seen her truly get angry. That was the thing about her, she was moldable and always seemed to fix whatever situation she was in no matter what it was.

She never got angry, not really, not truly. She probably just didn't want to worry about Steve or the omega. There was care behind her words, Steve knew it, she was just weird in her ways and he had learned to decipher her over the years, whether she knew it or not.

So he looked at her tired form and pushed back just the smallest urge that he had to hug her. Something about Natasha just seemed like she needed it. Even if she didn't ask, or even if she would never admit that she was likely pushing herself.

She needed a break, Steve knew this, or at least just some sort of support. No matter how minor it was. But he knew better, now wasn't the time. So instead he looked at her and gave her a court nod.

"Okay."

She let out of breath and made a face that would have been apologetic if it wasn't buried underneath all of her very apparent stress, maybe it was stress, Steve couldn't tell. But what he did know was that she wasn't exactly herself right now.

He took the tray from her hands and she seemed to leave without another word, a hand on her forehead. Steve guessed that she was probably going back to her office though he couldn't really wrap his brain around that at the moment.

He was standing there, in the middle of the front lobby with a tray of heated food in his hands. It was like he had ran into Natasha just as quickly as she departed from him.

It took him a more than reasonable amount of time for him to get his thoughts together, a million thoughts going through his mind as people walked by, undoubtedly on their own shifts as well.

He had to pull himself together as he exhaled, trying to think of the best way to manage any of this. His mind immediately went to the omega and then to the women outside and he couldn't help but look at them through the large one way glass doors.

Still though, he couldn't imagine what the omega had to have been thinking, what the other residents had to have been thinking the day before. They must have been mortified. He must've still been mortified.

And it was that thought that made Steve want to go forward despite his unprecedented levels of anxiety over the whole ordeal. He needed to eat regardless if he was with child or not, and Steve just standing there feeling anxious over the whole thing wasn't going to help anything. Really he hardly had the right to feel anxious at all in the first place, at least to himself.

So he approached his room rather quickly, telling himself how much more afraid the omega was compared to his own fear, how miniscule it all really was.

Perhaps it was the fear of him lashing out. Although Steve had never seen it himself, a man like that losing control could not be a good thing especially for himself, and he didn't have to see it, the idea in and of itself was more than enough.

The thought wouldn't leave him even as he came face to face with the door. Despite the fact that he was trying to quell all of his anxiousness it really was a lot. He had never done all of this before, it wasn't necessary from him. This was more of a Sam thing but given the circumstances it became more than obvious why he couldn't.

The omega was afraid of alphas, or at the very least big people. That was the only way Steve could rationalize his aggressive behavior before because he didn't seem so aggressive now, even the woman from earlier had seemed unharmed from last night.

Steve placed his tray down at the door and set up high on his feet again, trying his best to get a good look into the room again before knocking.

That face from yesterday, that face. The look of nothing but sheer contentment and those brief moments of relaxation on the omega's face. Steve wasn't sure if he ever wanted to see that again or not. Of course it was a good thing. It was more than a good thing, but seeing it just reminded him of how much he didn't look like that.

But this time Steve didn't have to deal with that. He didn't have to deal with any of that because he didn't see the omega at all, and if it wasn't for the smell of his scent practically oozing out of the door Steve would have probably thought he had ran somehow.

The bed. Steve thought. He's still under that bed.

And with that he dropped himself back down, for once not falling all over himself. He didn't even have to think about what to do next, no one should be scared like that, let alone a fully grown man. No one.

He knew undoubtedly that the brunet could probably hear his knuckles rapping against the door before speaking. "Hey."

There was no response but Steve was more than okay with that at that point, just as long as he wasn't responsible for driving him even further into his mental state. "It's uh, me again."

He wondered how many times he said that and then shook his head. It didn't matter. "It's Steven."

He swallowed at the lack of sounds coming from the room and tried to tell himself he had behaved all the same yesterday and was fine, that there was a chance he was still fine. "From yesterday."

He bit his lip before going on, rocking on his heels out of some unseen emotion. "I just wanted to come by and see how you were doing, maybe even see about eating some stuff huh?"

"I'm gonna come in now if that's alright. Maybe see if you like some of the stuff I've got?" It was a statement, or at least it was supposed to come off as one and Steve wasn't quite sure if it was sheer empathy alone that was racking his nerves like that or what.

There was no response and Steve still wasn't surprised, but he could have swore for a slight second he could hear something rustling or even the bed creak. Although it was possible that his brain was still desperate for any indication that the man inside was still alive, and that mere concept was enough to put him on edge.

On edge enough to walk straight through that door without a second thought.

Upon entering the room it worried Steve how little anything had changed. It looked like the omega had hardly moved anything, not that there was much to move in the first place. The sheets on the bed were still there and the bed frame was snugly against the wall as it was last time.

Steve wondered if he was just as tight under there, eyes wide and trembling. He looked stupidly to the right side of the room, trying to see if maybe for some reason he was there instead. That he had somehow moved since Natasha had seen him from her office, he hadn't.

Of course Steve wanted him to be over there, he wanted him to be anywhere other than crouched underneath his bed like a child hiding from the monsters in the dark. He wondered for a brief moment if he was the monster in the dark to him. He didn't want to be.

It took him less than a second to realize how cold it was in the room. The only thing that could have possibly warmed him up was placed on the bed he surely was under, and Steve didn't even realize he was releasing a breath he wasn't even holding at the sight of the deep red clothes still bunched at the very end of the bed frame.

Even though Steve had only seen it for a second, he remembered how the omega looked the night before. After Steve had left to put up his utensils and bowl. How massive the omega looked bunched underneath the thin sheets and bed, knees close and back hunched over.

He looked so small despite it all, even though Steve wasn't sure if he would have even fit the bed if he wasn't so drawn up.

It felt weird to not see his form in the bed, though it probably shouldn't. There was a chance it had been only because that's how Steve had first seen him, all huddled and close underneath his sheet, laying on his right side and facing the wall.

It came to Steve only at that moment, breakfast tray in hand, that maybe the omega had learned to sleep on his right. That he didn't have that option anymore. That his left arm was gone and maybe it was more comfortable that way, or maybe he had been forced to do so.

Maybe he had grown used to being cold, maybe he didn't have covers where he was before and scrunched up by default. Or slept on the floor. Nothing was more gone and deranged than Gilead's grasp of treatment, and so nothing surprised Steve anymore. It only ever made him feel slightly ill now.

Or maybe he liked being on the floor.

Has it been a safe place before? Had hiding underneath a bed kept him safe and away from floggings and beatings, away from degrading punishment and pain? Or was it something else entirely, was it learned on the run to stay low and hide?

That forcing himself underneath cracks and crevices kept him safe? That being quiet and invisible kept him alive, kept him well and away from them?

No. Steve thought, feeling a certain heat rush to his face. No because it didn't matter, it didn't matter if the omega found it comforting or not.

It didn't matter even in the most minuscule way because Steve didn't care. It wasn't comforting even if it was because it wasn't right, Steve didn't care if it was coping or not. He wasn't just going to stand there while some man coward on a floor out of fucking fear of getting his skin ripped off of his back, and let him do it. No.

He was at least going to try, and none of this ended up working somehow Steve knew what to do. Dust himself off and try again.

"Hey." He said, feeling a new sense of determination overtop his nervousness. He was more than sure that the omega could hear his footsteps, but he still didn't want to catch him off guard.

When nothing else happened Steve just exhaled and went forward, trying not to let any of his frustration be a parent to the other man in the room. He didn't want to seem annoyed or frustrated with him, it seems like he was going through enough already and showing any form of annoyance, no matter how small it just might push him further.

"I've got some stuff for you, we can see what you like." Steve said taking his position as he did the day before, placing the tray on the ground and sitting with his legs criss crossed near the middle of the room. "I can see if I can get you some more if you like anything alright?"

Steve really didn't think so much as he just moved, he was more than sure that the omega heard him but eye contact at the very least would probably help.

He found himself on his hands and knees again, cheek pressed on the floor and that's when it really sunk in how cold the room was. The tile only seemed to make it worse and Steve could see how the omega was folded in on himself again, though this time less tight.

It might have comforted Steve for a few moments if it wasn't for how awful he looked.

Despite the cold the brunet was sweating, with clumps of dark brown hair stuck to the sides of his face. Somehow his face looked flushed even despite the ongoing paleness and his head was lying against the tile floor, shivering regardless of the sticky sweat on his temple.

It wasn't at all what Steve expected to see, though it was like he should have been more prepared. The omega slid his head up from where it had been pushed against his knees, tucked deep into a fetal-like position, smudging his cheek against the floor as he stared at Steve.

He blinked once and then groaned, a sound that was more akin to a wounded animal than a man. His arm lay crumpled next to him, laying on the side where his other arm once was.

Steve said nothing, and then the omega made a sound that could have been sigh but then did it again, and again, and it took more than enough time for Steve to realize he was breathing.

It sounded labored and thick, his chest heaving with every breath so deeply it looked pained, and he stared at Steve in a way that could only be unfocused. As if asking for something unknown entirely.

Steve swallowed and didn't move for a while, making an attempt that could have been considered way too slow to take in the visuals in front of them. The man looked exhausted, more so than he did the days before and it was like Steve didn't know what else to do but stare.

He never broke eye contact with him and they never brought eye contact with each other, the omega's tired stare somehow giving Steve a twinging feeling in his gut.

There was a long while where Steve didn't move, his thoughts weren't even concerned if doing such a thing was necessarily helping the situation or not. It was just the only thing he could do and for once it seemed the omega didn't panic in response. He just sat there, florid and enervated.

It wasn't until he had made the first move, the omega, sliding his face further up against the floor, his unfocused gaze making it somewhere out of the window of the room. He looked up and blinked once out of it, lazy and slow. It was only then that Steve felt himself being pulled out of it all.

Steve knew he had to be careful now although putting his guard down looked seemingly more easy. The other man was weak and in a slight way it should have put him at ease, but it only made Steve feel worse, because if anyone knew they were at a disadvantage it would be the omega.

The man had to know he was sick or at least feeling unwell. He had to know that Steve knew that too, and Steve could only think of how many times he had been at a sort of disadvantage before and someone took advantage of it.

He wondered if his wall was up higher now or if he had given up as hard as his body had given up on him, and Steve didn't want to find out.

"Hey." Steve said, quiet and slow. He knew better than to talk loudly or make any sudden jerks or movement right now. "It's okay."

God he sounded like he was talking to a wounded dog, and he wasn't even sure if that was worse or not anymore. "They can't see you, you know?"

It was that, that caused the omega to look back at him. He slid his cheek almost as slowly as he did to look out the window back at Steve, and somehow despite the lack of a facial expression his confusion was still more than apparent.

The heavy blinking of the man made Steve continue. He made sure that the omega saw as he got up, and once he fully did he took a large step back to ensure he knew he wasn't making an advancement. The omega groaned quietly from his spot though Steve wasn't sure if it was towards him, or just a reaction from whenever he was feeling.

Steve just tried to not let that pull him in as much as it did, instead made his way towards the window. He could hear the omega stuck in a pained breath when Steve pressed his hand on the glass, and he scrambled to soothe him.

"No, no it's fine." Steve said quickly, still reminding himself not to raise his voice. "It's a one way."

Only after did he give the window a gentle knock, one that he was relieved didn't give the other man some sort of fear response. "See? They can't see anything from out there."

He knew the omega could see him from where he stood, he could see the whole window presumably. He had been looking out of it only a few seconds before Steve touched it so he knew he could. That's why even Steve couldn't help the slight anxiety that arose when the man gave him no response even though he knew he wouldn't.

He felt like he had to say something else, as if adding anything else would give him any different result. "I swear."

I swear. What did that even mean to him? It was like Steve knew it wouldn't mean anything, he didn't know him and wouldn't place any value on his word, like that would mean something regardless. As if Gilead hadn't given him so many unattainable promises and oaths, as if they never broke their word.

He felt stupid afterwards but Steve didn't know what else to do, he needed the other man to trust him, at least like he did before. And if an influx of Pearl Girls were going to terrify him with their presence, then he should at least know they couldn't see him, that they couldn't get to him.

Right then, at that moment, the information didn't matter. Alexander Pierce didn't matter, 'Anthony' didn't matter. He mattered, and if Steve couldn't get any information out of him then at the bare minimum he shouldn't live the rest of his stay here huddled underneath a bed frame.

But he didn't do anything, the other man never moved an inch from his piled place in the ground. It wasn't that Steve would have even seen it so much as he would have heard it, and he didn't even have to look to know that he didn't.

He pulled his hand off of the window, walking past the tray of food he had left still on the ground.

He couldn't do this, Natasha had asked to sure but he just didn't anymore. He couldn't. He never wanted to do anything like this and although his instincts that pulled him into this mess it didn't mean he could keep going.

His hands had found their way to the door and he almost didn't care how quickly he had walked to escape the room, he just needed to leave to get someone else to deal with this even if that meant having to admit any and everything to Natasha.

He didn't say anything when he left, and the omega didn't either.

Chapter 15

Walking out of there was hard. Walking straight out of there to Natasha's office to admit that something he entirely caused was something that he couldn't handle? Immensely harder.

He hadn't meant to just leave so quickly. It wasn't something he planned on, nor was it something he was particularly proud of. But the point was still there.

The omega's face, a face that was still planted in Steve's head despite not even being anywhere near him, was too much. There was something in particular about that look, the sickness and exhaustion that he had planted clear as day on his face, sweat tracking through him and a look as if he had given up on himself entirely.

He looked dead, or as if death was clearly on his doorstep. There was something about that, about the blank stare he wore and sunken in eyes. Eyes that could have been asking for help, maybe ones that didn't know how.

But it would be just as clear as a guess to assume he was done, that those eyes were telling Steve that it was over. It was too much looking at him. It was too much being around him, smelling that dejected scent of somebody who was more than done.

It made something burn in Steve's eyes even as he walked through the front lobby. He knew that Natasha's office was up the stairs and made his way towards them, something in his chest rising and falling that wasn't air. Something that burned and weighed down his whole body.

He couldn't help but to think about the omega as much as he didn't want to. The guilt of leaving him, the heavy strained huffs of his breath, his detached clothes crumpled on the floor, the memory of his busted fingers signing about his pain. All of it.

It was too much. It was too much to think about it, but it was too much not to. Too much to leave and too much to stay, even his own actions were too much. It would be far too much, at least now for Steve to reach out and comfort him, but Steve could only imagine the never ending silence he was trapped in when he was alone. If he even wanted either or.

Steve could hardly even hear the rest of the day shift around him, could hardly hear the footsteps of so many others traveling up and down the stairs all around him. He had been so unfocused that he had even forgotten the elevator existed, something he was starting to regret now.

He could feel that familiar burning sensation in his lungs, sore and tight. Something that was separate from all of his emotions and pulled out his inhaler from his jacket pocket, something that was a miracle he had remembered in his haze.

He didn't even want to stop walking as he pulled a breath from it, something he usually did.

It was like his mind was on a one-track mission, like he didn't want to stop even for a moment because that would break the train of thought. It would allow the guilt of leaving the man to sink in. It would allow everything to pause and let his conscience come crashing down. He didn't want that.

So he didn't stop, and said he just kept traveling up the white and gray speckled stairs. His brain had only then allowed the echoes of the people around him to filter in, but did his best to keep his mind focused because even he could feel the pulling of his own thoughts telling him to go back.

He didn't.

Instead he actually made it to Natasha's office despite the looming stairs and bending hallways. Despite even, somehow, himself. It was only when he got to Natasha's door did he actually stop.

He knew how Natasha was, as much as she was up for good banter and jokes at times with him, there was something in Steve that made him fearful.

She was a good person, she clearly was and it wasn't her anger or anything that kept him from wanting to go through, it was his fear of disappointing her. Of letting her down when this was all his fault, when he had bit off more than he could chew and probably caused this whole thing to go haywire.

This was their very first case that had anyone anywhere near as close to Alexander Pierce as he was, close enough to know that they must have had contact at some point, and there was a pretty good chance Steve had just blown it all to hell.

There were so many other ways this could have been executed, maybe Sam could have done something or Natasha could have come up with something better. Something much better than Steve just stumbling his way in there and wrecking everything in sight.

Sure he hadn't responded to anyone else, maybe that was interesting but it didn't help anything. Steve could only think that if he hadn't just walked in like that, that maybe the omega would have never responded to him in the first place. Maybe he would have responded to Natasha, she had been the first to go in after him after all.

Maybe it was the first friendly face he had seen that wasn't trying to probe all over him, medical or not. Maybe it was the first face that had offered him something as simple as food and he had grown attached, someone that respected his space.

He could have latched on. He could have been desperate for someone, anyone. For a bit of kindness, and maybe it was the act of kindness that made him respond. That kept him responding.

The thought of that, the idea that maybe despite all his hostility and fear he could have been desperate, made Steve want to crumple even now. That regardless of his actions, maybe deep down he just wanted a friend or at least someone who cared just a little. Maybe he still wanted to trust despite himself, even an alpha. That the person from before might've still been buried somewhere deep in there.

That he did want help but he was too frightful to extend a hand, maybe that had been beaten down so many times it was hard to hold up anymore but he still wanted to. The concept made Steve shake, it made his eyes sting again.

He's only sorry that he's not strong enough to grab that hand.

He was only left with that thought as he knocked on Natasha's door, the omega on his mind. So much so that he actually knocked, something he would have never done with Natasha's office before. There was that certain level of comfort between them, something that didn't elicit a knock. Maybe his guilt was just ruining him that badly.

Maybe he knew he was wrong even as he waited for a response to her, the omega still in his head. That he had ruined him, that he had made an attachment Steve shouldn't even have been in the vicinity for it to happen, and now he was just going to leave him because he couldn't take it.

The thought of him sitting there alone underneath that bed, panting and ill, it was enough for Steve to feel ill himself. He could only think about what the omega was wondering, what he might think if Steve never came back. If he knew that the one person even giving him even a sliver of a chance was giving up on him.

Or maybe Steve was just thinking of himself.

He almost let his head lay on the door frame. It was like his brain was running a million miles an hour, he just couldn't think. There was this tug of back and forth within him, a pulling in twisting in his gut that was probably contributing to the dull nausea arising in Steve.

He let his head hang low, seemingly unbothered with the busy footsteps and phone calls going on all around him and squeezed one of his fingers against the bridge of his nose. He didn't know what he was feeling. If it was guilt, if it was shame, embarrassment, or some concoction of all three.

Whatever it was, it made him sway a bit as he waited for an answer, shifting his weight on one foot and then the other. It wasn't necessarily weird for Natasha, he had never knocked before. But surely she would have answered by now.

He licked his bottom lip quickly, fighting the urge to bite it. The longer he stood here the longer he was left with his own thoughts and the more erring he felt rise in him, and the more he just wanted this all over with. To admit to his mistake and be done with it.

But it seemed that Natasha had other plans. Or maybe she was just as bitter as Steve was at himself, surely she would have seen everything, most of the time she was in her office and with a situation like this with Steve being involved there was a higher chance of a meteorite blowing the shelter part then her not watching.

She would have seen him retreat. She would have probably instantly remembered that moment on day one, that day where Steve decided to just stroll on in there. To risk everything for something that now he was fleeing, and Steve could only wonder how mad at him she was.

He stood there a moment longer before nearly knocking on the door again, his mind was so frazzled it was like he couldn't even think straight. Walking in was still an option but luckily he didn't have to think that far.

"Come…" She said but it was like she wasn't even talking to Steve. "In."

The way she said that, the last part or even just the dragging of her words in general was enough to make his heart jump up. Was she mad? If so she had the right to be but that didn't mean Steve felt like dealing with whatever was on the other side of the door.

She didn't sound angry though just… distant. Like she was somewhere far away and the sound Steve had made knocking minutes ago was just now filtering through her ears. Unless she was just that mad.

Regardless though it made Steve feel shaky even as he put his hand on the door to twisted it open. It was only in those last seconds before the door cracked did he attempt to straighten himself up. He was an adult and he was going to face his problems like an adult.

And with that the door did more than crack open, it cracked all the way open and Steve walked inside fully prepared for whatever verbal onslaught Natasha had prepared for him. Except there wasn't any.

Instead Natasha had her back turned fully to him, staring into her computer screen in front of her. Her office was totally different from the many meeting spaces around the shelter, her room was much smaller and was lined up with cabinets and paperwork galore.

It was like she practically was her own office, busy and small. Surprisingly she was smaller than Steve, scraping up at five foot two and somehow the room felt the exact same way. One of the only few things that weren't anything like her at all in the space was the giant desk she was almost always permanently sitting behind, usually typing away at something and hardly giving any eye contact.

Steve couldn't remember the last time he ever saw her eyes and was simultaneously in this room, and now was no different, now her eyes were still glued to that very screen. But that wasn't necessarily the concerning part, no. The concerning part was how intensely she was staring at it, looking into it like she wanted to reach through.

It made Steve uneasy, it made him wonder just how high her anger levels were in that moment because it was like he wasn't even in the room altogether. He stood there for a moment with the door just open, his fingers pulling at the hem of his shirt.

Natasha didn't even look at him as she made her next movements. It was like she had seen him out of her peripheral vision entirely, moving one of her hands from the hidden space in front of her computer into the side of it, waving her fingers up and down like she was beckoning him.

Steve wasn't sure if that was better or worse but whatever was going on she was serious, or at least whatever was going on was to her. So he moved diligently towards her after closing the door behind himself, readying himself for whatever onslaught he was about to get.

It was only when he made it to the front of her desk and she went back to gesturing for him to come closer did Steve's confidence slip away again, and the nervousness that had been plaguing him since he set foot in here came back.

She had stopped making that gesture when he started walking towards her and only started up again now, which meant she undoubtedly wanted him to see whatever was on the screen, and whatever was on the screen Steve undoubtedly didn't want to see.

His brain went right away to the omega, on what possibly could've been on that monitor in front of Natasha. Of course he came towards her, Steve not looking at whatever was on there wasn't going to make it just disappear. But he didn't want to imagine what was on there, of the worst case scenario of what it could be.

They had dealt with a case like this before. The omega was nowhere near as bad and even she couldn't take it, she just couldn't take anything anymore. The sight that was in that room, the smell. It wasn't something Steve could scrub out of his mind, it's what solidified the idea that he didn't want to do this.

Dealing with patients directly was too much, it was the only thing that day proved. Steve had never dealt with them before and he never did, until now. Until he rammed headfirst into a situation he couldn't handle and fucked everything up.

Whatever was on that screen he deserved, and whatever was on that screen he would have to learn how to handle.

So he turned the corner of her desk and braced himself, deciding to look at the floor only until he fully positioned himself behind her swivel chair and sucked in a breath. It was only then that Steve looked at the screen. It was only then that his eyes gaped at the screen.

He was eating.

There wasn't much to see, but the huddled man's actions were lucid. His face was unseen, blocked by the thick amount of hair that shielded his face from view, but his emotions were unmistakable.

His blackened fingertips picked apart at the soft pieces of pancake on his tray, tearing them apart with his other fingers and nails into small pebble-like pieces. His quivering hand then went up and disappeared somewhere behind the deep brown curtain of hair.

They could both see as it stayed there for a while before coming back down into view, slightly wet on the edges where it had likely been in his mouth.

There were pieces of plastic scattered across the floor and Steve was so honed in he couldn't even begin to question himself on how the man had managed to tear all of the plastic from the food, though the likely way was that he had used his teeth and nails to scrap it apart.

His body was hunched over, down on his knees with his head slouched down towards the tray, kneeling in front of what he was given. That was the only thing aside from the rest that Steve was able to register, that as well as the bloom of red and purple bruising painted across his knees, something the omega didn't seem to mind.

They looked painful, raw and fresh. Like it should have been hurting him to some degree, but the omega seemed to pay it no mind and squeezed another ball of food he made between his fingers. Then the new piece was brought up to his lips, shaky and tense with his coordination, and pushed it into his mouth again.

Steve could only guess that's what he was doing because his hand stayed there for a while before coming back down again, his fingers wet on the ends.

But it was the knees, the knees Steve kept staring at. They looked so busted up and bruised, something Steve couldn't imagine himself missing and yet it was like the first time he had ever seen them. Maybe he just didn't want to see it, it was so hard to with all of his apparent neglect. What were swollen knees at this point?

Steve didn't want to believe that, to believe that the likely former Handmaid was riddled with such a poor body condition that his brain had just started to filter some of it out. Like if it wasn't brought to his direct attention it just didn't exist, or at least a small part of him didn't want it to.

Steve just watched, he watched on and on as the omega repeated the same actions over and over again. Sometimes they would slow down, he would take more time to chew or pull a piece off of the part of the meal he was working on. But he never sped up, he never showed an ounce of comfortability in his motions.

They all seemed somewhat mechanical and the state of his grease soaked hair and sweat riddled body wasn't exactly helping. It reminded Steve of how sick he must've felt, how miserable he was, and yet he ate anyway.

He stared and stared. He would have likely stared on forever, probably an entire lifetime if Natasha didn't shift her eyes over to him and even for those first few seconds he still didn't register her. At least not until she spoke.

"Steve," She said. "You're on."

Maybe it was because of what was going on in the screen in front of him, maybe it was because he didn't actually believe what she said, but he turned to look at her slowly and only one, quiet word left his mouth.

"What?"

By the time he had looked at her, Natasha's eyes were already right back on the monitor, one hand hovering above the keyboard as if she were actually going to do something while the other one was balled up and on her cheek. It seemed it was the only thing supporting her head and keeping it from rushing to the side entirely.

"You're on this case Steve." She clarified, as if Steve didn't understand her. As if the screen was just that all encompassing to the point to where she wasn't thinking straight, like he couldn't have possibly understood that the first time.

His tongue suddenly felt fat, too fat for his mouth. Like it was going to fall out of his mouth at any moment yet simultaneously too heavy to move. He understood her the first time, her meaning was clear as day.

But him dealing with that? That wasn't supposed to be on the table, it was why he was here in the first place. He wanted to leave, to let somebody else handle it. Somebody who actually could handle it.

"Natasha I-" Steve started but he couldn't even finish his own sentence before squinting his eyes and scrunching his nose. Was this real? It was real but she couldn't possibly be serious, it was like he couldn't even look back at the screen, he just kept staring at her.

"Nat." He said, trying not to let his voice crack do to it all. "Nat."

"Nat. Nat I can't-" He swallowed. She wasn't listening, either she wasn't listening or she was deliberately ignoring him and either way Steve was going to try his best to make this all clear to her. "Nat I-"

"Steve," She said, she wasn't even looking at him. "I just- I-"

She stopped entirely and finally looked at him, actually looking at Steve as if he had just walked in the room.

Her eyes looked weak suddenly, like something had shifted within her and fell. It was a look Steve hadn't seen in awhile, something that was beyond her usual exhaustion. It was more than tiredness, there were soft eyes that made Steve's own do the same.

Her hand finds a place on her face again hiding an expression that Steve couldn't see. He didn't know what it was, but today she seemed different, she looked different. The omega did too.

It was stress probably, Steve at least wanted to believe it was stressed because if it wasn't it was new territory. Natasha was at one to express, it wasn't really something she did. Steve didn't even think it was in her most days. But today she seemed off, like she needed this.

"Steve," She said. Her eyes shifted away from him for a few moments, like she was admitting to something. "Right now I just-"

She looked down again and sighed a hard quiet breath. Steve could see the way Natasha a bit her lip momentarily before rubbing a hand across her face and exhaling again as if her whole body was constricting to hold something back.

It's only when both of her hands find their way two holding one of Steve's, blanketing his with one on top and another at the bottom, did she look back at him.

She gave his hand a light squeeze. "Please." She said.

"Please I-" She said with a swallow and even Steve couldn't count the number of times she had cut herself off, breaking her words into pieces just to finish one sentence.

Her eyes lingered somewhere else for a moment again before looking back up at him. "I need this right now."

There was a different expression right then, an expression that looked almost foreign on Natasha's face. It looked almost ashamed in that moment, something that was nearly pleading and holding on to something tightly that Steve didn't know.

Her usual tired expression was gone and replaced with this new feeling entirely, something that made Steve want to freeze and crumble all at the same time.

Natasha had never asked him for anything before. She was usually the rock, the brick that they both leaned on. That Steve had leaned on when his mother died, that Maria leaned on when she had her moments, the entire night shift, the shelter as a whole.

There have even been a few times where he had seen he'll have her own moments of weakness, something that looked akin to a pig flying when it came to her.

But not Natasha, Natasha was serious, approachable but kept everything in order. She had been Steve's confidant for years, and yet everything was kept so close to her chest.

But now something was breaking. Something was crumbling down and while Steve had no idea what it was it was clear as day that whatever it was was taking a toll on her. She had always been there for him, Natasha was his friend. Is his friend.

And in all of those years of that pack Bond she had never once asked anything of him, especially not something that would put him in any harm's way. She seemed to be a hen in that way, yet today all of that had been abandoned.

She had always been there for him; he could be there for her. He could help her through, well, whatever this was. And if somehow this was helping. Even though Steve wanted to walk away, even if he had thoroughly bit off way more than he could chew, he could do it. For her.

"Okay." Steve said, trying to forge a smile for Natasha despite the weighted panic that had just flooded in at what he just agreed to.

He tried to keep his eyes from getting too large because internally, he was screaming the loudest he had done in a long time. His mind flooded with fear and anxiety. He wasn't sure if his palms were actually sweating or if that's just how anxious he was.

But then Natasha smiled, it was weary and small but it was there, and she nearly seemed to drop her head at the weight that was just lifted.

Her voice came in a whisper. "Thanks."

Chapter 16: Approach

I never really thought about what would happen when I got here, to be perfectly fair I never really thought about what would inevitably happen after my duration at the red center.

I hate this place. I hate this car. I hate Aunt Carter and her constant niceties. I hate everything so much that that's all I've been doing, hating everything.

I want to be smart, I want my head to be clear and I wish it was easier said than done. I think it wouldn't be so bad if I could actually feel the hatred within me, right now even if I can't think straight.

I would take hatred over the way my wrists are shaking, the way my palms feel drenched in sweat. I can't let it show, I know I can't, but I can't help it, I can't stop myself.

I can't when the driver comes around and opens the back doors for me and Aunt Carter, and I can practically hear my heartbeat beating something firce within my ears. I can't when he takes her by the hand and helps her smoothly exit the back of the van, true to a driver's edicate.

I see the way she thanks him on par with her standard conduct. He doesn't even look at me, not until he's done addressing her. She's more important than I am, she always will be. I am her pet, a naughty child whose babysitter is always apologizing for their behavior and misconduct. The mother that everyone pities at the store for having so many unruly children running around in the aisles.

She garners pity, a pity which gains her respect though she is just as much of an abomination as I in a way, at least in this place. I guess that gets overlooked though for dealing with us, it's a trade-off in a way.

It was a long moment before he even bothered to look at me though I knew it was best to keep my head held down, I can see it just out of the corner of my eye once he was through talking to her.

I can see the way his face wrinkles up when he looks at me, though only for a moment, and then it disappears. It transforms into a look of plastered on contentment, though I'm not sure if it's because of Aunt Carter's presence or not.

I am a Handmaid. That much is clear, there was no mistaking the uniform or the blinders I wear out here, nor the suitcase in hand, but my position is a lot to people apparently.

We aren't prostitutes, we're wombs. Chambers for our Commanders and their barren Wives, the pot in which the seed is planted and nothing more. Sexual misconduct outside of the ceremony could earn quite the consequence as I've heard from Aunt Agatha, and Aunt Carter has made no mistake about ensuring that we report such things.

But we are in a way privileged I suppose. We get to live with the Commander in his home. We eat his food, we drink his water, we breathe his air.

We do not work, we have no jobs. We have threesomes every month and our very own room and board. I have heard gossip even, that some people will fight and bribe with each other just to have the rights to one or anothers next postings, and we do nothing.

It does seem good. It seems better than having to work all day and all night only to get nothing, then to come home to a tired Econowife. One who does nothing but cook and clean and raise whatever children she might have managed to cough up somehow, living in dingy apartments with no rights to chauffeurs or personal use of cars at all.

Yet somehow he's driving me around.

While he works everyday, I, as this malformed, disgraced, trull of a man, get three hot meals a day prepped and prepared by maids without even having to lift a finger on demand.

I can feel his discontent for me, even before I reach to take his hand afterwards. I can feel how callused his hands are when he takes mine, foraging up the same courtesy that was given to her. I feel him squeeze onto my hand as I take the step down onto the paved road.

I'm not sure if it's because he cares about my dissension or just to showcase to me his true discontent but it becomes clear once the grip becomes tighter and he suddenly snatches away once I'm on the ground.

I don't say anything, I don't even look at him. I just keep my head down despite the itchy nervousness of wanting to look up and see my surroundings, I don't even know what the house looks like. What the Commander looks like, his Wife.

I can feel suddenly the weight of the world crashing down on me and my knees buck at the impending aspect that he's a High Commander. Whoever I'm owned by, whoever I'm about to serve is a High Commander.

He's in The Sons of Jacob.

" …and thank you again like I've said!" I can hear the voice of Aunt Carter slice through my thoughts like a curved knife. I almost jump at her.

I'm assuming she's speaking to the driver, I know she is. I'm not done yet, at least not with her, and I can't help but let the thought of that drag me back into that idea again. She would be there when I meet them, my first posting.

I can barely just make out the blurry visuals of her hand waving to a driver and I can hear him say something back but I'm hardly paying attention at this point. My heart is beating too fast, my arms are twitching. It's hot and cold at the same time, and I want to go home.

I feel the walls closing in, whatever walls are around me in the wide open space of my new district. I don't know where I am and I want to run, I want to escape into myself. Into nowhere.

The sound of the car door slamming and Aunt Carter's hand on my shoulder stops me.

"Are you alright love?"

I have to look at her and my neck snaps so hard in her direction I'm surprised it didn't break. I feel disoriented, like the world is still spinning somehow and her hand on me is the only stable thing in the world.

A small part of me feels almost glad that I'm allowed to look at her right now because I don't think I would have had it in me not to anyways.

I can almost feel my bladder contort and it takes everything in me to hold it all in. "Y-Yes Aunt Carter."

I watch the way she stares at me and it is something there for a moment, if not just a brief moment. It could have been concern but then I realize if it was it was likely her own form of patronizing, and then I know it is because she smooths out my shoulders and smiles at me.

I feel her place another hand on my other shoulder and then drag them both down to my upper arms.

"Ofhoward," She says and then gives my arms a gentle squeeze. "You are going to shine bright my dear."

I feel something within me drop a deep into the pit of my stomach as she makes her way to turn me around. I know it must be behind me, my new home. Just from the way the van was parked I couldn't see it. But whatever I'm about to see now will house me, trap me.

I almost don't want to see it, I can hear the bottom of my boots scrape on the ground as I turn with her. She's on the side of me now, her hands on me as if I'm going to collapse.

It gets worse.

His home is large, something I should have expected from a man with such an apparent high regard. It's extravagant regardless of its rectangle shape, with a door that's located in the exact center. There's two rows of windows, with the same number of them reflected perfectly on either side.

It's a mansion of a house and feels almost federal in a way, with two big white pillars waiting to greet me at the doorway and a rich black door that could swallow me whole.

I can feel myself almost pull away from Aunt Carter, something she must have felt as well because her grip on me tightens up a ten-fold. Enough to both remind me of my attitude and serve as a correction. Enough to remind me to take a tentative step forward as she walks.

I try my hardest not to pull away, to scramble on the floor and do something I don't even know. Because I don't know what I would do, I just know I need to stay away from that house. That prison.

"Ofhoward." She says, her voice a bit stern but still somehow carrying that gentle manner that was almost motherly.

I almost tremble at it and feel something prick on my eyes that feels like stinging. I'm not going to cry, I refuse to cry at least in front of her, at least not now. I'm not sure if it would give her satisfaction or not, I just know she doesn't need it.

I hear her blow up breath through her nose and I almost want to flinch at it but I do hold it together. I'm stronger than that, braver. At least to her I must be.

But she breathes and drops her warning tone. Instead she continues to walk and speak to me.

"You will do great things Ofhoward, I just know you will." She says, and I can feel her looking at me with eyes that are likely calm, gentle. But I don't want to look at her eyes, I don't want her to see the way they look.

But I do want to look at that house, my house. The house that would lock me in like a prisoner, where I would be bedded by the Commander and his Wife. The house that keeps getting closer and closer, that threatens to lock me behind its doors. That my children could possibly-

I feel Aunt Carter's grip on my arms tighten a bit but this time there isn't much animosity behind it. This time it seems almost comforting, something nearly an embrace. She smoothes her hands down my arms and then back up again, gently squeezing my shoulders. It's only now that she speaks, her voice slow and soothing as she guides me.

"I said," She says, moving her right hand behind my back to urge me on, her left hand on my wrist guiding me forward. "`You are my servant'; I have chosen you and have not rejected you."

I feel myself being pushed forward by her and I'm wise not to reject her advances so with her I go. I know her better than this, her gentle mannerisms and soft readings. She was trying to convince me to take the easy way forward instead of the hard way, I know what she can do. So I listen.

"So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God." She says with a smile as we make it to the gate that locks in the house of horrors and plush green grass of my new captors yard behind it.

I stand there on the sidewalk, the last boundary before the inevitable as she releases me to unlock the snow-white wooden gate of the property. "I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand."

Her words are enunciated, strong and firm, yet drug out in a way that I myself can't even rationalize. She speaks to us like this, like children and I suppose in a way we are. We all were, that's what she and Aunt Agatha had always said. Children of the divine.

I want to say it's comforting, I want to say it's soothing and all calming the way my mother's voice used to be. She speaks like I don't understand, like this whole thing is new to me and in a way I suppose it is. But there's something else to it, something deeper than that. Like she was trying to do more than influence me, like she was trying to influence herself.

But it never lasts long, that voice or whatever small inkling of possible personality fades just as soon as it came and she smiles at me with an extended hand at the gate for me to hold.

The shakiness of my palm is something I try to ignore, and if Aunt Carter notices she acts unfazed, choosing to instead help me along off of the sidewalk and into the unknown.

I take her hand because I think somewhere deep down inside I'm scared to walk alone. Down at this winding walk path of red bricks that starkly matches the home, and the large field of deep viridian grass that threatens to pull me in just over the paths edges.

There's something else about it, about all of it that makes me feel ill. It's different from all the other houses even down to the style, a sore thumb in a sea of victorian houses. Even the grass seems greener here, a rich, dark green that the others don't seem to have access to. Though perhaps it shouldn't be so surprising that such a high class Commander would at least have access to the most impeccable lawn.

The only thing grounding me now is her steady hand, the only thing I can hear now is the thumpering of my own heart. I am the best, Aunt Carter had said so herself, the best at holding my shit together. I have to hold it together

"Alrighty dear," She says as we approach the steps. "Up we go."

It is like she's encouraging a child, or a needlessly scared dog. But even despite that, and myself, I do go up the stairs. I ignore the way I can feel each step come through my body, the tenseness running through me and telling me to run the other way.

I know better.

"There we are." She says with a smile, using both hands to smooth out either side of my uniform near the shoulders where it had crinkled. "Isn't that better?"

I squeeze onto the handle of my suitcase clutched into my left hand. There's a stammer that almost comes out, something I know I have to get a grip of before I respond to her. "Yes Aunt Carter."

"Good." She says with an enthusiastic voice and a nod, gently holding onto my shoulders before putting her hands down.

She's looking at me now, a small squint in her eyes and smiles. "I'm sure you will just be wonderful won't you? You'll be just what the Starks need."

Somehow I can tell by her tone that this isn't rhetorical, that I'm actually meant to answer such a question. As if any response I give is going to be of my own anyways. I look at her and bite back the deepest most inner parts of myself.

"Yes Aunt Carter."

Chapter 17

The day went by smoothly after that.

It came as a surprise to Steve but there weren't many complications from that point forward. Ever since he had walked out of Natasha's office and had spent the majority of the day wandering around, trying to find things to keep himself busy and away from the front floor of the building. It was easier said than done.

Everyone's schedules had returned back to normal for the most part. There was nothing but day shift workers in for the rest of the day, which was fine because now it was the actual time for day shift.

But people had been busy, going back and forth from their usual routines for the day and Steve's mind was racing.

He had tried to stay focused on his usual tasks; serving during cafeteria duty for breakfast and lunch, making sure all of the standard cleaning supplies were in order, helping with light janitorial work, and yet even with all that his mind felt as if it was somewhere else entirely.

He couldn't focus, at least not wholeheartedly. There was something always itching and scratching at the back of his mind, something that just wouldn't leave him alone.

Guilt. He knew it was guilt, the thing that had been pestering him all day. He couldn't help but think about him, feeling wave after wave of unrelenting guilt at the fact that mere hours ago he would have completely given up on the man for no real particular reason.

Maybe it was that, or maybe it was the fact that he still wanted to, in a way, leave him be. There was something about that room and the melancholy within it that made Steve just want to avoid it, and he did.

Despite the fact that technically he was his caseworker, that Steve had spent the following thirty minutes after his conversation with Natasha signing paperwork and placing his initials on practically every blank space on every piece of paper pushed in his direction, there was still something deep within him that didn't want that.

He knew Natasha needed it, that likely she needed some sort of peace of mind out of whatever was going on in her life, something about taking on such a daunting task of a man was as fear inducing as it was nerve-racking.

He didn't know what to do, what to say, what to think. The only thing he didn't know was that he had to do something because doing nothing meant more of that. It meant more of that somber scent wafting through the welcoming floor, it meant more guilt and pity, and whatever else was stirring up in Steve's gut.

But it didn't mean he had to jump right In and push himself into the omega's world, it didn't mean he had to do the only thing he was apparently good at with this entire case. He didn't want to cause more damage if that was even possible, it was too much. It was all too much.

He had really done it, and biting off more than he could chew was more than a statement. Steve could only do really what he did best, stay out of his way.

It was only when the afternoon subsided and the day shift was coming to a close did he decide that perhaps doing nothing all day wasn't necessarily helping, or at least the most he could do.

He had spent a few moments before then pacing around the first floor, his mind playing tug of war in his own head, going back and forth relentlessly.

The man needed somebody, that much to him had to be at least a little clear. Though he had seen so unreceptive earlier see wasn't even sure if that it away had reversed their progress, if he had done something wrong.

But as much as he wanted to be against that, the creeping idea that it could have just been because he was ill. That maybe he just wasn't feeling well and did want company. Maybe he did want Steve there, if only for a couple of moments like the day before, maybe he was just lonely.

The more he tried to pull away from that idea the more the war in his head waged on the opposite side. It scared him that maybe he was doing too much too fast, and the image of the omega being content in those brief moments of solitude before crumbling away at the sight of Steve replaying in his head.

He kept seeing it over and over again and he couldn't help but feel wave after wave of guilt, something that contributed to the fact that somewhere deep down inside Steve didn't want to do this.

But the soup. The fact that he had found himself crawling into his bed after and not hunched down underneath that bed frame. It made Steve wonder if there was a chance, that not at least checking on him was doing him a disservice in a way.

It couldn't hurt to at least look, the brunet was his case after all and it was the very least he could do at this point. It was his job to look after him.

And so there he was, standing in front of the door that held only god knew what behind it. He didn't bother to look in the window, if the poor guy was in there and feeling any form of relaxation Steve couldn't bear to see that fall away again.

It took him holding a breath, or maybe two until he could muster something within himself to approach the door with a knock.

"Hey, it's me again."

At this point Steve didn't expect a response from him, he wasn't even sure if he even wanted it anymore. Instead he stood there for a few seconds, waiting for something within himself to go forward. As if he didn't have to do it himself. He did.

He had to remember how to be careful when approaching the room, but more than that he had to remember how to keep his composure. He didn't know what he was about to see every time he came into the room he didn't. But somehow when he looked at the man this time he gave no reaction.

He wasn't sure if it was the daunting idea that maybe he had gotten used to seeing the condition of the man or not, or if his body wasn't and he had gone to some sort of shock with Steve just standing there with the door closed behind him, looking.

He was on the floor, his back facing the wall and with seemingly no care in the world at how cold the floor was. His clothes still lay in the position they were in before, crumpled and barely peeking out from under the bed.

Maybe that was the only word that could be used to describe him now, crumpled. He just laid there in the middle of the tiled floor, his dark hair drenched with so much sweat it looked nearly black.

There was a shiver in him, something so clear even Steve could see it from where he stood. The large stump left over from his former arm laid as much as it could against ribs, all but fusing into his body while his other arm acted almost like a pillow, legs drawn up in an almost fetal position and squeezing nearly into his chest.

Steve could hear him breathing, a raspy almost mechanical like noise that made him sound less and less like a man with each breath. It was hoarse and dry, like it was almost forced and there was something about the whole thing that just made Steve stand there, like he was being forced to watch.

He wished he had left, maybe retrospect did that to people, because within a few moments the man's head tilted back. Steve almost didn't want to look back at him.

He looked so tired, as if it was exhausting to do just that. As if it was too exhausting to merely take in his surroundings anymore. There was sweat practically drenching his face with dry cracked lips that had to hurt to some degree but he didn't seem to acknowledge.

Instead he stared at Steve, panting and heaving with a breath that sounded almost liquidy at times. His eyes were no longer bucked and blown wide open as they were before, but were instead as slow and dim as his blinking.

It seemed as if he was barely focusing, his eyelids low and forcing themselves open by a weak and fluttering thread. His panting was almost rhythmic, keeping up a subtle beat that made his whole being jerk with it from the frigid floor.

That was the only moment Steve was reminded of the fact that he himself actually had a heartbeat because he could hear it practically blooming in his chest at that moment, throbbing and pulsing like it was threatening to clamber and break though his ribs.

He couldn't help but look at him, and he couldn't help but sweat himself. The man in front of him had paleness that could be on par with the floor of the room and a soft look at Steve as if he was finished. Like he wasn't even all the way there anymore.

It was only when Steve took a step forward that he was reminded that the omega was even alive because the raspy sound that left his throat was the same as the only other noise the man had ever made.

This one was nothing like the ones before it. It was little and weak, just barely hanging on to the raspy-like sound that all whines made. It sounded more like the small yips of an infant and less like the sounds Steve had grown used to from him so far.

His face had crinkled up with the sound, his entire body looking as if it had took whatever small drops of energy he had left just to form the expression. Pale blue eyes looked up at him from his spot, something desperate and pleading within him despite the apparent malady that ran through him.

Steve hadn't even realized that he took a step forward until then, his body running completely on autopilot towards omega like there was something he could even do. His own conditions and immune system weren't even on his mind at that point, as if Steve didn't even care if he could somehow get sick by him.

But he did stop, the sound of the man was the only thing that could make him stop because he was scared. Because even at this point, with everything going on, the omega's mind was still under the assumption that Steve could hurt him. That despite all of this, in his own mind at least, he was still in danger.

He was still trying to appeal to Steve. Panting, and sick, and on the floor he was still trying, and there was something about that made Steve back up.

But once the blond started he couldn't stop, he just kept backing up. Somehow it felt as if he were moving but the omega wasn't. As if he was somehow inching closer to him from his spot on the floor, head tilted back and all.

Steve didn't know what was happening, he just knew he had to do something because the hitching breath and itchiness in his own lungs had started to blossom, his heart moving as if he had ran a marathon.

There was something about him, sick and puddled on the floor that made Steve feel the world move. It made his own stomach fumble from inside of him and the walls pulsate all around.

He could practically hear it, the beeps of a monitor, the weird sterile smell of a hospital. His face, the omega's face. Trembling, and scared, and vulnerable. Like he was done, like he knew he was done.

It didn't stop, not even when Steve reached for his inhaler and took one, two puffs. It took his back nearly meeting up with a wall for him to stop, for him to look over and find the door. For him to grab the door handle with a wrist that was so shaky he could have sworn he fell ill.

His guilt was gone and he couldn't only stand there. He needed help, someone needed to help at the very least and he couldn't do it, he didn't know what to do. So he did the only thing he could.

He ran out of there and up to the medical wing.

Chapter 18

"Right," A man in a white coat said, staring at the screen in front of him, a single hand brushing against his chin as he squinted at the video.

Steve didn't know what he was doing, he had no idea why he was here and could honestly barely remember even going up to those elevator doors and fumbling around with the buttons until he remembered which one the medical floor was even on.

Though technically it wasn't a floor, they hadn't really had to budget for such an extensive addition, more so it was a floor that housed all of the many rooms and stations of the extensive medical staff they had here at the shelter, or at least something Steve would call extensive.

At the moment the man in front of him now, Bruce, had been staring into a tablet, one that had given him access to one of the many video and audio dual cameras that were spread throughout the facility. More specifically though, into the residences rooms.

Right now his face seemed unreadable, the doctor's. It was something that wasn't particularly helping with Steve's aggressive leg bouncing. It was like his nerves just wouldn't quell, and the idea that Bruce's formidable expression could be some sort of brace for bad news certainly wasn't helping ease anything over.

Honestly Steve couldn't remember much, aside from the way he had come in here, his entire body nearly out of breath, and the way Bruce stared at him before going into some sort of monologue about how he would really appreciated it if he would bother to actually use his puffer.

Well, that and his own terrible attempt at trying to relay what he had just seen to him, and that was mainly Steve stumbling over his own words and simultaneously trying to breathe. A task that seemed quite hard considering he could barely stand and Bruce was giving him that look.

A look that could have nearly matched the one he had on right now, a look that Steve had to take two puffs out of his inhaler to get rid of, though that might have also been because he literally couldn't have continued at that point.

"Yeah this looks…" Bruce started before squinting his eyes and placing the tablet down on his office desk, his swivel chair rolling a bit behind him from the action. He clasped his hands together. "Bad. This looks bad."

Steve sat there, almost uncomfortable with the idea of even being in this room. There was something about the idea of something being wrong with somebody that made him avoid coming on too this floor all together in the first place, let alone with the amount of sheer anxiety coursing through his body.

He didn't deal directly with residence, at least not with stuff like this, that much was clear. But more than that, being a case manager encompassed everything, even the parts like this. The parts where people got sick or died, the parts where people were on suicide watches, the parts where people had breakdowns and had to be put on medication or even isolated.

All of the parts that encompassed the use of most of this floor.

And Steve didn't like it, he didn't like the idea of having to come here, people only came here when things went wrong. People never required medical assistance here for the birth of a child or to donate a kidney, it was almost always something Gilead related. Always something horrific.

Something Steve prefered to stay away from.

But now he didn't have a choice and it was something Gilead related, and something he couldn't just walk away from. Technically, now he was the newest omega's caretaker in a number of ways, even aside from that fact his own sense of crippling guilt over the whole ordeal wouldn't allow him not to at least report this to somebody.

He only ever came here for refills on his inhaler amongst other things, of course Canadian hospitals were more than easy to navigate. But when one's job had a built-in medical ward and a half decent worker's insurance policy, why not? Though that was something he was starting to regret now.

"Um," Bruce said before pushing himself away from his desk and sighing. "Well I'm glad you're here."

Steve wasn't exactly sure what he was supposed to say to that, instead he just bounced his leg with some sort of rhythm that only Steve knew the beat of, barely holding it together as Bruce pushed his glasses back up to the brim of his nose.

"Okay," Bruce tried again and looked at Steve, brown eyes to blue. His face changed to one of hard laced concern, though if Steve were being perfectly honest that was just how Bruce's face appeared most of the time.

"Well just from looking at it," Dr. Banner sighed. "I'd guess a form of progressed pneumonia or a possible influenza strain."

His voice sounded monotone, almost too monotone for Steve to find any comfort in it, that would be if he were paying attention anyway. His brain was quite literally flustered to the point where focusing on anything that wasn't some sort of course of action was pretty much obsolete in his head.

It was just how the beta sounded, he couldn't help it. But to Steve it was one of the last things he wanted to hear right now. What if's and maybe's while there was somebody down there that could quite literally be dead by now, something Steve seemingly wasn't too prepared to grasp with because his fingernails dug into his palm at the idea.

It was the doctor's job to be calm, after all he was head of this quadrant of the shelters services, and for him to be as panicky or easy to rile up while dealing with such a delegate occupation wasn't exactly helpful to anyone. How he did that was beyond Steve, his ongoing docile demeanor seemed untouchable to Steve.

But he had always been like that, Bruce, and ever since Steve had begun to work here he had never really seen the tanner man show an imbalance of panic or even slight anger in his decor.

Really the two didn't even talk much, besides the couple of meetings where they were required to or whenever Steve actually remembered to pick up his prescriptions, and now here Steve was, sitting in Bruce's office with a heart rate that Steve was surprised didn't kill him then and there.

"You'd guess?" Steve inquired as if somehow the man in front of him was lying, as if he had a reason to.

A deepened voice cleared before answering him. "Yes, I'd guess."

The way he said it made Steve want to swallow, realizing how stupid it was that he assumed Bruce would want to do anything but help, if for no other reason than it just being his job. He sighed to himself before trying to answer Bruce but he beat them to the punch.

"Look," He said it away as if he was taking in his own response to the earlier question, Steve was stressed. It was clear as day and the man before him knew it. Even if his own conclusion was that the person in this discussion was Steve's responsibility, and it was stressing him out to a unprecedented degree.

Honestly Steve would have ran with that, if that was the conclusion, and somehow he knew it was without even having to ask. Not only was this his case but this was also technically his first case, something that had less to do with his stress than his own guilt, but at this point it didn't matter.

"I do want to be sure though before attempting to assess anything, but first we would have to get a sample." The way he said it, sighing first, made it sound more like a daunting task rather than an interaction with a potential patient, and Steve near felt the same way, even before Bruce kept going.

"A swab test should be significant enough, I would go for a blood sample but…"

“He had an... episode.” Steve interrupted flatly, a hand on his neck, head tilted."I know."

He didn't want to hear about all the ways in which the person he was dealing with was unstable, and he really didn't need a reminder about him biting people of all things.

The upward flicker of Dr. Banner's eyebrow told Steve everything he needed to know, in that he didn't know that Steve actually knew that, and in normal circumstances he wouldn't have. Information like that, whether it was an attack or not, was still technically within the bounds of medical privacy.

If it weren't for the daunting task of Steve being more or less responsible for him, it probably would have been inappropriate information to know, and it seemed that fact sunk in just as quickly as the other realization for Bruce because his face normalized just as quickly as it quirked.

"Alright." Bruce said instead.

---

They had gathered a team, or really more so Dr. Banner had gathered up a small rally of nurses and a handful of technical assistants.

They were dressed head-to-toe in medical wear that Steve could only describe as anxiety-inducing. He was vaguely aware of what they were going to look like, as the doctor had told him that they didn't know what the omega had or if it was contagious. That they would come in as if it was the worst case scenario.

Steve himself had been swabbed, as well as them taking a blood and urine samples in the process. It wasn't the most comfortable he had ever been in his life, though far from the worst. Though, that could mainly be because he couldn't stop thinking about the man downstairs.

The blond had been shaky the whole while up leading Bruce's team down, all the way up, until they made it up to the omega's door, and only because the nerves had gotten worse.

It was because Steve had just realized what the omega was going to see, and the last person he actually did see before all of this would have been him.

They were, wearing suits that Steve could only describe as alien. White disposable coveralls with face shields and boots, it would have looked something out of a movie had Steve not been working here as long as he had. They were wearing boots with the rest of the ensemble, black and rubber.

Really Steve couldn't even recognize half of them, and some of them had been working there for years, their personal protective equipment obscuring their faces entirely, and Steve could only feel guilt at what that kind of look would indefinitely do to the man inside.

They went over something brief, probably a small plan of action of some sort but whatever it was it wasn't directed Steve at all and he felt numb at the idea of them going in there, even as they did go in there. The only thing he heard was the door shutting behind them as they piled in. Steve could barely watch from his new found place on the windows ledge.

But he did.

The omega bluntly reacted, their presence definitely not going unnoticed, and scooted himself away from the newcomers. Steve could feel the immense flood of guilt washing over hin as two of the nurses lined themselves up against the bed to keep him from entering under it, and the fact that he had told them he might just pull something like that.

Man looked barely coordinated as he moved, trying to use his knees more so than his single arm to push away, and Steve could see the sticky terror that flooded him at the bed being blocked.

But the omega had barely been looking at the doctor, clad in uniform. He was looking at him, suddenly and pleading in a way that he hadn't before, in a way that was desperate.

Steve didn't even have enough time to register that, to register the fact that he was looking at him. That he saw him as an option out before the blond saw the man’s throat contract, his eyes going wide with pain and fear and panic. His stomach jerked and—

“Shit,” Bruce cursed, a short, cut-off little declaration as something wet escaped the omega's throat and his head launched downward. The mess had spattered on the floor, and the terror that found itself plastered on the omega's face was irrefutable, as if he had just seen something that had died right on the spot.

He backed away from the doctor, scrambling up, his steps short and tense, but his eyes never left Bruce. Instead they were bucked and glossy, his body slightly ajar and his single hand clutched across his side like a sash.

“It’s... okay—you’ll be okay,” With that Bruce stepped towards the bigger of the two, hands out, who went wild with fear, the control and awareness bleeding away from his eyes as his eyes flickered about all the faces in the room, his head scrambling as if he had gotten himself into some sort of trouble when another pair of hands held onto him.

“Whoa there, big guy. Let’s just lie here a second, huh?” A voice said behind him and Steve's own heart was slamming inside him because the omega cowered.

Immediately the omega's body reacted to the pair of hands behind him and he snatched his body in the opposite direction, almost completely forgetting that Bruce was nearly directly behind him. The nurse in front of him continued to walk forward, trying to say something soothing that even Steve couldn't register when the bigger man brushed up against Bruce and flipped around.

"Hey, hey-" Bruce said, continuing his calm demeanor, and the omega trembled. "It's okay, you're alright."

But he wasn't okay, and he wasn't alright because he pushed himself away from either of them, scrambling away to the other side of the room where the medical staff hadn't yet occupied.

There were so many of them, medics, at least six, and he was trying- trying to look at them all at once somehow. As if there was a way he could get out of whatever he was in.

It made Steve's brain run on something that could be only described as being on fast forward, a cold sweat running up him at the idea that he could possibly bite somebody else. That he could hurt somebody or himself.

It made the alpha want to immediately run in there, to help somehow or at least to do something. The man looked so scared, the staff making movements as if they were herding him out of the corner he had almost successfully been able to clamber to.

But two assistants had made it there before he had gotten the chance, and the rest of the staff had cleared out the middle, all forming around the edges and walls of the room, centering him within its emptiness. His head never stopped jerking as he found himself pushed in the middle, trying to avoid each and every one of them.

He had nearly stepped in his own sickness, still wet from before and his fingers bore into his sides, his body crouched and knees bent. He seemed to be trying to look at everybody in a way, brown hair slipped onto his face with his movements.

It was only when Bruce spoke did the man pay him any sort of undivided attention and pushed his body away from his voice, nearly surprising himself that he had gotten closer to the others and stared

"Jones," He could hear Bruce say with his collected mien. "Could you retrieve samples of the emesis? The top layer might've remained uncontaminated."

Jones, whoever he was, didn't give any sort of verbal response. Instead only Steve could see the short little head nod he gave before stepping forward which immediately sent the omega wrenching in the other direction.

If there was any layer of calm still in the other man it was indefinitely depleted at the sight of the nurse pulling out a syringe. It skimmed over the wet, hot puddle of mess that was still on the floor, pulling some of it into its tube, the nurse filling it up until it was full of brown bile that was twinged with some sort of blue.

Something deep painted the idea of what was within the tube, blue. Round blue little pebbles that were surrounded by things that only the omega knew, liquefied and gagged up.

It made Steve's throat prickle up momentarily at the idea that he had done that. That was all him, and he couldn't help but let the crippling thought that maybe that's what had made him sick. Maybe the sugar was too much too soon, that he could have been allergic to something in it. That this was all happening because of him.

Something deep and purely animalistic seemed to swallow the omega's mind as he backed away from the nurse, skin pale and blue eyes bucked. A feeling that wasn't comforted by his body nearly ramming into another medic with his speed to get away.

The newest encounter threw him into another swivet and he found his form actually crashing into another. His response was immediate and his head immediately swiveled around, his body nearly following suit when a pair of gloved hands found their way on his shoulder.

"Hey, hey let's sit down, huh?" This voice was soothing, almost calm and tranquil given the situation. The omega's eyes locked onto her, his back arching down as if she could swallow him whole.

Steve could see his mouth nearly move, a sentence of some sort trying to force its way out, but that's all that it was. His face looked strained, but the panic hadn't fully filtered out and his throat tensed, as if his body was preparing him for another episode.

"Woah- woah now," She said. He nearly jerked away, and even Steve could see the way the gears were turning in his head, sweat soaking through his clothes and his hand squeezing onto himself harder.

He nearly moved away before another pair of hands seized him from the back and he tried to move away but the woman in front of him came closer, her voice ever sweet.

Steve could see the wet that started prickling up in his eyes and could feel his own fingers digging into the frame of the door window, his own anxiety seeming to grip him with a force and nervousness that was uncanny.

Something started to bubble up within the omega and he tried to snatch himself away before another pair of hands grabbed onto him, and it was like a switch went off in him.

He made a noise that was somewhere near a gurgled croak and pushed back against them, there was something about him, even in his panicked state that seemed filtered. Like he wasn't quite all the way there. There was something, intangible to the rest of them, that seemed to be holding him down internally. Squeezing on to him with an impenetrable grip that they couldn't feel.

He tensed and let out an odd, strangled sound as the crew struggled to push him to the ground. If it wasn’t for the apparent illness that was plaguing his body, at this point Steve knew with all certainty he could have definitely cleared all six of the hands on him.

"Shh- Shh," She said again, adding her pair of hands on to the jumbled mess of gloves on him, his body to weak to reject them. "Hey, look, why don't we sit down?"

Steve watched as his throat tightened and immediately swallowed, the omega's eyes practically glued on her face as an airy noise left his throat.

The man's body, despite himself, did its best to keep his dissension towards the floor as avoidable as possible, but they had done their best to ensure that he laid on his right side, keeping his left hand from bracing the ground. But the omega didn’t sit so much as he collapsed onto his side and immediately started trying to get up again, head low and shivering.

Bruce made a noise veering on sympathy and walked around to crouch down in front of him, helping the other medical staff hold him down. The man was shaking already, growing weak from whatever was running through his system, but Bruce's hands were gentle even as he squeezed onto him, holding him in place.

But soon they were all holding him, and they were all over him. Grabbing onto him and holding him down as the omega struggled against their grip and Steve sucked in the biggest breath of his life at the sight of the man panicking against the tile, struggling to get away from them.

But there were too many, and, apparently he was too unwell because his attempts to move away were slurred and sloppy. So much so that Steve had nearly forgotten his heaped form on the floor from only a couple of minutes ago.

It wasn't ideal, and Steve knew this even for the staff. But something within him wanted to rush in there and do something, to help in some sort of way. Even if it was doing nothing but calming the omega down. But he didn't.

Instead he watched as a pair of gloves fingers reached into a pocket of one of the nurses coats, pulling out a long cotton swab. It took a moment before anyone did anything and a curt nod from Bruce before the nurse proceeded. Steve almost couldn't watch.

The omega thrashed immediately at the sight of it and made a yelp that was barely audible, trying to fling his arm away from the grip of the other assistants.

If it was an inconvenience the medical staff seemed to pay it no mind. The nurses proceeded with almost no hesitation. But apparently, the idea of that thing going anywhere near his face freaked him out, because the omega launched his head away in a sloppy attempt to get away from them.

Bruce sighed, Steve could tell by the way his back moved and he knew if he could see him, he could likely see the way his face likely dropped.

This hadn't been at Bruce's first time dealing with a difficult patient, that much Steve was aware of. Which was exactly why Steve tried to steer clear of any residencies with ongoing medical complications, it was a rarity for the sight to be pretty.

Instead someone said something to the doctor and Bruce said something back that Steve could barely hear over all the omega's thrashing. But the blond could feel his own breath caught in his throat at the sight of one of the nurses clamping down on the amputee's jaw.

His mouth was forced open, and someone said something to the omega that likely went straight over his head because the moment the swab was pushed into throat, Steve could see the way his feet started scraping at the ground.

Gloved fingers gouged a swab into the man’s throat and Steve watched as the man jerked, fright blooming into glassy pale eyes. A strangled sound erupted from him and pairs of hands were sure to squeeze down onto what ever flesh was left of his left arm, keeping it still and grounded. The other full limb was practically tensing and spasming on the floor, as if it were sentient all on its own.

Steve could see as his legs straightened and scooted up, his feet sliding about the floor, but their hands were like talons. They held him still and straight, practically gripping into his limbs like prey, and the omega could only scramble aimlessly on the floor in response.

Until it was over.

Bruce had said something to someone else and the swab was pulled from his mouth, though the pairs of hands continued to clutch onto him for a moment longer. The omega had stopped fighting only seconds after and seemed to have went limp under them.

Steve couldn't see a thing, he couldn't even see the swab actually entering his throat with Bruce's body blocking the view, not that any part of him actually wanted to see.

What he could see was another nurse take it from the first and place it into some sort of plastic tube like casing whilst Bruce spoke to the man on the floor, though it didn't seem like he was giving any sort of reaction.

It was only when Bruce had tilted his body did Steve actually see him. He looked almost dazed compared to earlier, his eyes overgrown and large. For the briefest of moments, Steve wondered hysterically if they had given him some sort of sedative.

But when he looked up at Steve, his skin a pale white beneath the spattering of saliva on his mouth and the drenching sweat, he could see the way his face twisted even through the mountain of hair.

And maybe Steve’s the one who's shaking.

Chapter 19

He didn't know what to do.

After that it was as if Steve's entire brain had nearly shut down.

So much had happened after. The nurses had left after collecting the simple, with only bits and pieces of murmured whispers on the way out of the room. The only person who seemed to have any interest in staying behind was Bruce, saying something to the omega that Steve couldn't quite hear, nor was he trying to.

But it seemed that the omega was just as equally unfocused on Bruce's words because Steve couldn't see a single look of recollection on the brunet's face. As a matter of fact, Steve couldn't even see the omega's face. After their medical team had all removed themselves from restricting his body he had rolled over onto his left side, obstructing it from view.

Only Bruce could know what he looked like in that moment, and Steve couldn't imagine it being anything close to positive. The man was seemingly ignoring the pressure he placed on what was left of his left arm, all in an attempt to shield himself from Bruce.

Steve could see the way his body trembled while folding in on himself, his head dipped low and away from the doctor, and his single hand pressed into his side.

During some point in that one-sided conversation Steve could see the way the omega shifted his thighs again. Trembling, he seemed to be trying to appease the beta in some way, and the thought that he might have been trying to apologize in some way made Steve feel an emotion he couldn't quite describe.

Just the idea that he was trying to apologize, that he was sorry, that he was sorry for anything was enough to repulse Steve.

It was the only thought Steve could conjure up for the act because the man on the ground wasn't even looking at Bruce. Instead he kept his head practically tucked into his chest, balling in on himself the way someone would trying to sleep on a particularly cold night.

There was just so much flat out fear on him that Steve couldn't help but let the display invoke so much pity out of him, he almost felt sick. He had been difficult to even somewhat subdue for the procedure, that much was clear. But he didn't have to be sorry because he was scared.

That whole display forced a million thoughts into Steve's head, and his head couldn't help but go into overdrive about what they had done to him. What anyone could have possibly done to set him into such a frenzy for such an overly trivial procedure.

Steve knew that throat swabs didn't exactly feel luxurious, he had had more than his fair share of those in life. But for such a reaction, for that much sheer panic to flow through someone over something so basic to him was nearly too much.

He could only imagine what the omega must have been thinking, what thoughts flew through him when they dragged him down. When they held him against the floor with her gloved fingers and unrecognizable faces, shielded with so much medical gear it must have looked nearly alien to him.

Even though Steve couldn't hear much while Bruce was talking to him he could hear the soft murmuring of his voice in the room, a murmur that stopped at the action of the man's leg shifting in the way that it did.

The blond could see the way Bruce had gotten up to exit at that point, whatever else he had to say had suddenly become unimportant at the display. That apparently, had been enough for the beta, but the thing that was enough to invoke a reaction in Steve was how badly the omega flinched at his departure.

The consistent and tiny movements of his body had all of a sudden screeched to some sort of halt and turned into one fluid jerk, his side escaping the clutch of his hand when it flew suddenly to his head.

The movement was apparently enough to throw even Bruce off because even Steve could hardly keep up with how fast he had taken a few steps back at the sharp gesture, and how the omega didn't even try to defend himself.

Steve couldn't help but think that there was a way in his own mind he had thought that Bruce was angry at him, that all of his scrambling from before had angered him somehow, and he was fully prepared for whatever that entailed without even trying to preserve himself.

It was then that Steve remembered that this man had actually bitten somebody, him.

It seemed almost impossible for Steve to imagine him doing anything to harm anyone. For all the encounters they had the man hadn't so much as lifted a finger towards him, and even then there he was, cowering on the ground at the fact that Bruce had left him alone, that he was walking away from him.

It was hard to imagine him actually hurting anyone, at least for Steve it was. It wouldn't have taken much even with the omega's current condition for him to at least manhandle him slightly. Bruce wasn't exactly the largest man Steve had ever seen in his life, although he was still considerably larger than him, Bruce didn't look like that much of a challenge for the omega to handle.

But he did nothing, he just sat there holding that bold position on the floor even as the doctor took his leave, the quickest Steve had ever seen the beta move in his life.

Steve had let go of the door at that point but it wasn't that much of a stretch for him to imagine that the omega hadn't moved from his spot on the floor even when Bruce had left, something that wouldn't leave Steve alone until Bruce had opened his mouth to speak to him.

He remembered him telling him to go home, that there was nothing they could do until tomorrow, that he would work diligently to try and get those results in. There was a talk of Steve possibly even catching whatever the omega had by proximity, and Steve could barely remember mumbling that he felt fine back in his haze.

Whatever he had said didn't appease Bruce though, and Steve could barely recall him saying something about being possibly asymptomatic or harboring an early contamination, too early for symptoms.

Whatever he had said had clearly been enough for Steve, or his mind was just too worn thin to protest because he found himself leaving without much of a fight, not even glancing back at that door.

He was home all day and could barely sleep, could barely draw to even distract himself. Or eat. The events just kept replaying in his head over and over again, a constant and continuous loop of the omega's face. His body.

His nose, his ears, his eyes. Grey blue and staring at him through the window of that door as if he was some sort of last result, as if he needed Steve somehow.

He didn't know him, he had just met him and yet he needed him, doing all but reaching out at him. It was the only way Steve could see it, the only thing that could have possibly meant.

Shaking and trembling on that floor he had looked at him, staring, pleading. Saying nothing and everything all at the same time and Steve had no idea what that meant. If he expected something out of him, if he was begging for them to stop, if he wanted Steve to make them stop.

If he knew Steve had something to do with it.

The last thought on his mind at that time made him feel something penitential, something deep and uncomfortable. Steve could remember staring at the walls, the ceilings and the floor of his apartment all over the fact that this all was his own doing.

All of this, everything that that man was going through at this point felt rested entirely on his shoulders. Especially when all he had to do was stay away, especially when the omega never asked for any of this in the first place.

Peace, that was all the man wanted. That was all Steve could see on his face at the revelation that the Pearl Girls couldn't see him, when he had checked that window. It must have been all he wanted, all he dreamed of for likely years and now all of that had been thwarted by him.

He could have been fine more or less, maybe even his processing would have been smoother. Steve couldn't help but let his mind run rampant, the guilt eating him away so badly he could hardly sleep. It ate at him that maybe the man's recovery would have been better if it wasn't for him

He had wanted to break something at some point, had wanted to cry, to let whatever in him out but it was almost as if it couldn't escape. Instead it just sat there, eating him up all night, eating him up to the point where he had hardly even noticed the sun come up, had hardly even noticed he had spent all day with that simplistic thought in his mind.

It was only when the silvered brightness of early daylight had came in through his windows did he realize that he had spent the entire day in bed, with sleep and hunger becoming irrelevant.

He hadn't showered. He hadn't changed clothes. He hadn't done anything, and he still wasn't.

At the moment Steve was just staring up at the ceiling, his mind is still roaming, though mildly. There were only brief pockets of time where he wasn't thinking about it at all, but even then he just couldn't sleep.

He pushed his hands on his face and held them there for a brief moment, his palms over his eyes and fingers splayed about on his forehead. It took a moment before he let out a particularly deep breath, feeling like it was the first real breath he'd had in ages.

The thought of calling in brushed his mind, though Natasha would have undoubtedly come rushing to his door or been blowing up his phone with voicemail after voicemail. It wasn't like him to take off, it wasn't as if he had things to do outside of work. But even if he did, Steve honestly didn't think he probably would take off anyway.

Maybe it was the fact that he was constantly second-guessing himself or the fact that work was one of the only stable and consistent things in his life, but unsurprisingly Steve didn't do much.

He didn't have kids, he didn't have a partner or a bunch of pets. It was sort of a monopoly at this point that he hadn't had at least one of those things considering his coworkers.

Carol and Maria had kids, or at least one kid and she seemed to be a handful by the talk of her. He had heard talk of Sam and Riley thinking about expanding their home in one way or another, and Clint and Natasha had pets, at least two. Sometimes Steve lost track but it usually seemed to be a point of contention with those two. Though everything seemed to be a point of contention with those two lately.

For the first time since he had gotten home his brain actually bothered to wonder somewhere else, to Natasha. He hadn't actually thought about her in a while, or whatever else was going on in her life.

But she seemed stressed, more so than usual since their newest resident's arrival. It could have possibly been Steve overthinking it but she hadn't got like that in a long time, even with new arrivals in the past.

It was like she was doing too much, almost as if she really was everywhere all the time. The piles of paperwork in her office seemed to be almost dwarfing Steve in size, and although that could've just been everything in general, it seemed like they really were this time.

She really was a workaholic essentially but it had become a lot more explicit. Something that worried Steve, something that he knew better than to just bring up, and something he definitely couldn't get into with her since he was going to likely be the one requesting a caseworker transfer from her.

It made him squeeze his fingertips into his forehead at the thought and drag his hands off of his face, letting his wrists go limp on the bed and huff. Steve had to get up because if he didn't he would worry her, and the last thing he wanted to do was stress anybody else out more than he already had.

So Steve was going to get up, he was going to shower and actually bother to put some sustenance in his body so he wouldn't walk around looking like a disheveled zombie at work even if that was how he felt.

But instead he tossed his legs over the side of the bed and buried his face into his hands again, sighing. He didn't want to go, he didn't want to walk in there and even look at the omega. It was selfish, it was wrong, and apparently Steve seemed to be the only person that could get through to him. But Steve didn't want to do it.

The thought of it made his eyes burn, the omega's shriveled face permanently engraved in his head. Something he caused, and Steve didn't want to be anywhere near him.

His cheeks burned and then his face burned, and it wasn't long before he could feel his whole body burning up at the fact that this was all his fault, and not fixing it was probably worse than starting it. But he just didn't want to do anything worse, to hurt him further.

There was an increasingly strong chance that maybe the poor guy just wanted to be left alone from the start, and now Steve was forced to interact with him when the omega clearly didn't want to. When Steve himself didn't even want to.

But that thought didn't last for too long, something that was likely a good thing all considering because Steve wasn't sure just how long he could sit there and think about it, with even the idea of it becoming too much.

Because there was a knock on his door.

The first thing he thought of course was that it was undoubtedly a group of Pearl Girls, something that would have been bold for them to do all considering.

Going door-to-door with something that hadn't been done in years, likely because tension was too high, not that it wasn't a smart move. But even beside that point Steve wasn't in the mood to deal with anyone, let alone see an outfit of a person that right now would have caused him to have some sort of episode.

Even the thought of seeing them made his heart rate raise, now really wasn't the time.

Because he knew it, Steve knew they were directly responsible for whatever had happened to the omega across the border even if that didn't make any sense. Even if they were too young to orchestrate the sufferings of others, they were training to be, they were willing to.

That was the thought that stayed on Steve's mind as he got out of the bed, the frustration I've seen them out weighing his exhaustion. No, it didn't make any sense. On a normal day in his mind without a shadow of a doubt he knew that these girls didn't have a choice.

But right now he didn't care. He felt bad, he felt guilty, and flinging that guilt on someone else as a deflection for a few seconds was more than enough him.

He still hadn't changed from yesterday black shirt, jeans and all. He had absolutely no plan on doing so either, especially not for these people. If an peeved alpha answering a door barefoot at dawn was what they wanted, it was what they were going to get.

Except that's not what happened.

Instead what happened was that he did open the door, the piece of wood almost flying off of its hinges with the speed he put into it. He was fully prepared to see a face clad in white, a pamphlet clutched in hand.

There was a woman standing at the door but not one of the ones he was expecting. Instead they were almost face-to-face, green eyes reflecting back at blue with Steve realizing they were way too close. The red hair made him back up and he suddenly realized who it was.

"Hey."

The way the words left Natasha's mouth sounded almost low, a completely different reaction than Steve was expecting seeing as the impression he had just left.

But there was something else off with her, something blatantly more obvious.

Her stance was weird, her usually straightened back falling into a somewhat slouched position. She wasn't looking at him and more or less her head was held low, though not enough for someone who didn't know her to notice.

Her usual heels were gone and replaced with flats that being the reason why they were standing so close to one another in height. Usually Natasha was taller than him, though without the shoes her true height became more apparent.

Her usual apparel was also gone, something Steve definitely noticed. Natasha practically wore the same outfit everyday despite the fact of there being a complete lack of dress code, and her usual pencil skirt and blouse was replaced with casual wear.

Well, at least something that could be considered casual for Natasha due to the fact that a shacket and a pair of dress pants for her usually wouldn't cut it.

Her lack of makeup and unstraightened hair wasn't even on the forefront of Steve's mind because he was too busy dropping the idea of seeing a Pearl Girl and taking Natasha, and the fact that she was even here at all.

Because Natasha was, by all means, a workaholic. If it wasn't for the fact that she didn't have a bedroom at the shelter or a way to realistically install one, she could have really fooled Steve and most of the people who worked there.

She was almost always there, especially as of lately, and the thought of that made something heavy drop to the pit of Steve's stomach because for her to be here meant something had to have gone terribly wrong.

He swallowed and nearly felt sick at the thought. For Natasha to actually come here meant something had to be out of control, and she hadn't come here in years, not since the event of his mother's funeral had finally subsided for Steve, let alone take off work for any other reason.

"Hey." Steve said, because he wasn't exactly sure what else to say. Something within him wanted to sigh at seeing her and he wasn't sure if that was out of relief or because now he had something else to worry about. Maybe it was both.

"I um," She said as this was supposedly completely normal for her, though the hand on her neck and Natasha's complete lack of eye contact said otherwise. "I need to show you something."

With a normal case on a normal day this wasn't typical of Natasha in the slightest, the way she was holding herself was odd to say at the least and something about her altogether just wasn't right to him.

She looked slumped. Beat down and tired, and there was just something about her that had looked pushed to the brim. It was a way he hadn't seen Natasha in a long time, not since the passing of Sarah Rogers anyway.

She looked raw, almost hurt in a way that Steve couldn't describe. Something that almost looked so wrong for her, almost alien.

For something like this, for her to be off of work in any situation was usually something Steve would have called out or at least brought attention to.

It wasn't normal, it was weird and if it hadn't been for his lack of sleep, if it hadn't been for Natasha's avoidant gaze and held body language clearly indicating she didn't want to talk about whatever had happened, Steve would have pointed it out.

But her mouth was pursed together in a way that was stubborn, in a way that was barely holding on to whatever guise she was trying to project right then, and Steve knew it wasn't going to go anywhere.

Steve barely had any time to even think about what any of that could have meant and hardly acknowledged the way his gut twisted at the idea of that if she had to show him something it definitely wasn't good, and that the omega probably had something to do with it.

The only acknowledgement he gave to that thought was the way he swallowed down whatever feelings were about to bubble up, because now he was far too worried about Natasha. As if all of the stress from the night before had just vanished.

There were so many things he wanted to say, so many things he was worried about that just suddenly went up and disappeared to see Natasha like that, someone he had known for years. Someone that he had practically bonded with was a lot, she was a lot.

She meant a lot to him and had been there through so much, thick and thin more than any other person has ever been even with her somewhat reclusive nature, she tried. If it was one thing that Natasha always did it was try, at least for Steve. So he could try for her.

So in spite of everything he wanted to say, out of everything he had felt and had been feeling over the past few hours she was the only thing on his mind now, and there was only one thing he could say.

Only a silver of a smile came before a sigh from him.

"Okay."

Chapter 20: Entry

The front door looms ahead of me, a slab of heavy black coated oak only darkened by the shadow of the porch-like balcony that looms over my head.

There's something about this place, something that reminds me almost of being a child. When I was afraid of the dark, when the cracked door of my closet would haunt me to sleep every night, shadows falling out of the creek where only my clothes were in. Logically they could have been the only things inside.

But somehow, in the dark they became something else. Looming creatures that my mind contorted and played with until they became real, until I would pull up my blanket just to escape the sight. Until my mother finally caved and bought me a light night to dispel my irrational fears.

But there is no night light now, there's no one to comfort me. There's no one to let me sleep in their bed until daylight and let me escape the horrors behind that door, and I am no longer a child.

She throws another reassuring smile to me, Aunt Carter, one that has no teeth intertwined with it but somehow I know what it all meant. For a brief historical moment I can see nervousness on her face and it causes a small flight of panic to plummet in me.

It isn't until just now that I realize she's not nervous, how could she be? She didn't care for me, she can't, not with what's going on right now. If she did we would be gone, we would be in that van, driving to the border. We would be going together, and if the guard didn't want to comply she could've tased him, knocked him out, something.

I'm nervous, so nervous that I want her to be, I want to feel this sort of emotion with someone, I don't want to be the only one going through with this and the notion of that damn near makes me want to cry even right now. My legs are shaking and I want to go home.

But even still there's a look on Aunt Carter's face that I haven't seen before, one that is built out of some sort of anxiety and for a brief second I can't place it. Until I do.

It's anxiety. She isn't nervous, but the look on her face is still built out of anxiety, a look that's only there for a brief flashing second. It's clear she's feeling something, even I can see the way the sudden cold sweat on her hands has appeared.

I wonder for a second what she has to be anxious about, something that causes a spark of anger to flare up and suddenly deflate. Because if she is anxious, if she's apprehensive and she doesn't even live here, then I have to wonder what fresh hell I'm about to walk into, and it doesn't dawn on me again until just now that he's within the Sons of Jacob.

He's a High Commander.

Not all Commanders were in the circle of men, but most were. They were held at a very high regard and were without doubt one of the most prestigious positions that Gilead offered to alphas, or to anyone.

They built Gilead, practically formed this place from the ground into what it is now. What could be considered akin to what used to be America's founding fathers, that's what they were now.

Something that was made clear ever since the destruction of the Constitution and the decimation of the Lincoln Memorial. I was there when they threw the Liberty Bell into the Atlantic, when they televised the bombs freshly laid out apon Mount Rushmore back when they had first started to rounded us up. Back when we thought they were kidnappings. We didn't know then what we no now, that people were never going missing. They were just herding us, one by one.

They were scattered about in what used to be the United States now, but having one in your District is a great honor, something I remember Aunt Carter telling us. It shined a light on our community, showing all what a glorious example one's place must be for a High Commander of all people to raise his family in such a place, his own flesh and blood.

Of our flesh and blood.

I feel sick at the thought, and can't even fully resist the urge to double over. I can feel myself bend at the waist, my throat protesting as I swallow the sudden surge of bile that had just risen up my throat towards the mere idea of it all.

The look on Aunt Carter's face grows stern but I can still see the blanket of anxiety written over her features. She's anxious because of course she is, as far as we've been led to know she's the main Aunt of this district. We were a reflection of her, I am a reflection of her.

"Now, now." She says in her voice made of velvet, and her face moved in a way that hid everything from her expression before. I can feel her grab my hands and squeeze them, bringing me back up though my eyes suddenly threaten to spill.

I'm suddenly aware of what's going on around me, I'm not numb like before. I'm coming here to serve a home, to serve a Commander with my womb, with my children.

I don't care that Aunt Carter sees fear in me now, not as much as I would have before. I am still trying to hold it together. I know I can't run here, I can't flee, I can't scream, I can't panic. Not here, not on the doorsteps of a High Commander. He could take my head if he wanted. My hands, my eyes, my ears. My child, and what would I do?

I can feel the shakiness running up and down my body and it's only Aunt Carter's stabilizing grip on both of my wrists, squeezing down on me that remind me that I can't.

I can't break from her, I can't avoid this. I won't cry, I refuse to cry. To wail like a baby like I did before with that closet door, like I did with my mother. She isn't here anymore, I don't have her, I don't have anyone. No one really is coming with that night light.

I have to be my own.

"There we are Ofhoward," She says as I stabilize myself, as I try to catch a rhythm with my breathing that I am only just now realizing was erratic. "Easy now, see?"

For once I can actually hear her words despite the thumping in my chest, a sound that rings about my entire body and pulses in my head. I have to breathe, I have to come down from my nerves. I am still safe in this place, the only place where I truly exist. Where no one can tell me what to do, where no one can command me but me, my head is still that, mine.

And I have to hold it together, it's the only thing I have left that is truly that, mine. I can't let it break, I can't let Gilead take that away from me like they have everything else. Like they did to my family, my friends, my love. I can't because then I'll have nothing, I'll be nothing.

It's what they want, it's what they thought they did to me. It's probably the reason why I'm here on this doorstep to begin with if I had to guess, and if there is a God, it'll be the reason I get out of here. I just have to pull it together, I have to pull my fucking shit together.

"Yes Aunt Carter."

I can see the way her smile seems to uplift at my words and I can't really tell if I'm reassuring her just as much as I just reassured myself. She can't have me going in there and acting like a fool, it reflects on her. Me behaving is key. My submission is key, and blessed are the meek after all.

"Ah!" She says with a certain chirp in her voice, she looks so satisfied. So much so that I can see the proud toothy grin on her face and the way her hands clasp together at her sudden gleefulness. "I just knew you were a special boy indeed."

It's like she can't help but touch me like a proud athlete stroking on a shiny new trophy. I suppose I am to her in a way, it's exactly why I'm here, watching her joy as she smooths out the shoulders of my top again. The best of the best.

It seems that she really dose have the jitters, although now I earnestly believe it's excitement because she intertwines her fingers one last time and holds them up to her face. I fight the urge to watch her scan me up and down. Looking over me as make sure I'm perfect no doubt, I must be for the Commander. For my district.

Eventually she sighs and places her fingers underneath my chin to lift me up and look at her from where I had been holding it down, a sense of pride all in her emotions. I know why, I had looked down without even having to be told nor reminded, it's a reflex now. A do or die.

One that I know she must be proud of, one that probably vanquished any slight nerves she might have had. One that had probably reminded her that she had just made the best decision for her, for this district, for Gilead.

I want to punch her.

"Look at you." She says with the softness that makes my eyes want to burn, something veering on admiration, and even I'm not sure if it's out of burning hatred or the somberness of my circumstances. "You'll really be just what the Starks need."

She says that again and somehow I know she truly is reassuring herself, that this is somehow making her feel something that's on par with the emotions racking through me right now. Something I almost pull satisfaction from, something I would have if it wasn't for the daunting door beside me.

A door that, as soon as Aunt Carter had blown out one last grounding exhale through her nose, she had straightened her posture, and wrapped her knuckles hard enough on the door to make my whole body rack.

As soon as she does my entire body goes back into my standard position, head down hands together. Though a slight variation now with my newest crimson accessory, I keep my suitcase squeezed in my left hand with my other and finds itself wrapping around my wrist and squeezing on to it.

I try to calm myself as I hear muffled footsteps approaching the door, and I'm suddenly grateful that we have to wear these glorified white blinders. Because if we didn't I'm sure Aunt Carter would have seen the slick sweat on my brow, and what she would have done with that I don't know. Luckily I don't have to guess.

I can hear someone's hand on the knob through the wooden slab and I want to panic, I have to remind myself to keep my posture. I can't let them scare me, they won't get to me, I can't let them.

Instead I squeeze my wrist harder and briefly close my eyes as I hear the knob turning and twisting, the sweat prickling on my palms, my heart beating. They can't get me in here, I have to hold my own. I have to remember that, I must.

The door opens not a second later.

I can finally hear my body sucking in air and allowing me to breathe as almost immediately a voice starts speaking to Aunt Carter. I don't know why they would be speaking to me, of course they wouldn't. Why would they? If I had a say in any of this I wouldn't be here.

“Aunt Carter." The voice sounds cordial, crisp and polite, as if whoever it belongs to has done this a hundred times over.

I want to stop fighting my curiosity so harshly and turn over to look, but I know it's not my place. It's improper and I mustn't be improper. Not to a High Commander, nor anyone in his household for that matter. I'm not a guest. I am not a newcomer. I am a tool, I must remember that.

"Blessed day.” She says back to the female voice that had greeted her. I can only assume that whoever is speaking is a Martha, a Wife surely would have gained a more worthy and theatrical response.

"Blessed day." The voice says back and I can hear myself swallowing. “Please, come in.”

There's a certain kind of nervousness that is in me right now, the kind that momentarily makes me forget how to walk. And I am feeling that now, so much so that I actually have to remind myself that when Aunt Carter moves I move, that I am her shadow and she is my body.

I don't belong to myself anymore, not legally anyway. I am a Handmaid, I am my Commanders or my Aunt's, nothing else. I belong to my district, to my country. No different than a used car or an old mangy dog going from shelter to shelter.

The fear that is in me almost cripples me upon entering the house, and the realization comes that they hadn't even greeted me at the door. Not that it's necessarily customary, it was only preferred. He was a Commander and she was his wife, a Wife.

That's what Martha's were for, Drivers and the whole lot. They served though not with their body's, not in the way I have to, or at least am expected to.

But most do from what I am told at least, at least from Aunt Carter's teachings. Many families were not so prestigious as to adhere to each and every custom, many greeted expected Handmaid's and Aunts at the door.

She told us it's to give us a warm welcome into our new homes, to give us gratitude and respect for adhering to such an honorable and blessed protocol. That we were blessing their families and they would welcome us as God welcomed the first men.

But they hadn't, they don't care as far as I can see it. My presence could be nothing but bothersome to them. Somebody that they had to deal with and feel resentment towards, and I can feel my legs shaking at the deafening silence in this place.

It doesn't even feel like a home.

I can finally bite back the reserved nature that was set aside for Aunt Carter and the rest to get a good look at this place, this home that feels nothing of the sort.

The first thing I can take in is the brick flooring that greets me, a dull and rustic brown that soon fades into polished white marble. I barely have enough time to take in everything before I can see a perfectly polished and curved double staircase, twins that perfectly mirror each other and hug the walls of this hollow place.

There isn't much furniture around and I can hear every step we take echoing off its white walls as the Martha from before guides us straight in between the massive staircases, something I can't help but look up and watch as I dip underneath it.

There's so much white here, and the place seems so empty and hollow. There are only a couple of bits and pieces of beige paint that coated the walls, a mahogany vase or picture frames every now and then, but all so empty. It makes me want to shrink in on myself, along with the fact that there's not even a hint of the house's mistress being about this place.

The thought of her nearly makes me want to stay close to Aunt Carter, to something recognizable no matter how vile, someone I detest.

She isn't your friend

I have to remind myself of that, over and over again, I always have to. Even when we were back in the Red Center. They told us that the Aunt were our friends, our trusted advisors and guardians. We were to tell them everything, we were to trust them and trust that they would know was best for us, that they would act in our favor.

Little spies and annoyances, that's all we are to them. She's not my friend, I would be stupid to think so.

I would be equally stupid to see this place is my home as well, as much as the Aunts tried to tell us our new postings would be. This place feels more like a museum than a home, the floors so polished I can even hear my boots clicking into hallways I haven't even seen yet.

This feels like a place that should be preserved, something rich and ancient, like I shouldn't even be here at all. This feels like a place that traps things, something that's too close to perfection, if that's even a thing anymore.

I followed Aunt Carter past their grand foyer of an entry room, and my new Commander's Martha leads us through a far too stately looking dining room, and into a living room that can only be described as imposing.

There's traditional pieces everywhere that embroiders the room and lush wooden floors that could only have been cleaned just recently. There's a brick fireplace surrounded by wood and beige, accompanied with curtained windows on every wall.

Each piece makes the sweat on my palms grow, and even when their Martha directs us to a soft cushiony couch I don't feel my nerves ease for one second, and the grip on my suitcase enhances by a tenfold.

It's the only thing with me now that's familiar, the only thing I can hold for some sort of comfort. I know Aunt Carter is there, she likely wants me to go to her for comfort, to make her feel relevant in some way or to ease the nerves of her own. But I'm not, I don't want to give her that satisfaction.

Instead I keep my head low, I abuse the fact that these wings for once keep me from being seen in a way that I don't want to be seen. I almost find satisfaction in that, a small victory even amidst my circumstances. In the fact they can't take everything, least not the small things.

I can even see now that yes, she is a Martha. There isn't much I can see about her from the beige and dull green outfit that swallows her form, the rim of my wigs narrowly blocking her face from my sight.

I'm desperate to see her, desperate to see the people I'm going to be trapped in this hell with. Maybe she's not so bad, maybe she hates this place as much as I do, and I've only been here for a few moments. Maybe she's kind, there's a lot people can communicate without saying a word.

I want to see her eyes, if they're anywhere near as desperate as mine. If they're as indifferent as the driver who escorted me here, if they harbor the slathered on complacent joy Aunt Carter always seems to have.

But I don't get that, and I don’t dare raise my head from its place looking down at my lap. I already have it tilted, any further and Aunt Carter would surely notice. What she would do, I don't know, but I have no desire to find out. Not here at least, not when my new Commander could be anywhere.

So the only glimpse I get of the Martha is of a pair of slender tan hands, folded into each other in front of her, a proper stance for Martha. I don't know if she wants this but I can see the very slight way her fingers twitch, maybe there's nervousness. Maybe she's a friend.

I almost shit when she speaks.

"Allow me to retrieve the Commander for you." She says. Her voice is light and airy somehow, despite that it's devoid of any sense of emotion or urgency, sounding far more like a droid of some sort than a human being.

She's young, and somehow I can tell. The only thing that threw me off was her voice, it sounds so much older. Even older than mine. But somehow I just know. The girl bows slightly before giving her a parting. "Aunt Carter."

She turns on her heels and leaves without saying another word, and Aunt Carter doesn't seem bothered at all by her departure, as overly formal as it was. I can feel the urge for me to squeeze my wrist, to fumble with my fingers, to do anything to focus on the overall lack of life in this place.

But I knew better than to let anxious behaviors get the best of me, Aunt Carter hates it. My new Commander might hate it too.

Instead I restrain myself and tilt my head back completely forward where it should have been, usually Aunt Carter would have gotten on to me, or at least chided me for improper posture. Maybe she's too worried about herself being presented as a model Aunt to worry about me, something that should scare me far more than it does.

But I don't have enough time to let my thoughts diverge to that pit because no sooner than that do I hear something else, something that's both loud and soft enough to make my whole body tense.

I nearly shake so violently Aunt Carter has to press her paled hand in advisory atop my thigh. It's a warning, just enough for me to pull myself together. Though the sound of heels echoing throughout the house commands my attention.

I hear her before I see her, the Commander's wife, and her heels come rushing into the living room from atop the stairs. It's throwing me for a complete loop and I can hear the rush of air finally being allowed into my lungs.

They aren't slow, they aren't calculating and intense. They're almost excited, popping off of the wall and filling every inch of the home with the rapid tapping sound of them, I didn't think a Wife would have this much energy. Especially for the arrival of a Handmaid of all things.

But she isn't speaking to me, as far as I'm concerned she isn't even looking at me. Instead I hear her voice coming from afar and towards Aunt Carter.

"Oh, Aunt Carter!" She says and the excitement intertwined with her voice is enough to nearly make my eyes buck, her voice filling the house. "Blessed day!"

She has an excitable and hurried step, something I didn't expect. Something that makes me glad I'm not expected look up, something I don't think I'm prepared to do anyway. Instead I just sit here and fight the urge to shake, fighting the urge to tremble as her heels come closer.

The sound of her impending form coming closer and closer makes me want to squeeze my eyes shut, and I have to remember to breathe as she goes straight past me instead of placing herself on the couch opposite of me, something that I would have expected her to do.

Instead she goes right for Aunt Carter.

"Blessed day." Aunt Carter says finally, trying and failing to mask her surprise at the other woman's preppiness.

We were always told by our Aunt several times that some Wives didn't find our appearance in their homes as welcoming as they probably should, that a bit of tension was normal, and once we were able to bear fruit all ill-will would likely subside.

They made it seem like their tension with us was normal, as if they had a right to be even momentarily upset at the fact that they would have to "share" their husbands with us, and that avoidance with them was more than natural and even expected.

But I don't dare look up, my body is too far to shut down to make any decision, let alone a smart one. But even I can't fight the way my eyes flicker over to get my first view of her, the wife of my new owner.

Blue absolutely engulfs what my eyes can see, deep and dark, barely even tinted with hints of green for her status. I can hardly see the tips of her dress, the very ends of it barely touching the floor should it be soiled. There's a pair of perfectly polished heels to accompany it and a voice like songbirds when she speaks.

"Ah," She says, and I make sure to hold my head low. "I'm hoping traffic was a dull affair?"

She keeps going before Aunt Carter even has a chance to put a word in, and I'm just now realizing that the woman before me is aging. Feminine and high, but laced with something none other than age, and I suddenly remember what my purpose in all this is again.

"I've heard about those nasty rebels in the north all with all their bombs and such." She says with just the smallest hint of frustration and then sighs. "Can't be too safe these days."

I have to fight to keep my mouth shut, to show nothing but a look of indifference despite the fact that my face can't be seen and the heat in my blood.

She speaks as if I'm not here, as if she can't even see me. For a brief moment she reminds me of some of the girls in high school I knew, as if she said that last part purely just to jab at me, as if she even knows me.

Her voice sounds so jittery, as if there's real and genuine excitement in there. So much so that it causes me to momentarily panic, this has to be slathered on, there is no way she could or should be this excited for me to be here. Aunt Carter isn't even that excited, at least not on the outside.

Instead she has a reserved demeanor, trying to push the appearance of professionalism. Something she would have probably expected from a Commander's wife as well, something I expected.

She's too cheery, too happy. The staff is quiet at least from the Martha I saw from before and the home was more than empty on the inside, her disposition wasn't anything of the sort and I haven't even seen her face yet.

I feel my body start to shake. I can't help it, the sticky sweat that taints my brow. I have to remember to swallow, to blink, and my tongue suddenly feels dry. I have to hold it together, and I really have to hold it together now because I can hear her body turning over in my direction, her heels clicking against the rich wooden floor.

There's a moment of silence I think for a moment my heart might just stop, and it nearly does because she's turning at me, as if Aunt Carter popped out of existence where I once was.

"Oh," She says, and I can now see a pair of gloves hands suddenly come into my view, advancing towards me, fast enough in my mind to make my mouth clamp shut and my heartbeat threaten to clamber out of my chest again though the world feels so slow.

The hands get closer, until I feel soft fingers wrap around my chin and gently tip my head up. I'm suddenly aware of how dry my throat really is, as a sugary sweet voice steals all the air from within my lungs.

She smiles at me, a small and withering gasp brushes past her lips. "Why hello there."

Chapter 21

She didn't say much else.

Steve was only able to get on a pair of slip on sneakers by the time Natasha had turned away. When he had actually fumbled over and made his way back to his front door she was already down the front steps of the complex, making her way over to a gray Toyota that he knew was hers.

Steve watched briefly as she made her way inside the car and could hear the sound of the engine turning on from outside the still open door as he pulled on a jacket.

She seemed a little distant, like she was ignoring something entirely, and it took Steve more than a few minutes to realize why exactly that might have been.

Pearl Girls. There were an asinine amount of them now. Pairs of women practically cladded the streets, each of them walking in pairs of two around the area. It was enough to give Steve a visible reaction, enough to wear he hadn't quite realized just how hard his grip was on the door frame of his apartment.

They were everywhere, and Steve knew for a fact that if it wasn't for road laws they would likely be clustering about the streets, practically oozing from the ground up.

His heart immediately sped up at the sight, because at this point he couldn't even say that the idea of them having ulterior motives was beyond something reasonable to say at this point. They were up to something, and whatever it was it couldn't be good for him. It couldn't be good for anyone.

He made sure to lock both locks on his door, and even removed the spare key from its usual place under the mat.

This was more than scary. He had no idea what they were up to but it was clear that he didn't want to be a part of it, and as soon as that thought conjured up his head he couldn't help but immediately let his brain shoot back to the shelter.

The residences. The employees. The fact that Nat wasn't there.

He couldn't stop himself when the worst came to mind. For Natasha to not be there, for her to stop everything assumingly and come over here personally must have meant that something was out of control, something she clearly didn't want to talk about based on the fact that she hadn't said anything.

It made him sweat. It made him nervous, and Steve wasn't even going to try to deny that shaking in his hands at the idea that this all had something to do with the omega.

It wasn't outlandish thinking anymore, this definitely had something to do with him. Or at least in Steve's mind it definitely did. He couldn't help but think about his panicky form. How sick he looked. God he had thrown up.

Everything about yesterday was wrong, it wasn't even typical medical procedure but given the fact that he seemed to be declining so quickly they weren't given much of a choice. Something that likely made everything about his stay there so far under their care worse.

There was a bit of anxiety that flickered through him but he knew standing here wasn't going to stop whatever had gone on and it certainly wasn't going to help anybody. He didn't know whatever this whole thing was about, but he knew whatever it was he had to face it. Natasha clearly already had.

But actually leaving his doorway and going down the front steps of his complex was far easier said than done. Because the Pearl girls were quite literally, everywhere.

He wondered for a second how in between that brief period of time of him not looking, Natasha had actually managed to make her way to her car, and then his brain wondered on because Natasha actually had her car in the first place.

She drove to work, which wasn't unreasonable given the distance from her place to the shelter, but he didn't. It was a walkable distance even with everything he had going on, yet Natasha sat there expectantly inside the vehicle, like she fully expected him to follow her.

He could see her now, bunched up inside the car with her heater likely blasting due to the cold. The thought stayed with him for a while until he realized that the women would probably have no interest in Natasha. She had an overall face and posture that indicated she did not want to be bothered right now.

It was a level of acknowledgment that Steve never really received, probably due to the fact that his appearance gave him one of an omega. Along this the fact that he looked clearly male in the traditional sense likely made their mouths froth up at the idea that they could drag some poor omega into their clutches.

Steve had to shake his head, pulling on the mittens that he had stuffed into his jacket that was thrown over him now. Even still he stuffed them into his pockets, holding his head down in a way that would avoid any potential eye contact with the "Aunts" in training.

The cold was bitter, and it nipped at his nose as he walked. Winter was right around the corner and he would be damned if nature didn't keep reminding him of that.

He knew he was warmer than everyone else, or at least most people. The fact that he was an alpha damn near made the man a natural born heater, but it was still cold, and no matter how long he had lived in Canada it never ceased to shock him every year how it seemed to be so much colder than it was back at home.

He kept shuffling forward, moving past the women and doing his best to pretend as if he didn't exist. Steve had grown used to it at a certain point, but he found himself weaving in and out a lot more frequently than he usually would.

Steve could only assume that Natasha had something else she had forgotten to tell him, that would be her only other reasoning for beckoning him over. Yet when he made it towards the driver side window she gave him a bit of a look.

"Hop in."

It was the way she said it that made it off putting. She hadn't looked at him once but then something else washed over her face and she tilted her head forward like she was trying to focus on anything but what was going on around her.

It made Steve stop and look at her, it made him wonder just what the hell was going on and he tried to reason with it. It could have been the alphas in the streets. It was the only other reasoning he had.

Steve had been harassed by them before, multiple times. So many times that he just accepted it as a thing that happened and practically everyone knew about it, usually it ended up with him catching a couple of teases at work from Sam about it.

So instead Steve huffed a bit and felt his whole body roll for a minute. Sure he had a lot going on but he wasn't a child, he was a fully grown man and was more than perfectly capable of walking himself home and back even with the current situation.

Natasha was a nurturer, at least that was the position she found herself in with practically everyone.

They had formed a group of sorts, him and a couple of his coworkers. They were her go-to's, her number ones and twos, and even besides the fact that she was literally there leader in the workplace, she had inadvertently ended up solidifying herself in an almost interpersonal place with them.

They were a group. A cohesion. A pack of sorts, and in a way, she was the head of that unit. A pack leader in more ways than one, and despite the fact that she wasn't an alpha or, more traditionally, a male in general didn't lessen that bond any less than with any other groups.

But she found herself more often than not expressing that closeness with Steve, something he never knew he needed so badly until after his mother had passed away.

In a way he appreciated it. In a way he needed it. But in that same way it felt crippling, almost debilitating. It wasn't smothering, he knew that. There was care. A certain level of care that was close to what his mother had for him, and it made him miss it.

It made him miss her, Sarah was all he ever had for so long that when he lost her, it had crippled him in more ways than one. It reminded him of how little he had, and if it wasn't for that bond, he would have lost much more than everything.

But it also made him feel coddled, like he was incapable the way he had been for so long. For much of his life he couldn't do anything, and with his status as an alpha it only really ever made him feel worse.

But now he could do things on his own, or at least he was better at managing them. He was grown, he was an adult, and he was capable. Even if nobody else around him doubted that he wasn't.

"I'm fine Nat," Steve said in a way that was meant to appease her concern, if there was any. Hiding the tiredness behind his voice, it made him remember when he had first started working there, how many times she had offered the same thing was offering now.

He sighed and tried to pull a smile. "I can get there in five if you need me, I'll be fine."

"Steve-"

"It's fine Nat," He said, putting on a bit of weird, broken laughter in his voice. "Alright? I'm fine."

"I know, I know." She said a little too quickly. Suddenly she had a frown and brought her hand up to her forehead, eyes crinkling shut. "It's just that-"

"I swear I'm good, okay?" Steve sighed. "If you need me there just give me a sec I'm going to have to get a couple of things-"

Her voice suddenly got tense and he could see the way she squeezed her hand on her head. "Steve, this isn't about the goddamn center."

He froze.

It took a while for Natasha to actually say something after that, because for a while they're the only things Steve could find himself doing was staring at her. Her face was so tense and frustrated, something that only lasted for a second because he could see the way she just as quickly softened back up.

Something was eating at her, and as much as Steve wanted to know what it was, it was also pretty clear that if was stressing her out that bad she probably didn't need any more strain on it.

It wasn't as if Steve could actually stay on that train of thought for long though because he very quickly began to wonder what this was about then.

She wasn't at the center, and there were Gilead citizens everywhere. There was no doubt some sort of chaos going on in there and Natasha being anywhere other than work even on a good day was out of the ordinary.

She sighed hard, hard enough that Steve could actually see her chest move and she looked back at him, softer this time. There was a sudden doleful appearance she never had before as she looked Steve straight in the eyes again.

"I'm sorry," She said, shaking her head, her eyes going back to being forcefully closed.

"I'm sorry," Natasha went on. "It's just- I-"

She stopped talking altogether and Steve watched as she clamped her mouth shut, leaning her head up on the steering wheel and gripping its surface. He didn't know what to do, but his first suspicions were raised. Just couldn't be good.

"Natasha," He said because he couldn't just stand there. "It's fine, okay?"

He reached a hand through the open window and placed it on her shoulder, feeling the way her body instantly seemed to relax under the touch. The breast she let out was tense and he could hear the way her voice wobbled when she spoke.

"I just…" She said and then exhaled in one hard breath. "I just want to show you something."

Her words made him stop again, almost as quickly as they had before. Looked at her, watching as she turned to look at him with eyes that were so close on the verge of pleading that it almost made her look foreign to him.

She looked so worn out, like whatever was going on who's on the precipice of being too much for even Natasha of all people, and she just stared back. Eyes big and green, like she wanted to pule.

It made him stop everything, seeing her like this, so apparently hurt and open was- well, well it wasn't right. It didn't settle well in him, enough to where he slid his hand off of it's place on her shoulder, and he found himself ripping the door frame instead. He let out of breath he hadn't even realized had been held in for so long.

"Okay Nat," He breathed. "Okay."

---

The car ride was silent.

It was something Steve wasn't quite sure if he was one hundred percent appreciative for or not. From the moment he had hopped in the car Natasha's demeter had gone right back to the way it had been before. Quiet.

She hadn't said much of anything since he had gotten in the car other than a light swear under her breath at a Pearl Girl being behind her when she had first backed out of the building's parking lot.

Steve had wanted to say something at some point, but every time he did he would see the fine lines in her face and the way her back was slightly slumped from its usual position. It bothered him, and usually he would have said something but there was something about her today that was just completely off.

It was customary for Natasha to push herself, Steve didn't even think he would ever recognize her if she didn't.

But the thing was, Natasha was organized. She was headstrong and went for what she wanted no matter what it was, and it was something Steve appreciated. No matter what happened, Natasha was always going to be Natasha.

She was solid and reliable. Consistent in the chaos, and Steve was sure that it wasn't for that everything would have probably dismantled a long time ago.

But it was like everything had gotten worse, something that the guilt in his head kept drilling on his head was likely of his own doing. She had always looked like that in one way or another, tired, but it hadn't been like this.

In the past few days it was like she had seemed to derail a little bit harder, and though that could have been because having a new resident always made things a bit harder, but the feeling that this case was a lot more difficult directly because of him ate at Steve.

He kept thinking about the protocols, and the way everything should have gone. Steve should have never messed with him, he should have never given him that food, he should have never looked at him.

He should have stuck to what he usually did. Steve should've waited until he was at least given the chance to get some counseling, until he could have gotten a more capable case worker assigned to him. Someone who actually knew what the hell they were doing.

He should have waited until the omega had gotten assigned to someone who would have worked with him, who would have helped him instead of making everything worse.

Maybe he would have been persuaded into participating in more activities. It was a lot, and moving too fast too soon was wish fulfillment on Steve's part that maybe it could have been done. Maybe by now he could have at least been eating in the cafeteria.

But no, Steve fucked that up. It was the only way he could see it, the omega had a chance and Steve blew it before the brunet even realized he had one.

It wasn't fair to him, it wasn't fair to Natasha, and it damn sure wasn't fair to the omega who threw up yesterday because Steve didn't take anything else into account. It was selfish. Selfish wish fulfillment that he could somehow make everything better quicker than anyone else.

Selfish because Steve just couldn't stand looking at him like that. A stranger, no matter how little Steve knew about them, didn't deserve that. He wanted him to get better, regardless of what was actually better for him.

He felt bad. He felt wrong and twisted up inside, and it was affecting everybody. Because regardless of whatever else was going on in Natasha's life, Steve couldn't help but feel that her stress was his fault.

So he didn't say anything. Not when Natasha had pulled out of the driveway, not when she had merged onto the main roadway, not when she made a turn and drove without a single other movement.

She didn't say anything, she didn't speak. Hell, it didn't even seem like she had registered Steve from the moment he closed the door and clicked his seat belt on.

They had been driving for a while, and wherever it was they were going to was surprisingly far. It was beyond the outskirts of town, outside the bounds of where Steve would usually go, as well as a good chunk of the community here now. Going outside of Little America wasn't out of bounds for them, and well within their rights as at the moment.

But things were constantly changing, some people found that things were changing too fast. Home for a lot of these people was gone, wiped and bombed out.

People's families were torn. Pictures, scrapbooks, old memories, and keepsakes were gone. So many things from his own home in Brooklyn had been completely destroyed, and only so many things could be salvaged to make it across the border.

There were very few things he had from his former home. It wasn't wise to bring many things when the border had started closing, when people started smuggling themselves out. When he and his mother fled.

Bringing more than one could carry was ill-advised. It would only slow everything down. If someone left or dropped anything it could leave a trail.

They had to put everything in backpacks, using sternum straps were advised. People would sleep with them on, eat with them, drive in them. It was all they had. No one took anything out of them unless it was an absolute necessity. You didn't put them down. You didn't take them off. You didn't give them to anybody. You didn't lend, share, or borrow them. They were yours.

People's homes were gone. Their country was gone, and now, for many people, Little America was all they had left.

The cultures of so many people were allowed to still exist and thrive in the small pocket that they could call their own. They could take pride within themselves, make families, start up businesses. This was all they had, this was a lifeline.

So many people didn't venture outside of that bubble, that safe haven that they could finally call their own. Where communities had finally started becoming rebuilt and people were starting to heal.

So although it wasn't illegal, oftentimes it was advised. Many of them didn't leave, and many Canadians didn't pry. Too much was lost.

So for Natasha to actually leave was a bit surprising, though she often had external affairs outside of their own little county regarding the shelter she had to attend to on the regular, Steve often didn't leave if ever.

He found solace in the routine he had found himself in. The friendly faces and common ground he had with nearly every person within their little plot of land, and above everything, it felt nice.

It felt nice to finally have a community again, to have that sense of belonging that he missed nearly more than everything.

So it felt weird to actually leave it, something he hadn't done since the better part of a year. He didn't go out as often as Natasha did, but sometimes he would. He would have to represent the center every now and again.

But he knew that wasn't where they were going, to the compound that they would usually have those appearances and conferences at. She didn't merge on that highway that would have led them to the innermost parts of the country.

Instead she just kept driving straight. Straight past the entry roads that would have led them to the many cities around them, past even the main roads and entrances to smaller towns.

Natasha just kept driving. Going on and on until the random towns around them started getting smaller and smaller, until Steve started seeing more and more inches of forest surrounding them.

Before Steve really even knew it the ground had gone from smooth pavement to solid rocks and dirt. He could feel the difference as the car bounced and rocked with the change in foundation.

Everything around them had changed, even the air felt different. It felt thicker. Colder, like there was more moisture in the air.

The trees around them changed from lacking in their abundance to thick pine. Deep luscious green pine leaves towered above them and pinecones littered across the ground, there was a certain scent in the air. Something close and familiar.

It took Steve awhile to pinpoint it, even as he looked around the area from his seat. He wanted to ask Natasha where it was exactly they were going, but found himself too taken in by the space.

It smelled rich whatever it was, as the condensation from the ground was slightly fogging at the forest floor. He could still see the brown and grass littered beneath it, the fog just barely covering any of it.

It was beautiful, something he had never really seen before. There weren't too many forests where he grew up and the only few times he ever did venture outside of Little America was only really ever for business purposes.

The little plot of land of Central Park was nothing compared to this, and it captivated him in a way. Thirsty and deep, his brain had only just realized what it was that was so familiar.

The omega. The condensation at least, smelled like him. He completely lacked that deep forest smell, the pine that soaked into Steve's senses even through the car.

Something in him went melancholy at that, the fact that the man just smelled so damn sad all the time. The ground smelled somewhat similar to him, though not entirely, and Steve just couldn't shake it.

Steve thought about him, grey blue eyes and sunken face. There was just so much wrong with him. His disability, a speculated pregnancy, an inability or lack of willingness to speak, a missing arm, busted knees, and sickness.

All of that was all without mentioning the apparent deep bite wound that branded all that was left of his left arm. Steve hadn't even thought of the fact that he still hadn't been able to bathe or get a proper meal.

The guilt had set back in, and suddenly the place wasn't so beautiful anymore.

There wasn't long enough time for him to think about it though, not before he could see something growing up in the woods in front of them.

It took him awhile but eventually he could make out a house, or at least a cabin. It looked small at first but eventually Steve could see how it gradually grew in size until it looked like something out of a winter catalog.

It looked small and cozy, something that the family would have used to vacation in a winter home. It was made up of wood but had the appearance like it was made out of wooden logs. A small porch was at the front, and a few green vines had sprouted at the base, though it looked well taken care of.

Natasha had pulled out in front of it and parked. Steve just stared at the building in front of him for a while, trying to figure out without asking what was going on.

The site was pretty, it was beyond pretty, but this was so unlike her. Especially with the situation that was going on back at home.

He looked at her for the first time in a while and had opened his mouth to say something defined it immediately clamping shut and turning into a look of concern at the sight of Natasha.

Her jaw was clenched and Steve could see the part of her where her skin had gone pale and weak. Her back was arched, slightly slumped at the wheel and staring at the structure in front of them like it pained her.

Her lip trembled and her eyes at went glossy, something that made them look bigger than they already were. It was enough to make Steve grow cold, to make him want to reach out and touch her.

He knew what would happen if she did, she would likely draw back or close herself off. It was just what she did, she had always been good at foraging the emotion out of others, but Steve had never found her too good at it for herself.

She was vulnerable and open, and all so suddenly. It made her wonder if this was why she had been upset, if something here had to do with it.

But she didn't say anything and the look had disappeared although not as quickly as it had came. It took her a while to pull whatever had come down back together and Steve said nothing. He knew Natasha, whatever was going on, she needed space.

She sighed eventually and pulled her keys from the car, cutting off the engine. True other hand had found its way on her face and pinched at her eyes until her breath had stopped shaking. It took a while, but Steve said nothing.

She didn't put her hand down and looked back at the house again, there was some sort of front that was put up in her demeanor but there is no use in him calling it out.

Eventually she turned her head over to look at him, eyes significantly more dry but with their still being something wet in them. Steve tried to not let that bother him as much as it did and instead focused on her words that came out slow and tired.

"Let's go." She said and at first Steve thought she was going to turn the whole car around until her hand had gone to the driver's door and opened it.

She said it so dryly, like she was trying to pull whatever emotion that had just flared up back into whatever it had come from. Getting out of the car without another word.

Chapter 22

Steve had no idea where they were, though despite that fact, he knew that wherever they were, they had to be far from prying eyes. It was something usually he would have found a bit of relief in if it wasn't for Natasha's strange demeanor and overall change in general.

Being out of the eyes of the Pearl Girls was pretty much nonexistent, even if their main areas were usually only to target the area closest to their shared border, on a technical level they had the right to roam Canada as they saw fit.

They weren't officials. They weren't an army men and women or politicians despite their single-minded purpose of being in the country, so by all means none of their activities were on any grounds to be classified as illegal, regardless of everyone else's opinions on it. They still had a right to be here by all accounts, and since there were no laws broken, it would be seen as an act of hostility to outright ban Gilead citizens from being able to enter Canada.

It would have muddled everything. Who could and couldn't enter the country. Who had a right to leave, who had a right to stay. The only neutral way to go about that was to outright band all visitors, which they wouldn't do.

It would seal out potential survivors on top of making it more than difficult for visitors from other countries to be able to set foot on Canadian soil. Targeting Gilead, while not purposefully an act of hostility, could be seen as more than a reasonable suspicion to be one. Something they, nor anybody else could afford to do right now.

So it wasn't possible to let one's guard down, even in places this remote. A place that Steve had to guess was farther north, so far up north that regardless of the fact that winter hadn't completely started, he could still see the beginning of ice starting to skitter across the forest floor.

But the trees were so dense here, so dense that somehow they had managed to block out most of the snow from even touching the ground.

Steve looked up toward the sky and even within the car and could see that it was completely blocked out, with only small beams of light seeping through the trees. Making it impossible for the ground to be anything but the dew from the grass freezing up on the stalks.

Wherever they were, wherever she had taken them, had to be remote. Steve didn't think he had ever seen that many trees in his life ever since coming to Canada, or at all really.

Natasha, however, could be less than interested in the scenery. It was something Steve noticed, something that was blatantly obvious. She seemed to have only a one-tracked mind, making her way past the car and onto the front steps of the small wooden structure in front of them.

She didn't look back at him, not even once as she approached the steps of the home. He watched as she started shifting through her keys, stopping at one before pushing it into the door of the place.

That was the only thing that made Steve start to get out of the car, somehow feeling like this whole thing was something out of a film all the way up until that point.

He, of course, didn't know what she was doing, but of regardless he cared. Whatever was going on, he was a part of it now, and clearly she wanted him to be.

She usually would have turned back for him or would have made some sort of acknowledgement towards him by now. She was usually one to harp up on Steve for keeping up or slow down when he needed her to, it was just part of her role that she had created in his life up until now.

But now she didn't care, or at least it didn't seem like she did, and by the time Steve had started to crack the door open that's when the door to the cabin had opened and closed, taking Natasha inside with it.

Steve could only sit there for a moment after hearing the door close, trying to grasp just what exactly was going on.

It took him awhile, even while the door was slightly agape to actually get out of the car. There was something about the place he was in now, regardless of the fact he had never been there before, that made him feel distant.

Maybe it was the very fact that he had never been here before, or possibly Natasha's weird stance about everything now. Maybe it was the fact that it smelled like the omega, regardless how little that scent actually carried over it was. But for Steve it was a lot, so much so that it still made his stomach feel funny on the inside.

He didn't want him to be on his mind the way he was, it was weird. Uncomfortable even. But his brain wouldn't let him, it was like it was dead set on replaying his face over and over again. Ghoulish and sunken in. Desperate.

There was a level of queasiness when he thought about him, and guilt. Definitely a sense of shame, and maybe that's what it was, but he still couldn't stop thinking about him. Even in a place like this, even in the situation he was in, the only thing Steve could think about was just how somber the man had smelled. How lonely he must've been.

It was something he wished he could have pushed out of his brain because it immediately goes back to the shelter, how much chaos everybody must have been in if it was anything like how it was before. How Natasha wasn't there.

Usually the worse the situation was the more Natasha would push herself to be in the center of it. It was something, ironically, she would nag and harp on Steve about while simultaneously doing the very same thing.

He wanted to believe that meant that everything back there was likely fine, that everyone was doing okay and the situation had been handled. But Steve wouldn't be Steve if his anxiety could just cut off that quickly.

So of course his head told him that everything was being destroyed, that it might have been so bad that even Natasha needed a break from the entire ordeal, that maybe she had just brought him here just to talk, as ridiculous as that seemed.

But he and Natasha didn't talk, they hadn't talked in years, not a genuine conversation anyway. Never anything that wasn't work related, not since Steve's mother had passed anyway. Their relationship, for all intents and purposes, was a friendship. Just a very, very weird one. An estranged one almost.

Which was odd, and didn't make any sense given her constant checkups and coddling but that's what it was. He couldn't even remember the last time he sat down and had an actual conversation with Natasha that didn't revolve around the center or anything Gilead related, though that was the only thing anyone could talk about to be granted.

So not only for her to get off of work, but to stop by him and take them somewhere, the both of them, was concerning. What's moreover, was that now it was something Steve couldn't even fully digest the way he needed to because of the omega.

It was like his head wouldn't stop swirling around, trying to grasp what was going on, trying to deal with the omega, worrying about the shelter, understanding what he had just signed himself up for. It wouldn't stop. Natasha was gone, something he was glad for. Because if she was here she would have probably overreacted to the way Steve was breathing.

He had to stabilize himself, remembering the breathing techniques he had gone over time and time again as a child. He would send himself into a panic attack, something that wasn't good already given his respiratory issues. Something that he had already done multiple times in his life. Something that wasn't fun.

He could feel a single hand going through his hair, feeling a sense of comfort at the golden strands between his fingers. He lightly squeezed, a self-soothing gesture, breathing out.

He started to count in his head, remembering to exhale rhythmically. He could feel the snipping air of the world just outside of the car sneaking through the slit of the door, cool and crisp on his face. It helped him stay calm, to just exhale and inhale and he would be fine.

Eventually he was, finding his breathing staying at a constant rhythm that he didn't have to force. His hand unhooked from his hair but found itself rubbing against his face trying to shake his frustration but in Steve's thoughts overtake him that hard.

It wasn't going to solve anything, and he knew it wasn't. But he just couldn't help it. So much was going on and there was so little he could do about any of it that he felt like it was swallowing him at times, with now being one of those times.

But he would hold it together, if he could just wait it out. All he had to do was deal with one thing at a time, and maybe he could fix all of this mess he had thrown himself into, and some of the mess that he didn't. With this obviously being one of those messes.

So he steeled himself and completely willed himself to get out of the car to at least try to deal with whatever the hell was going on right now. One thing at a time Rogers.

He kept telling himself that when he stepped out and felt the ground crunch below him, the frostbitten grass folding harshly beneath his shoes. He just had to follow Natasha, though he highly doubted that she was just waiting for him and not doing anything inside.

The air that whipped at his face was rigid, something that only confirmed to him that they had to be further up north. It wasn't freezing, not necessarily enough for him to feel it through his clothes, but it was more than enough to make the shell of his ear grow sharp and raw at the feeling.

Steve could hear the way it whipped through the trees, tunneling through the forest as if it itself was alive. It sounded beautiful, something which other people might not have called it but to Steve it was. Trees like this didn't exist where he was from, so hearing nature being so alive was beautiful.

A beauty he might have reminisced more on if he wasn't in the situation he was in currently. Instead he continued, making his way to the small cottage.

He walked up the large wooden steps that led to a porch made up of equally as much wood and barely had enough time to look around before sighing. Wherever they were Natasha had felt comfortable enough to go inside, hell she had the keys to the inside of the place.

Clearly this whole thing wasn't foreign to her and Steve could tell. The outside of the building looked nice and well-maintained as if it still had occupants, even given its old look. There were no plants trying to make their way up to the roof and the fact that Natasha had walked in had to have meant there were no bears or other animals that had made themselves at home inside.

The windows were polished. The grass, while not freshly cut, looked like it had been well taken care of.

It made Steve feel far less nervous. That wherever Natasha had brought him to wasn't something straight out of a horror movie, although he still couldn't shake the feeling that he was in one.

With that he took a breath and shook his palms a bit, trying to calm himself. He wanted to get mad at himself at the thought that normal people didn't stress out that much at the idea of going somewhere new. Especially not an alpha.

He frustrated himself at the moment, his constant anxiety flare-ups weren't really helping with much of anything and were just another thing to pile on the list of things wrong with him. But Steve tried to power through regardless. Standing there wasn't going to change anything, neither was being anxious or sulking.

The door opened without another thought and he didn't know what he was preparing to see but it definitely wasn't what was in front of him.

The place looked normal. Like an old cabin that might have been occupied by the elderly or a small vacation home from a long time ago. There were hardwood floors in the room he found himself standing in. A living room, he decided.

There was a kitchen straight ahead that Steve could see right into, small and with not much else in it, not even a table or chairs. All of that had apparently been in the living room, so it looked more like a dining room table and there still were no chairs. Only a large couch made up of leather.

A couch he might have looked completely pass if it wasn't for Natasha's form sitting right in the middle of it, with her body pressed between the two seating cushions. She didn't say anything, and if she realized Steve was there she really didn't make it known. It left the alpha not knowing what to do, if he even needed to come forward or not.

She just sat there, her back hunched over and her fingers braided into each other cupped under her chin. But that wasn't what worried him.

What worried him was her face, usually covered in makeup and poise, Steve could only see that now she looked like a shell of herself. Her cheeks were flushed and you could see the way her chin crinkled above her hands in a slight frown, her eyes distant. As if she were somewhere else entirely, hot and bubbling up tears.

It took Steve a while to register everything, and suddenly the house didn't matter. The drive didn't matter. All that mattered was that Natasha was distraught about something, and whatever that something was had finally took its toll.

She didn't move, he didn't know what to do and as far as he was concerned Natasha didn't even see him. She seemed gone, like she was in a place all her own.

It took a long while before she finally did see him, and it only seemed to be purely out of her peripheral vision. She wiped her eyes haphazardly with her sleeve before taking in a deep, sharp breath, her jaw clenching along with the rest of her body. Whatever just happened it was steeled now, tucked away and hidden far from where Steve could ask any questions.

Of course he wanted to ask. Natasha was his friend, and sometimes, even more than that. But to suggest anything now would be stupid, he knew that much. So he didn't.

"So uh," She said slowly, lightly shaking her head and bringing herself up to stand. Natasha's hands braced herself upon her knees with a hard sigh as she moved. "What whaddya think?"

Steve realized then that at some point he had stopped looking at her entirely, choosing to instead look at the wooden floor of the place. He couldn't take looking at her like this and taking- well, whatever this was. He could see the way her heart was clamoring in her chest. The way her eyes were still watery around the edges. The complete lack of eye contact as she opted to look around the interior of the place even when she spoke to him.

She must have known it looked bit too far off, even for Steve. Taking in his sudden softing expression, she chewed on the inner part of her cheek and looked away from the slip of eye contact she had quickly given him. She went on instead, dragging on with her talking, not even giving the alpha a chance to respond.

"I've made some plans," She said before sighing, a bit of a weird laugh on her tongue. "You've probably already guessed that though huh?"

Her voice was slow, almost distant. Was she trying to be casual? Steve couldn't tell if she was or wasn't but it was beyond jarring, as if they hadn't just taken a half an hour long trip to wherever they were in the middle of nowhere, a place Steve still didn't know where exactly where, and now she thought it was a good idea to bring up what this whole thing was about?

It didn't make any sense to him and usually most of the things Natasha did did make sense, it was kind of her whole shtick. But now it seemed that whole ploy was coming to an end, tired and worn out. Usually when she got like that it is just stress or a minor inconvenience.

Way before it used to be the idea of a newcomer in touring the shelter, of providing them with everything she could, trying to make the recovery process as quickly and smoothly as she could. But even then she would restrain herself, keeping up the image of a functioning crew and captain.

After the numbers started dropping, after less and less people started making it towards the border, Natasha had buried herself into whatever work she could. Only really getting like this over minut things like misplaced files or the occasional overzealous worker.

But now she seemed to be like that constantly. Frivolous and all over the place. Even now she wouldn't let Steve quite read her, an impenetrable almost somber like expression on her face.

Natasha smoothed both of her hands through her hair, squeezing it on her short ends. It was a moment with her face changed again, like she was trying to shake something off and a sigh came out soon after. There's a weary smile on her face, like she wasn't quite sure what to do. Not nervousness. Something else entirely, something almost dull.

Steve didn't say anything even now with the given opportunity to speak, he just stared at her, eyebrows lightly pushed together in a look that was almost concern.

He knew her, and he knew pushing her or asking any questions so direct so soon wouldn't do anything but build her concrete walls up higher. But she was easy to read, at least for him but maybe that's what happened when one stuck around a person for so long.

Usually that would have been the point she would have turned away or change the subject, deflection of personal issues was usually her strong suit and it was fully what Steve expected to happen. But that's not what happened.

Instead of turning the whole situation around, instead of her trying to tell him in the most clinical way why they were here. In the same way that she had asked him to come with her here. She didn't.

Instead stopwatch as her eyes drifted somewhere else, somewhere high above his head at the ceiling. Steve would've looked up, to try to see if there was something else that was worth breaking her attention from himself above him but he never got that chance.

Because as soon as it happened he could see the way her eyes suddenly swelled, growing glossy dangerously close to something soft and open. Her eyes closed and almost just as quickly a shuddering breath came through her nose, quiet and almost untraceable.

Steve didn't say anything even then but he could feel a sense of concern wash over him as he watched her take a seat back down on the couch, her body fully sitting until one cushion. It took him a moment, until he saw her tuck her bottom lip into her teeth before he found his words, Steve's body wanting to reach out but restraining.

"Nat." He said in a voice that was almost a whisper, as if speaking any louder would shatter the very air around them.

His mouth formed to say something else right when he saw Natasha's hands slide over her face, her body seeming more slumped in than it had ever been before. Her hands stayed over her eyes, even when her shoulders finally shook and Steve could hear a sound come from her mouth. She was crying.

It took his brain a second to actually catch up with him and accept that. It wasn't completely obvious to him not until he heard the soft, almost inaudible sound that left her, and even then he didn't know what else to do but stand there, as if his entire body had locked up in the moment.

It was a second that had passed as soon as it came, and immediately sympathy came. Knowing that whatever that had been building up to this point had finally broken down.

"Natasha," He said quietly, walking up towards her apprehensively. He knew she wouldn't lash out, it wouldn't be like her too. But he had never really seen her in this position before.

It had only happened a few times, emotional vulnerability and even then she seemed to always find a way to zip lock it back into place before it really ever went anywhere. Steve used to try to prod and prude at it in the past, but she would always find a way to lock it up.

Pushing it aside, pretending like it didn't happen, deflecting, or changing the subject. Clearly talking about it made her uncomfortable regardless of Steve's good intentions, and he didn't push her.

With that love for her that he had came respect, respecting her boundaries. Respecting her privacy. Things she allowed him to have as well.

But now it was different. Now she was broken, and open, and vulnerable. She acted so inhuman to others, so stoic and one-dimensional. But Steve knew her, and an entire decade of friendship didn't come without its inner knowings of a person.

At her not reacting to his voice he knew it had to be hard for her, whatever she was going through. Her hand stayed to her face but even through that he could see how the sliver of skin that wasn't covered by her fingers had gone pink.

Her elbows had gone to her knees, supporting her entire head as it stayed slumped in her palms. Her head didn't seem to move but in small jerks and he could hear the softness of a few jagged breaths.

Steve hardly did anything, the only thing he did do was come over to the couch where she was at and took a seat at the other cushion. He looked at her, the concern written all over his face now as if she could just tip over and break part if he breathed too hard.

A long time had passed where Steve did nothing. He didn't reach out to touch her, he didn't try to comfort her or talk to her through whatever she was experiencing. Instead he just sat there hoping she felt his presence to some degree.

He was there, being present when he needed her to be was what he figured, the best thing he could do. Waiting and listening for whenever she was ready. She didn't need to be hugged and coddled. Not the way he needed to. He's learned that over the years, even with the small situations he's been in with her. He just needed to be there.

It happened slowly but eventually her hands did pull down from her eyes, although they continued to cover the rest of her features. Natasha's eyes stared off, shiny green eyes staring off at the wooden interior of the house as if Steve wasn't even there.

It took her a while and then she sniffed abruptly through her nose, inevitably trying to keep it from running, before she turned it towards him. Her eyes were big and looking down before speaking.

“I'm sorry.” Natasha sighed, pausing to wipe her nose on her sleeve. “I bring you all the way out here, and I'm just-”

"It's fine." Steve said softly, bending his head down lightly to look at her. His hand absentmindedly reached out, yet not quite touching her, but instead keeping a place near the couch cushion next to her. "I'm fine."

Her smile was weary, almost shaky when she looked back up at him, her eyes just as glossy as before. "I know,"

She sighed before looking past him, her features trying and failing to steel up before she just laid back on the couch doing her best to control her breathing. She put out a harsh exhale, like she was trying to stop herself, but even Steve could see the way her chin crinkled under her cheeks.

Her voice came in a whisper. "I know."

Her eyes closed and Steve could see her try to regain some sort of control. She let out another harsh exhale, some sort of breathing control.

But it didn't stop anything. It didn't stop her bottom lip from trembling again or her eyes from squeezing together a little too harshly, and before Steve knew it, she had blown out another breath, trying to steel herself.

He knew better than to push her but he also knew that sitting there and watching her break herself and try to glue it back together wasn't something he could just sit there and do. So Steve didn't push her, only giving out a slight nudge.

"Nat." He said again, his voice just as soft as it had been.

He could see the way her head turned away from his voice as if that would somehow make both Steve and his concerns simply disappear. Unsurprisingly to both himself and her, he didn't, instead he only sat there awhile longer. Staying and not pushing.

Another beat of time passed before he could see her other arm reach up towards her face, wiping around the area where Steve didn't doubt for a second tears probably laid. She didn't do anything else for a long while and when she finally did speak again it sounded tense, almost wobbly.

"I've never brought you here before have I?" Natasha said out of nowhere, the shakiness in her quiet words still there.

Somehow deep down Steve could tell that it was a question it wasn't necessarily meant to be answered, or at least one that could be answered with silence. Something he was right about as she continued.

A hard sigh came from her, and if Steve didn't know any better he would have assumed she was frustrated with him. But Steve did know better, and the limpness in her limbs told otherwise. Pride, it seemed, was a powerful motivator even as her voice shook on.

"I don't usually come here often," She went on unprompted, like it was casual, and Steve simply sat here. Listening. "Not as much as I probably should anyway."

He could tell what Natasha was doing, using her words of the way to keep her mind off of whatever it was that was bothering her. But it was the most Steve had gotten out of anything to do with this situation so far. He said he was going to deal with one thing at a time, or at least told himself that.

So if her random ramblings were going to give him anything, even if it was only what this place was, he didn't care. No matter how odd.

"I only really used to come here whenever me and Clint would get into it and-"

Her words came to a sudden stop. Somehow throughout that conversation she had gone from facing entirely away from him to back to her neutral position. She hadn't looked at him once since shifting back, not even at the moment, but Steve could still see the way she bit her lip.

The tears from before seemed to have dried away from her eyes but they were still pink, slightly irritated from before. He could feel something in him go soft and start to crack as he watched her eyes slowly fill up with tears, her eyebrows bunching together.

"It used to be an old Mayday unit." She said, seeming to change the subject. He couldn't tell if it was because of something else or because she wanted to get straight to the point, that maybe the details is what was too much. "A safe house."

Her voice came out abruptly, coarse and dry. He could see the way her fingers suddenly trembled, the way she bit her bottom lip before the tears welled over from her eyes and coursed down her cheeks. Her voice practically a croak.

"We never made it."

Steve wasn't sure what to do next; it was like his whole body had gone into a state of shock at the sight of her. She had like one of her hands full down to her knees, the other one just barely holding her head up. The tears flowed freely, with her not even making an attempt to shield herself from Steve's gaze.

She merely looked off somewhere distant, leaving Steve to look at her. It didn't take very long to feel his own eyes begin to burn, he already knew.

It happened so long ago, so long ago to the point that Steve had thought Natasha had all but stopped thinking about it. He didn't know much, only bits and pieces from the event. That's how much she didn't talk about it, that's how much he thought she had healed from it.

He knew Natasha had been one of the very last people to flee from Gilead. When the restrictions had gotten tight, when the airplanes had already stopped and the boats had been anchored.

But before the ongoing war in Chicago, at least at the time. Now Gilead had practically owned the place, or more so, they did own the place. Back then they were struggling for territory in the upper most parts of the north, with New York and Maine holding strong but becoming treacherous.

That's when she had tried to escape, it had been her and her family's only chance. Natasha, being all but native to the states didn't have the luxury of simply catching a plane and flying into the promised lands of Canada's borders.

Gilead, from the moment they realized people were doing more than just vacationing in Canada, had done their very best to restrict access out of the country. Minors, convicts, the elderly, immigrants. They all had sudden and rapidly growing restrictions and limitations with traveling, having certain groups needing chaperones or were being banned from traveling outside of the states at the time in general.

Natasha's family, being the ladder of them all, were given the hardest time. Coming from an immigrant family, a family that had only been in the states for three years at the time, and requesting for a family of four to simply hop and skip off to another country wasn't just going to happen for them overnight, and it didn't.

They had been rejected time and time again, excuse after excuse, bill after bill. It became clear that they weren't going to fly out or even go off to sea. Many American-born citizens couldn't even air out that way, let alone them, people who are already seen as second-class citizens by many in the first place.

So their only chance was to flee, and after air travel and escaping by boat became practically banned for everyone. They fled.

But the bombs. They hadn't gotten far before they had caught up with him. Gilead had sent out Angels to handle the task, protecting their borders with Canada along the northern states and capturing anyone who tried to smuggle themselves out.

Going across the Great Lakes was a no-brainer but dangerous, the waters were practically turning oneself into a sitting duck. A deer in an open field. No. Their only chance was to go through Michigan, it was the only way. A way that they ultimately paid for.

It was a minefield, explosives setting off at every other minute. They had went with a group, a giant herd of families moving together as one, finding safety in numbers. Numbers that made them equally an even bigger target.

The Angels had came, there were guns. Machine guns everywhere. She couldn't hear, she couldn't see. There was so much smoke, debris clogging her lungs. Her sister's hand, she had let go. Her dad was gone. She could hear her mother, somewhere, screaming-

She never saw them again.

In all of those years, and all of that time he had never known that this was their checkpoint. Or even that she still would come to it. It had been before everyone back in the states knew even about the concept of Canada's Refugee Aid programs. Safe houses were all many people knew.

Old vacation homes, abandoned warehouses, sheds, disheveled businesses and restaurants- that was all many knew. Hearing along the grapevine whenever a new checkpoint had changed or was compromised, everything spreading through word of mouth. Something her family hadn't known in time.

There was something within Steve that he could feel beginning to stretch and tear apart at watching her, it was something he had never seen before, something raw and so open. It wasn't that Natasha never cried. He knew she did even if it never was out in the open, and even then he had seen her come to that point a few times before ushering it away.

But to see her now, face flushed and puffed, no matter how quiet she was, hurt. It hurt to see her like that, even with her hands finding their way back to hiding her face. Natasha had pride, no matter how much she didn't want to admit it, and seeing that pride being smashed away was something he knew must have stung.

Her sniffs were quiet but still audible, enough for Steve to feel that familiar stretching feeling in his lungs. He wasn't exactly sure how much he could take, but it didn't end. She didn't try to shield her face from him, she didn't try to turn her body away like before, instead she just sat there and cried.

But when Steve felt it, when Steve just knew that he was going to cry with her at that point, he decided he wasn't just going to just sit there any longer.

It happened slower than he would have liked, moving as if she was a ticking time-bomb and she would have blown if he had moved too quickly. But Steve shifted over to where she was, hands close by him until he could feel the very heat from her body. He reached over, and hugged her.

At first he expected some sort of reaction, at least one bigger than the one he was given. There was a stiffening of her body and then an immediate slacking, as if her whole body had come apart under him.

He hadn't expected Natasha to actually stop or at least give into the touch. His face was on her back, forehead just on her shoulder and he could feel her form breathing around him, her cheek just barely against his chest.

Her voice was barely above a whisper, and her words made something in Steve crack harder. "I miss her."

He already knew who Natasha was talking about and his face fell from behind her back, squeezing on to her. He spoke just as soft. "I know."

Her voice started up again and to Steve it was too much, too fast. Her vocals came out strained, the way one's voice did before a cough. "I can't let it go."

A sound came out that was similar to a hiccup, though way wetter as she continued. "This place. I know I should Steve but I-"

Natasha stopped altogether and blew a short, tense sound from her throat before continuing, catching herself before a croake was able to escape.

There was a quiet sniff from her before another indescribable noise left Natasha once again, her body stiffening up before laxing once more. "I thought about bringing him here."

The confusion from Steve was something he hoped Natasha could feel, something that must have been right because she shifted a bit from underneath him pulling her body up and allowing Steve's arms to melt from her. She didn't pull far, just enough to wear her head was barely at his shoulder.

She looked at him, the weariness there but the telltale signs of it not being there. She didn't bite her lip when she spoke, nor did she look away. Instead Natasha just looked at him, eyes soft.

"The-" She started and Steve could see the way she paused and searched in her brain briefly before continuing. "Our newest case."

It didn't take a genius to figure out she was talking about the omega, yet for some reason it took Steve more than a couple of seconds to realize that. But he didn't say anything. She didn't object to it, instead he only looked at her knowing she would continue, which she did.

Her face now looked nervous, like she had been expecting for Steve's to say something so she wouldn't actually have to continue. She knew something Steve didn't, and there was obviously something she wasn't telling him.

When it became clear that he wasn't going to say anything she made an expression halfway between guilt and a little disappointment, and immediately Steve softly braced himself. He knew whatever it was it was about the omega. It couldn't be good.

"He's sick." It wasn't. "He's got the flu. Type B."

Her voice sounded a little defeated. Steve felt a little defeated in all honesty at that point. He was sick, Steve already knew that but now it was official. He was sick.

He was sick. Sick and pregnant. It was something Steve's mind refused to believe fully but still knew it had to play a factor in everything. It was an Schrödinger's cat for him at this point and even if he wasn't pregnant, being that sick and deteriorating that quickly couldn't have been good for him.

He only swallowed as Natasha continued talking, feeling the lump in his throat grow.

She seemed to have a lump too. "He- Bruce, tested out the sample this morning. Thinks it's pretty bad."

"We can't leave him there." She said, her eyes averting Steve's new look of consternation. He knew that they couldn't, regardless of the omega's current state of health even with all the Pearl Girls seeming to find more and more interest closer and closer to the shelter was concerning.

He knew it had something to do with him, they all did. But how they knew he was there was beyond Steve, unless they saw him. But even then that would have meant they would have had to seen him before he entered the border, not after.

Regardless of the fact it had said so in his file, the alpha women weren't allowed to stake out right along the borders edges. Some things that the country went as so far to enforce by having police of their own keeping watch, which was how, presumably, they found him.

It was far too tense to keep him there, but it wasn't like we had anywhere else to go, and his case files weren't substantial enough to even consider a release right now.

Steve sighed a defeated sound. "I know." He repeated. "I know."

A beat went to by without either of the two saying anything, seeming to have an entire conversation without words or even eye contact until Natasha said something. "I know it's asking a lot, but it would just be better if we could-"

Steve stopped her before she could even finish. "Okay."

At this point she didn't have to ask, he didn't want her to. A lot more was probably going on in her life then he carried to add stress to. It was something he wanted to do, it was a mess that he started.

She finally looked back at him with something aknew in her eyes, something that had been their moments before but seems less fragile. She hadn't lifted her head, not all the way anyway and Steve didn't seem to care.

"Hey," Steve said. He tilted his head to her level and gave her a smile that was small but reassuring, still having that sense of concern intertwined in it. Steve kazee the moment Natasha's face wobbled before breaking out in a smile of her own, soft and fragile.

It lasted only a second, her eyes going shut to keep the glossiness within them from spilling out and Steve reached for her hand, squeezing it softly when she brought her head to meet his. Steve could feel the sensation of their foreheads meeting up, a gap between them.

A moment went by and then a smile grew on her face, along with the slightly choked laugh and a hasty wipe of her eyes. "Thank you."

"Hey." He said, a smile equally as full on his face, though his eyes carried the same level of softness. He squeezed her hand again as she looked up at him, his voice still quiet. "We're going to be alright."

Their foreheads stayed pressed together, with Steve barely even making a move before he spoke again. He could feel his eyes prickle at the newfound determination sweeling into his chest at his words. "We're gonna be just fine."

Notes:

What a ride that was huh? I'm sure a lot of you have noticed but a couple of chapters have disappeared, don't worry! Those chapters have just been combined with others to make a more cohesive reading experience for you all.

Chapter 23

Steve found himself driving them both back, something Natasha tried to do it first but Steve insisted on. She had spent most of the ride back with a weird look on her face, one that was a mixture of a bit of sorrow and something else entirely, like there was something else she wasn't quite telling him.

He had wanted to say something about it at first, but then found himself far too engrossed with the road to really articulate anything. If he pushed, he would get nothing. Despite everything he still seemed to have a level of enough common sense to know that. So instead he just put his focus on his surroundings, waiting.

He was waiting ultimately for something that never came.

It became clear once they had reached the shelter why her voice had gone silent, although the earlier conversation probably had a substantial amount to do with it. He had forced his brain to shut out the white headpieces and flats, choosing to instead imagine where they were going.

The shelter, by all intents and purposes, wasn't in a complete state of disarray. There had been a few freak-outs, something he had later learned, but nothing that they weren't trained to handle.

He passed some doors up to the conference room Natasha ushered him into, and threw them Steve could see how some of the windows had been blacked out with curtains. That in it of itself wasn't the thing that concerned him, for some residents that's just how they lived.

Some of them had no interest in what was going on outside of their walls, choosing instead to focus in on their safe haven. Some of them just couldn't handle it.

No, what had gotten Steve was that there were more windows that had been closed off with curtains, far higher than the usual number. He had no doubt that many of the room's occupants had done it themselves. Perhaps not wanting to throw themselves into a panic or just the general feelings of anxiety.

As for others he already knew of their temperament, likely having their windows covered to calm them once they had already started an episode.

Even as he passed he could see into their rooms, they just couldn't see outside of their large apertures into the outside world.

There were very few outside of their rooms, hardly anyone enjoying the recreational center on the first floor or simply walking about the place. They weren't forbidden from leaving their rooms, nothing ever stopped them, and yet there they were crammed inside their spaces. Hidden from the rest of the world.

Like the man. Steve didn't stop thinking about him, not for a second. Not since his entire day had started and now that he was within the shelter walls, he definitely couldn't stop thinking about him now.

His room was located a ways away, thankfully it was one of the ones he didn't have to go past. Not that Steve thought he could handle whatever was on the other side anyway.

They had kept walking, all the way up until he reached the inside of the room, and it became clear why Natasha had been so uncharacteristically quiet. Bruce was there, Sam too, and the other man's presence was barely able to be acknowledged before Bruce had gone off on Natasha. Apparently she wasn't supposed to do what she did, that being contacting Steve directly.

He had told her to wait, at least until his results came back positive or negative. It was only then that it dawned on Steve that it was possible he could have caught what the omega was carrying, and a small creeping sense of anxiety tickled up his spine at the mention.

But he remembered Natasha's words. Type B. They had all gotten their flu shots that year, they had to get them every year not that Steve was anyone to complain. He never missed his shots, and though his immune system couldn't be categorized as one of the strongest in the world, it wasn't completely compromised.

They had all taken their vacations, the residences included. It was required. At least to the ones that could take it. So many of their immune systems had been compromised or simply they were like that from the get-go.

There wasn't much Steve actually knew about Gilead, not since they had shut down their information from the public half a decade ago. This had been the first time in a long time. The last time they had a visitor, it had been a little time before the heavier restrictions came into play.

There used to be photos coming in and out to Canada from Gilead. Random photos of the interior of the place, how they worked, how they operated, what the people wore, how they ate. They were able to get minor things, minut things that mattered far more now than ever. Even how the people spoke.

It was undercover work, their people on the inside just as the Pearl Girls were here. It wasn't even elaborate, it didn't have to be. Back then Gilead was open to tourism and encouraged it plentifully. Steve had always supposed it was supposed to warm people up to them, to humanize them and make others more likely to trade with them and their officials.

Photos were disencouraged, they always were. But soon it went from disencouragement to the ban of it. Like cell phones in a theater or when one used their flash in a precious museum filled to the brim with paintings. Then it derailed.

Just as Gilead had done before, in the same way that it took power over the states, they took tourism. It had gone from that and restricted videos, to selective tourism, only letting diplomats and political figures see the inside of their elusive world. Then no one.

They were good at that. Change. They said it would be temporary. Just like the dismantlement of the Constitution, just like the flights out of the border from before. Nothing ever changed instantaneously. In a gradually heating bathtub they'd boil people alive before they ever even knew the water was hot.

The only thing Steve did know, that he could convince himself of, was that they couldn't have been giving them shots, the Handmaids. Or at least not the ones they needed. If they had been then the omega wouldn't have been sick, although it could have been that his immune system was just one of those weaker ones. Or that maybe they had predicted and vaccinated for the wrong strand?

He couldn't be too sure. Steve couldn't be too sure about anything anymore. The world had folded in on itself belly up, and now even the small things felt over calculated and difficult.

Bruce had given her a piece of his mind. Telling her how stupid Natasha was to just go out there and do exactly what he told her not to do. It took Sam to chill him out, telling him that the results had already come in now and that he wasn't infected so there was no benefit in going back and forth.

Bruce sighed an irritated breath clearly, but ultimately listened, hands on his head as he turned around. Steve knew as much as anyone that he took his job seriously, but he wasn't quite sure if that was because he had been doing this field for such a long time or if it was because this was now what all his work was condensed into.

All that remained in the aftermath of America was fundamentalist Christian doctors or those in the science field who were forcibly restrained into a medical one, with Bruce being one of the many. Steve wasn't sure what his field was before. He wasn't always a doctor, but whatever it was he didn't talk much about.

It became abundantly clear that Steve was the only one that hadn't been completely briefed on whatever conversation they had had earlier, because it was obvious that one was had.

He became informed rather quickly, but efficiently, that Sam had been added to this new plan they had all devised. The one from before should have hardly even been called a plan, it was less of a plan of action and more of just a bunch of jumbled end goals.

This one had been a more proper plan, an actual course of action, and Steve didn't know if he felt more nervousness or a small sense of exultation at the idea of being productive for once.

He had been sent out soon after, Bruce's frustration just barely on the precipice of his mind. There were so many steps they all had to take for this to go as smoothly and successfully as they all wanted, especially for Steve. He was more than confident that the others wanted the same, but for him it felt deeply more personal.

He felt determined, Steve had something to do with this whole slew of a mess and now he was going to do the best of his ability fix it.

The plan was to get him out, or at least get him feeling better. At this point transporting him was a non-negotiable step, at least to himself and Natasha. He couldn't stay here, and even if it wasn't for the numerous Pearl Girls skittering across the streets, it was far too risky to keep him.

Because despite the fact that mandated vaccinations came at their seasonal timings for everyone within the building's premises, not everyone could afford to take them on account of numerous health issues or other restricting factors.

The moment they had walked back into the shelter they had been forced to strip down and change into other clothes, spare ones and comfort clothes meant for residences.

Steve had been in contact with him and Natasha had been in contact with Steve, the first floor had been completely inaccessible to unauthorized personnel and smelled faintly of bleach and harsh sanitation products.

Apparently Natasha had already come in for work and then left for him, something that was apparent because the appearance and overwhelming sterile smell of the first floor didn't even surprise her, nor when they were told to change into a separate pair of clothes. Instead her eyes just looked tired, the same way they had been looking ever since they had stepped back in the car.

Bruce had told her not to go back and have any contact with Steve, something she did anyway, and something that was just perfectly Natasha. Of course she would, and she did, and now as Steve was going down an elevator and she was waiting upstairs with a swab test of her own awaiting for results to come back in.

In this elevator now, with a plan in his head, Steve was standing there, trying to get his body under some sort of control. He had this. A quarter filled bowl of pre-soaked, mushed brown rice and a small vial like case of medication shoved into his back pocket.

This should have been Bruce's job, the idea of delivering medicine to someone who, just yesterday had just been forced down by a herd of medical personnel, was one that made Steve feel more on the queasy side.

It racked his nerves a little bit, a bit of sweat prickling on his fingertips, but as far as any of them could tell he was the only one who could do it. It wasn't like he was given much of a choice, and they didn't want to risk a reaction due to the events of yesterday. Though sending in a professional still seemed like a better choice as far as Steve was concerned.

When he got out of the elevator Steve just tried to relax himself. As far as he was concerned there wasn't much to worry about. Outside of a single incident the man quite frankly didn't seem like he had much of a violent bone in his body even given his circumstances. Steve had no reason to be nervous, he only had to relax.

The bowl was placed on the ground and he took in a slight breath. He then knocked on the door, remembering the importance of repetition.

"Hey." He said as if his voice got too loud it would shatter the man. Steve cleared his throat before speaking up, trying to make sure he could hear him. "I just wanted to come by to check on you again, see how you were doing?"

There wasn't any given response, not a verbal one by any means but the soft croaking of the bed followed by the sound of something rustling under its springs made Steve's heart start up. Was he still under his bed?

The feeling would have almost been able to be described as giggity if it wasn't tainted by the reality of the situation, the fact that he had been happy that someone wasn't cowering like a rattled cat was not something to be necessarily proud of, but even with that information Steve couldn't help it.

He had known how bad the man was, it being something he tried not to think about too much. But if he was able to get on his bed, if he was on his bed, it meant that he at least had to be feeling a little better. He at least had to have the strength to get up.

But Steve knew better than to just burst in there, even getting a peek through his door window without announcing it first could have been enough to send him into a frenzy, and given his state of- well, everything, Steve didn't want to push him any further.

Instead he continued to speak. "I've uh, got some more stuff here for you."

He wondered to himself briefly how many times he had said that, or really how many times he had said something like that. It seemed to be the only way he could talk to the man, like if he didn't think through every single word before he said it, it would just cause him to shut down off of that alone.

He shouldn't have been thinking that way, not for either one of those ideas. Bringing his hopes up so high without any evidence that he had actually improved wasn't good for either of them. But neither was constantly thinking of the negatives.

Sam had told him once while dealing with a case of his own that recovery wasn't always linear, that was something you could only gain from time and slow steps, no matter how badly you wanted it.

Steve didn't want to believe that was true regardless of how many times the world seemed to tell him it was. He knew there couldn't be an instant cure, but was it so bad to wish there was? Was it so bad to not want to accept this? Because Gilead didn't care, Gilead was going to keep doing this to people, traumatizing people, ripping people apart.

Why did they get to not care? Why was Steve the one that had to be so grounded in reality when they got to make it whatever they want? When Steve and so many others had to reap the consequences?

Why?

It was a question that tore him apart in and out all the time, it had taken away so many endless nights of sleep from him, from everyone no doubt. Even the ones who survived, even the ones who had gotten out in time. Why?

He tried not to get stuck on that question, trying not to ball his first up on the side of the door frame at the unanswerable question. A question that was so eerily quiet in his mind, so quiet that if it wasn't for the sudden lack of sound coming from the omega's room it might have just drowned him.

Steve shook his head. He had to focus. "I'm gonna come in now if that's okay?"

Steve didn't know why he kept saying things like it was a question. Maybe it was because he wanted to sound non-threatening. Or maybe it was because giving him a choice, even if he never responded or took to it, was something Steve felt like he owed him. Like it was something he knew the omega hadn't been offered in such a long time.

The bowl was picked up and the door was opened, slow and steady. Steve was careful not to rush anything, to be as open and predictable as possible. But it didn't matter.

He could feel his hope suddenly start to trickle down into his stomach. He was told never to get his hopes up too high for most of his employment at the shelter, but of course that never stopped him from trying or doing it. Although now he indefinitely regretted ever doing so.

The omega was nowhere to be seen. Instead Steve had been greeted with the very sight he had been greeted with last time, an occupantless bed and a peak of red fabric sticking out from underneath it.

Immediately he felt bad, but something that was overlaying that was the weird emotion he felt at seeing the sliver of crimson fabric bunched at the end of the bed frame, for a moment he wondered why no one had gotten rid of it. Bruce, or his first trade deliverer, the nurses- anyone.

The sight of it- hell, the smell of it couldn't be good for him, sick or not. Because even if he wasn't currently feeling unwell the constant reminder, the visual, of that wasn't something that was going to be helping anyone.

Steve could only briefly wonder what it was like for him here. He was sick down to the point where Steve could only guess that the bed must have felt too hot, regardless of the fact that they were well into November and just on the precipice of the official winter season.

He didn't know anyone, he was scared and the last time someone came into that room it was to hold him down and shove equipment he has likely never had any experience with down his throat. He couldn't talk or at least had some sort of impairment keeping him from doing so, probably pregnant and dehydrated, and god knows what else.

Steve didn't even want to think of the trauma or the fact that his left arm was all but existent at this point, and with the busted knees and the fact that they still didn't have a name, he didn't think he wanted to put any more thought into the man.

Because they still didn't have any sort of identification, except the fact that he was definitely a Handmaid at some point and had a handmaiden name, one that Steve was not going to breathe any life into by daring to identify him with that.

But with that came its difficulties, they had nothing. So no medical records, no allergies listed or sensitivities. There was a program still put in place for family members to reconnect with lost kin still in Gilead, but with no identification and his apparent refusal or incapability of speech there was no way of even trying to get a name out of him to even put out.

They didn't know what he could take, or even if he had any standard medications he had to be on. If he was diabetic, or prone to seizures. It was all unknown to them.

It was why Steve was holding the mushiest rice he had ever seen in his life now. They had to get something in him and though the idea of an IV was discussed he would have to actually be still enough for the process for it to be done, and even putting him under was undoable due to his condition.

They didn't know if he was on something or not or if his body would react to being put under. Along with the fact that him being this far down into influenza with a potential pregnancy was already putting his body under enough strain.

It was too risky but he needed food and medication, and at least enough water to keep the idea of dehydration quelled for the moment. Medication was also necessary and doing such a thing on an empty stomach this far in would have only ended likely the way it did the day before.

So that left Steve, with a bowl shallowly filled with what was essentially porridge and a vial of Tamiflu in his back pocket, with so many different numbers of emotions going through him.

He could hear the sound of the bed frame being pushed, no doubt the omega from underneath it shifting his body around and putting pressure on the metal. Even though it wasn't indicative of what Steve thought it was, at least he was still in there. At least he was still alive.

He approached the bed frame the same as he did before, crouching down a ways away from it just to give the brunet space. It was something he remembered, doing too much too fast might have freaked him. Something Steve didn't think he could take right now.

Steve's cheek laid on the floor, his body going back into a crouched position similar to the last time he had done this, and braced himself. He bit his lip to stop whatever sound might have come out.

The omega was the same as he had been before. He sat there in that same slumped position Steve had braced himself for, his body crammed underneath the bed and pushed to the tightest as it could be against the wall. Steve stared at him, and felt the slightest twinge of fright when the other man didn't stare back.

Instead his steel eyes were closed, and if it wasn't for the slight movement in omega's chest to ensure Steve of his breathing, or the fact that the bed had creaked only moments before, Steve very well might have panicked.

The man's breath was hard against the floor and unlike before, his knees weren't tucked up against his chest, laid out in more of a starfish like position instead. His hair was still clumped up together, tacky against his face and Steve could see now how his once pale skin had become flushed with red.

He could tell some sort of fever must have just started setting in, the sweat reflecting whatever little light could reach him from under the bed. Steve could see the pockets of sweat that had pooled along the omega's back and the arm facing him.

Steve swallowed. This was getting bad, and if it wasn't for the bottle of liquid Tamiflu he had squeezed in his back pocket, Steve didn't know what he would have done.

He was sure the omega must have heard him, unless he really did just happen to move at the same time Steve was talking. At this point Steve couldn't be too sure.

What he did know was he had to make sure the man wasn't dying. Because handling that really wasn't something he felt like he had the strength to take, like the guilt would have over ran him entirely.

He wanted his attention but Steve didn't know how to get it, and he had became suddenly frustrated on what to do. He didn't want to yell, startling the other man didn't seem like the brightest of ideas. Surely calling his name would work but he didn't have one, and the one he did have was one Steve was not going to use.

He didn't even want to believe that the man was so fried and worn out that he would even want to identify himself with that.

Surely he had to have had a name, he had to have had something. Because Steve wasn't going to call him that, a handmaiden name or not, that's not how he saw it. It was a slave name, one of ownership. A name was a real name, not whatever this was.

It would have been the easiest way to get his attention, but Steve didn't care. Whatever he did choose to say though it would have to be quiet and he would have to keep his distance. Patterns. Patterns

So he swallowed and tried something else. "Hey," He tried, whispering slowly. "You okay there?"

There wasn't much movement from the other man but Steve didn't know what else to really do, so instead he waited, giving him a moment to see if maybe he had registered him. Steve wasn't sure exactly what word he would use to describe the feeling he felt next, but it was definitely something close to relief.

The omega didn't give much of a response but it was still something, rolling one of his eyes open to look at Steve in a way that almost felt forced. As if just doing the simple action was tiring. He didn't do much else but look, his breathing lightly picking up like he wanted to do something but just couldn't.

Steve didn't know how else to describe the next sight. Just that it was something short of frightful. His eyes, much to Steve's relief, were still white where they needed to be, although their stark color from underneath the shading of the bed and the rich hair that covered his face was something eerie.

His other eye was still closed, being that it was still pressed against the floor and smooshed underneath the omega's cheek. He didn't say or do anything else, simply staring at Steve like some sort of monster from beneath a cave.

The feeling of such a hard stare made Steve's throat squeeze but he fought to keep his composure. He had never really been this close to a case before in this sort of manner, but to have one this intense for a first time wasn't exactly reassuring to his nerves.

Instead he fought to find his voice and used his words carefully. "Oh hey, uh it's-"

Steve stopped himself. How many times had he said that? He shook his head. Yes he was nervous, and yes the omega needed to be treated delicately but he sounded nervous. Did the other guy think he was scared of him? Did it make him feel more at ease?

Steve couldn't tell if it was good or bad, or even if it was something that was just predictable to the omega. Or if it just sounded fake at that point, but he felt like he was running around in circles. He had to say something else.

"I've got you some stuff here." Steve tried out instead. "I think you'll like it, some food and stuff. It'll make you feel better."

The omega didn't react much but Steve definitely wasn't expecting the groan that left him. He wasn't quite sure what that could have meant, if it was supposed to be some sort of fear response because of yesterday or if it was some sort of attempted speech. But whatever it was Steve almost leaned into it.

He wanted to know what he was thinking, he wanted to know what he had to say. On top of everything else that was going on with him now he was doing everything on a completely empty stomach. Maybe the sound was out of pain? Maybe he knew there was food inside the bowl and the idea of consuming it made him feel nauseous?

Steve didn't know, and everything had to be this weird game of charades because the omega wouldn't talk.

Steve could only give the best response he could come up with. "Yeah, I know."

The way he said it was soft in a way that he hoped didn't come off as patronizing. It was the only thing he could do at this point anymore. He tried a slightly more upbeat tone for his next words. "But we could try it, right? I'm sure it'll get you feeling better in no time."

He really wanted it to sound encouraging, really, he did. But he wasn't sure just how much of that was really coming through with his words, sounding more like a school nurse than an actual case worker representative.

The omega grunted and then made a sound halfway between a sigh and a groan, something Steve definitely knew was just him preparing himself for something bad to happen. Steve didn't want to think about how many times someone had offered him "help" before, something that had turned out to be something else entirely.

The last time someone had offered him something rested in the idea of help they had wrestled him to the ground and shoved long medical tools down his throat, literal health care workers. Something Steve definitely regretted now, but probably had to be done.

"Hey." Steve started, tucking his bottom lip in his mouth before licking it anxiously. "It's fine, it's fine."

The omega tilted his eye's towards the direction of the large window in the room and looked around, trying to gaze at anything that wasn't Steve. Which made Steve come to the conclusion that the omega was likely giving in, but that he just didn't want to look at him.

That realization crushed something deep but Steve wasn't going to let it phase him, he could see the way the other man's chest had sped up, likely another fear response setting in. In his head Steve could likely do whatever he wanted to do to him, and resisting him would probably get him nowhere but where it got him yesterday.

Steve wasn't going to let that happen, he wasn't going to just sit here and let him think that. "Hey, no we're fine."

The omega looked at him, his eyes big and tense. Steve could barely talk. "We're fine."

The bigger man's eyes suddenly glossed up. A glassy, wet texture coming to them. His face scrunched up for a second like he was going to cry before it relaxed again, the facial expression never truly setting in. His eyes however, they were nothing but sad.

His body looked tired and slumped, and something in his expression had looked like he had officially given up. There was something about his body and face that reminded Steve of yesterday, of the way he suddenly just gave into the practitioners holding him down, going limp beneath them as if they had switched his brain off.

The odd thing was that his expression was completely neutral, it was his eyes. Even though part of him had seemingly given up his eyes looked desperate, pleading and begging Steve for something his mouth wouldn't say.

It made Steve's body immediately react, having to say something. "Hey. Hey, no, no, we're good."

He quickly but quietly pulled the spoon from out of the bowl that was seated in front of him, showing the resident the contents inside. "It's just rice, see?"

He watched as the omega's eye stared over at the utensil in Steve's hand, his eyes just as somber and wet as before. "I thought I might bring it over, see if it gets you feeling better."

The pacing of his breathing only seemed to kick up a bit at that and Steve fumbled for his back pocket, placing the spoon down in the bowl and hoping maybe the idea of medicine would help. "I've got some other stuff too see? We'll get you better in a sec."

Steve didn't know if it was what he said, or if it was the idea of anything else remotely medical coming near him but the omega closed his eyes and let out a small raspy whine, leaning his head back. Steve could see the way his expression crinkled, and Steve couldn't help but think that he was likely bracing himself for something bad to happen.

"No, no, no. It's fine, we're still fine." The words left his mouth quickly, restraining himself and doing his best not to yell.

The other man's face didn't change, nor did any inch of the position of his body. The only thing that did change was the sound, changing into a harsh exhale through his nose. His body slumped and he looked at Steve again, eyes round and desperate.

"Hey it's gonna be okay," Steve said, attempting to soothe even with his own nervous state. "It's just some meds and a little food-" He swallowed, shaking his head. "And we're going to get you right as rain 'kay?"

Another high pitch noise left him that was intertwined with a groan this time and he looked around the room again, something Steve assumed now was his brain likely just trying to wrap around what was happening and what was likely going to happen.

"Here, see?" Steve started, his movements clumsy as he tilted the bowl over, spoon and all to show the contents within fully. He pushed the bottle of Tamiflu a little closer to him but not fully under the bed. "Just some stuff to getcha feeling better."

Steve was more than sure now that the man could read, the way he looked down and gazed at the bottle staring at it momentarily as his eyes drug across the label was more than confirming for Steve.

It was a moment that didn't last much longer than that, because soon the omega went right back to staring at him though his face was far less strained. It took a while before he blinked, and then his eyes hit the floor.

Was he thinking? Or maybe Steve was just being overly hopeful again? He didn't know, but there was a new expression on the omega's face now. His eyebrows had lightly scrunched together, eyes flicking between spaces down on the floor.

His breathing had finally slowed, hitting a pace that was somewhat normal, but the light frown on his face told Steve something else entirely, wobbly and light.

He couldn't stand the silence. "Okay." He said to himself before pulling something else out of his back pocket, an oral syringe.

A panicked look arose in the omega for the briefest of seconds and Steve tried to make his intentions as clear as possible. So instead he didn't go to calm him as he usually would, he knew that probably wouldn't do anything. Instead he made his actions clear, unscrewing the cap on the small bottle and filling the tool appropriately.

He didn't say a word as he layered the medication within the bowl, stirring it right after.

He felt there wasn't much to say but could feel the way his nose slightly crinkled at the smell. He realized it wasn't the only scent in the room, somewhere layered underneath the soaking rain smell that was practically fuming from the omega, was the smell of bleach.

He wanted to question himself why he hadn't smelled it earlier but it just as quickly came to him that everything in this room had been engulfed with the depressive scent of him. It wasn't something Steve could smell much of but it was something that the omega had to have smelled.

Steve was honestly surprised that he hadn't thrown up again. He couldn't imagine having a sensitive stomach and being surrounded by this, let alone with everything else that was going on. Instead he shook his head and got back to stirring. One thing at a time Rogers.

He laid himself back down the way he was before so he could get a look at the other man, and could see how his expression had gone back to normal- or whatever could be considered normal to him at this point.

The sight before him made him feel lost for words and he simply let out a sigh, this whole thing was stronger than words could describe, more than the word sad could encompass. He tried to keep his voice soft. "Hey."

He swallowed again. "Look I-" He breathed. What was he trying to say?

Steve closed eyes briefly, thinking it through. "I know you don't trust me okay." He made a defeated sound. "I don't expect you to."

He looked at the bowl briefly before looking back at the brunet. "But I do want to help, okay? I want you to know that."

The omega stared at him blankly, whatever expression that had held such a grip on his face was now gone, looking at him with the most neutral face Steve had ever seen anyone pull in his entire life, and for the life of him Steve had no idea what any of that was supposed to mean. Or why he was even listening to him.

God to himself he sounded so wrong, like he was speaking to a child. But he didn't know what else to do, he didn't know how else to help and even Steve could hear the trembling in his own voice at that. "And I want you to get better, and I want to help but I can't do that until you do."

His eyes burned, and Steve felt like he couldn't quite hold it all in anymore. This was fucked up, all of this was fucked up and he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he had only made things fucking worse.

He couldn't take it anymore. Losing sleep, worrying about everybody- it was all just taking its toll. Steve wasn't use to this. The whole thing was too much and basic empathy alone made him only wonder what the omega was going through mentally. He needed him to get better, for the sake of his sanity, he needed it.

"So just-" His eyes closed again, trying hold his composure as best he could. It wasn't worth it to cry in front of him, it wouldn't fix anything and it would only escalate things further. Something Steve didn't want, something Steve didn't need right now. He blew a breath. "Please."

The omega's face changed, taking on a new look Steve couldn't quite point out nor did he care to. Barely holding it together, he could only barely see how something else was then written on the bigger man's face. Concern? He didn't know what it was, but it looked strange.

It was weird. He looked like he was about to cry, pity falling from his eyes, yet the way his eyebrows scrunched up. It was something more than sadness, more than curiosity. Something that rode almost on confusion. Steve didn't care.

The only thing he did care about was when he put one of his hands towards the bowl, putting in an effort to make sure the omega could see when he slid it fully under the bed, it stopping only inches away from the brunet's side.

The other man watched as it slid towards him and for once didn't panic. He didn't freak out, he didn't flail and Steve might have been amazed by it if he wasn't too busy trying not to shake.

Instead Steve pushed out a small, trembled breath and sniffed, trying not to wipe his nose. He had to look put together, it was his job to, but he wasn't quite sure how much longer he could hold onto that image anymore.

He looked at him with eyes that rivaled the omega's own. "Please just think about it."

He said it like a prayer, his voice reaching up in a way towards whatever God might have been listening to him, as if they might just hear him. As if the prayers of so many suffering around him, around the world, and Gilead- as if somehow his prayer mattered. As if somehow whatever being, if up there, cared.

He could feel the dam breaking within him. The same dam that broke when his mother died. The same dam that had broken when he learned of what had happened to Boston, to Chicago- to America. That same dam that always broke when there was nothing he could do.

He had gotten up. So quickly that he almost didn't hear the other "Please" that had come from his own mouth, the noise coming out somewhere from his subconscious. So quickly that his skin slid on the ground when he rose. That he didn't hear when the door opened when he opened it.

And he didn't hear it when it closed either.

Chapter 24: Ofhoward

Her hand is on me, gloved and silky smooth.

I don't know what to do.

I hadn't honestly prepared for this, or anything like this. I try to avert her gaze as best I can, but the woman's brown eyes are firmly fixed upon me. It was well within her rights to touch me, I belong to her in a way now. If only through her husband, but through such an act all formalities had just been crushed.

Her touch is so soft I can barely feel it, the usual feeling of skin being blanketed with a glove so velvety and smooth that somehow, it almost lessens the predicament I've found myself in.

Aunt Carter, if she's there, doesn't make her presence known. A small part of me wishes that she would, to stop the thudding in my chest and bring me back to some form of normalcy, whatever normalcy has been in the past year now.

This wasn't supposed to happen, she wasn't supposed to touch me, not yet. Least not before the Commander has even seen me, yet even with that something about her touch feels so wanted. Even by me.

It isn't threatening, she doesn't grab and squeeze onto my chin, something that would be forcing me to look up at her. No, the touch is calm, guiding almost. There's even no use of her thumb, and I can feel them. Her fingers. Pointing, middle, and index, all fitted beneath my chin and tilting me up.

I watch her face as she scans me, her eyes starting over my features though in a way that I can't quite describe as malicious. I wonder for the briefest of moments what she's doing. If she's taking me in. If this is all just as big of a change as it is to me. If this is her way of taking this all in, of taking me in.

Or maybe it's something else.

There is something of a hazel tree within those glossed eyes of hers, not only the comforting browns of the boughs but also the light subtle greens. Like springtime buds. They're wide-eyed like a child's, and the colors don't blend together so seamlessly like they did in the trees my mother used to take me to. They're sharp. Like they could slice glass.

There's something else though. Something subtle about her that I feel like I'm just now registering, something in those delicate features that feel so familiar but I can't quite lay a finger completely down on. It's something that bothers me, like a tickle in my throat. Although, that could just be my heart trying to pound it's way out.

I can't see Aunt Carter, I can't see anything through these damn curtains I'm practically forced to dress myself in. The circle of white that surrounds me blocks everything from view except for the sight of my mistress' new face, and even the ceiling above her is gone, obstructed by the white.

She's there, Aunt Carter. I know that she has to be, she wouldn't have just disintegrated within the air the way my mind tells me that she has. But I can barely scent her out now from within the confines of my wings.

That was one of the things about the contraption on my head, something we were made to get used to. Regardless of the fact that blockers were now considered a punishable offense when used, I can hardly smell anyone anymore. These things do more than block out peripheral vision, they're like ears on a bloodhound.

I can hardly smell anything anymore that isn't directly in front of me, I guess that's all the world wants me to see now. What is directly in front of me. Nothing else concerns me anymore, there is nothing to stress us anymore according to Aunt Carter, and in a way, she's right. No more tasks, no more wordly assignments. Jobs, or bills, or unpredictalities. Life is easier now.

And all I can see, all I can smell now, is the mistress of this house. Hands touching me and eyes scanning every crevice of my face, only giving me eye contact for the briefest of moments. She didn't even wait for a response as she didn't from Aunt Carter, but I dare not pull away.

I try to focus on the only thing that I can, I try to gather as much information as I can. The thought of being left alone with her scares the shit out me, but I bury the emotion. I can't smell myself but I don't want the fear from me to scent the air, I don't want to give her that satisfaction if she wants it. I don't want to give anyone that.

I don't know her, I don't know what she wants. If this was all some sort of test or if she wants me to sweat and fidget and pull the way I want to. Wives had a cruel streak from what I could gather, regardless of how toned down the Aunts tried to make it seem.

Instead I try to gather what I can, see if I can gather some sort of one up on her without doing it outright. I have to be aware of my position, I know my position. I have to play this smart.

So instead I try to pull a scent from her. Something- anything identifying that I can use. It's best if I go ahead and try to familiarize myself with this place and its inhabitants as quickly as possible, and if I can do that before the Commander's arrival maybe it would override my nerves.

I do my best, trying to hone on to something specific, sifting through the lingering smells in this place before I land on something. Something delicate and barely there, a whisper of a smell. The petals of something, maybe a flower. Rose. Something soft, and delicate, and barely there. Floral yet not strong. A bit of champagne. Then my chest sinks.

Somehow it hadn’t registered to me up until just now that the Commander’s spouse would be another omega.

I almost shake my head at the stupidity of just now realizing that. Stereotypical sure, that having a sweet scent would push me into that realization. Manily because the scent of her didn't mean anything, sure it was more typical but it wasn't concrete proof. But only Wives got Handmaids to aid them, so she could have smelled like a pack of cigarettes and it wouldn't have meant anything anyway because Wives could only ever be omega's.

But I steel myself up as always, ropping myself together and fighting the shaking urge within me. I can't make a fool of myself. She's another omega, of course she is. Why wouldn't she be? She's a Wife. It feels so obvious. So plain.

All Wives are omegas, but somehow the knowledge of that must have slipped me. I don't know why I supposed she would be another alpha, I don't know how all of Aunt Carter's past teachings left me all so suddenly.

She's an omega, she's fertile. Or at least she's supposed to be, she can't be if I'm here. But that's supposed to be their new role now.

It's said that they're the best of the best when it comes to the whole child birth gig now, female omegas. Better than beta women and especially alpha women- hell by all accounts even I'm supposed to be better than them at that.

It's odd that I would have, and once did think that it would be the alpha women that would be in such a pious and respectable role. The best a woman could be. But no.

But it all makes sense now, at least to me. That alpha women are still allowed to read and write, they can still command in a way, but just not over a man. Not that I count of course, I am not a man. Not according to the state, not according to the law and definitely not here.

Aunt Carter, regardless of the fact that she is a woman, is still an alpha, one of the only things that saved her from my position or likely others. Though I guess a Wife's position can't be much better.

As far as I can tell she doesn't get to cook, she doesn't get to clean. That's the job of the Martha's, she is supposed to be perfect and pretty. A status symbol for her partner, a reflection of him. But for all intents and purposes she's better than me regardless of the fact of our shared dynamics.

God, it seemed so easy to get to us first. The birth control restrictions didn't come until after. Then the blockers went, then the heat suppressants. They started off so small it was almost unnoticeable. Before everything, before all of this.

When we were getting raped and they blamed our heats. When we were getting assaulted and they blamed our poor timing. When the birth rate was declining and they blamed our careers, our hobbies, our dreams, our lives.

So our pay started to dwindle, just a little, just a few cents. What was the big fuss? It was only a few coins. It was only a few statistics. It was only a few assaults. We were being too dramatic, we were being too demanding. It wasn't real. It was all in our heads, we were only playing victim.

It seemed so easy to target us, so easy to pick with and isolate. Twenty five percent. That's all we were, that's all we are still. Just a measly little twenty five percent. Our problems didn't matter, we didn't matter. All we had to do was stop complaining, to just pull ourselves up by our bootstraps.

It seemed so easy. Betas didn't care, and if not them then why would alphas? They didn't care, they never did. Not until birth control was threatened, not until women were threatened. When all women were threatened. When they started targeting them, all fifty percent. When all their dynamics began to be targeted. Omegas, alphas, and betas alike. When they started crying out in the streets. That's when they cared.

That's when alpha women cared, when they took away their jobs. When beta women's funds went to their husbands and brothers, their fathers. Or only right before, when birth control was under threat. When their college applications went ignored and unread. But not when omega women started losing their wages, they were just omegas. Women or not. They didn't count.

We were the other, there always had to be an 'other'. A scapegoat, a black sheep- someone to pile all the world's problems on to. A quick fix for everything instead of interrogating institutions, instead of questioning societal norms and the mere concept of systemic issues.

When the birth rate had started to decline it had been our fault, really their fault. Omega women's. They had and had always been in high regard as the most fertile, far more likely to carry a child fully to term. They always had been.

So it was okay to bully them, it was okay to harass and degrade them. Why did it matter? Omegas should be at home, cooking and cleaning. Especially the women. The only exception were the males, me. We were given choices, so many choices that I missed now although even that didn't go without it's scrutiny.

But they weren't typical women, they weren't betas. They weren't alpha women either, whose dynamic alone gave them their own level social privileges, better positions in life. They were omega women, they were different.

Divide and conquer. It really was a motherfucker, and we sat right there and let it happen. Something that's still happening.

Because, I know this. This is what they do, this is what they always did. What's always been done. If it wasn't dynamics it was gender. If it wasn't gender it was sex. If it wasn't sex it was race. It was disability, ethnicity, financial class, citizenship, sexuality, gender expression- something. Someone always had to be at fault, someone had to be blamed for all the world's problems. Anyone. An us and a them. An other.

Even here, even in this place it works. It works because it was set up to, because it needs to. Because people always need something to rally behind or up against when the world was so hard, in the before and even now.

I hate her because she's better than me by all means and accounts, and likely, she hates me for just the opposite. Likely this is all just for show. Maybe. I can't tell, because I can't tell much of anything anymore.

But she didn't ask for this, unless she did. She's a High Commander's wife, she likely peddled behind him or maybe was even the main pusher for the movement until she couldn't push any longer. Until they had silenced all women's voices. I wonder if she had thought she would the exception. I hope she did.

I can see the odd smile on her face. I can't tell if she's genuinely as ecstatic as she lets on, everyone is an actor in this place, including me. Because I'm no better. I smile back at her.

Her smile turns a ten fold when she realizes I've returned the small gesture, but the grin I get back from her is twisted, almost unstable. It makes me nervous.

I can feel her fingers trembling beneath my chin, as if she has just seen God himself through my eyes. Her eyes almost start to water and her fingers retreat, her hands clasping into one another, fingers braiding together. I take my place once more and tilt my head down hoping I did well. She does wield the power to make my life an absolute hellscape should she feel it after all.

A thought I'm glad I had, mainly due to how she just as quickly reminds me of my place within these four walls, if only in pasting with her next joyful wobbly words. Words I can feel my eyes sting at.

"Oh," She says with a whisper as she turns to Aunt Carter, joy in her voice. "He's wonderful."

My eyes are on her shoes, gleaming with a dark polished teal. The ends of her dress or just twirling above them and I can tell she must be swaying herself, swooning like a child towards a new puppy. I can't tell if she's laying it on thick, I can't tell if she wants me to be here. If she's scared. If she's just as scared of doing the wrong thing in front of Aunt Carter as I am.

But I'm scared. She seems so thrilled, so happy. Not the distant, cold demeanor Aunt Carter had prepared me for. Her movement seems so regressed, like that of a child. Even Aunt Carter seems less chatty, as if something is wrong.

There's a door that closes down with a thud in the distance. Echoing throughout the place so hard I flinch, and I can feel the grip of Aunt Carter's fingers squeezing on my thigh. She's nervous, I think so. I hope she isn't, I need someone here in my corner even if that is Aunt Carter.

But I hope she's scared, I want to see her scared. I want to see her as hopeless as she makes me feel, and a part of me does get that satisfaction. The feeling of her hand slightly shaking atop my culotte sleeve, does little to stop my pounding heart or sudden trembling nerves. But it does satisfy me.

I hear footsteps from above, no doubt coming from one of the grand staircases from before. There's a different pair of shoes, deep and thudding. Not like the excitable clicking and clattering from before.

The Wife however- Mrs. Stark doesn't seem to have a care in the world for the noise. Instead she only lets out a slight excitable "Ah!" and a clap before sitting on the couch opposite of the one Aunt Carter and I occupy, the way she should have been doing in the first place.

Before I can even get my thoughts together, I hear him.

“Ah, Aunt Carter." Says the ominous, low voice of the man still coming down the stairs, a voice I don't dare turn back to. One that makes my very bones steel. "My apologies for making you wait.”

His low, baritone voice didn’t sound apologetic in the least.

But I can smell him before I ever see him: the man I now belonged to. My master. The apparent future father of my children. The thought might have made me ill if his voice hadn't made me straighten up so subconsciously, a slow and measured step accompanying him. One with no ounce of hurry despite the discernible fact that there are three people currently waiting for him.

There's the slightest bit of hesitation before Aunt Carter replies, like she's nervous, and I feel as if only I can hear the way her throat slightly clears before replying. I wish my nerves would settle enough to let me relish in her nervousness at the uncanny feeling of the home, and the daunting task of addressing a High Commander in it.

“Oh nonsense, Commander Stark." She says with her usual jolly tone, with a wave of her hand that I can't see. "Your work always takes top priority.”

I wonder if she's doubting her words. I wonder if saying even something so casual as 'nonsense' could be seen as offensive. I can almost smell the scent change in her. Would he take offense? Was she calling him nonsensical? Illogical? Stupid?

"Hm." He says, and the anxiety-inducing thump of his shoes comes ever closer and somehow, I can feel his very smile crawling on my neck.

“You’re too kind.”

I didn’t dare raise my eyes, as far as I can see, I plan on keeping them should the rumors be true. So I keep them on the ground as a daunting frame breezes straight past me, as if I don't exist. His shadow eats up a small part of the floor until he makes his way towards his wife on the other couch and sits beside her.

The sofa creaks, and all I can see of the Commander is a pair of dark and polished dress shoes, accompanied by pitch black suit pants. My head is bowed and my headwear frames the world, yet I can just see their navels and below, their hands intertwined. Her frame seems to almost merege into his.

He is to be called Commander Stark, to call him mister would be to place him on the same pillar as his wife. A term only used for beta males now. He is a Commander, even if not in the Sons of Jacob he still commands. His household, his wife, his Martha's, me.

She is no more valuable than me, not here. She is his wife. His property. Nothing more than a sacred shiny trophy with his last name printed across the front. Mrs. Stark, her identity tarnished and stripped away. She's nothing more than an extension of him, an accessory just as disposable as I. Her existence is to make him look good, like hair on one's head. Hair that can be ultimately cut.

He is an alpha, and a man at that. He is strong, he is fast, he is necessary. Ordained by God to command. She is no better than I to him, only harder to dispose of. A house slave covered in pearls.

She squeezes his hand, and he doesn't even seem to notice.

She is not your friend

A thick blanket of silence stretched on for a moment, deep and daunting, and for once I am almost glad at my expected silence and submission. I am not to speak unless spoken to. I could never be more grateful for that now.

So it was only up to Aunt Carter to softly clear her throat. The Commander could have spoken, he had full right to, he had full right to everything in this house. I can almost feel his stare on her, and I want to laugh. Full and hearty I do, but I think I might just pass out if I do much of anything because even Aunt Carter is nervous.

Despite her position, he is still a man. Both of that and an alpha, a full step above her. She doesn't want to, nor should she, out speak or interrupt him. Even with that he's a High Commander, so she'd better be nervous.

God I wish I could relish in this.

But I get smacked down to Earth at her words, despite them sounding so unsure and nervous. Though maybe it's because of that and what she says.

Her throat fully clears after she's sure she won't interrupt, and I can feel my own constrict. Her voice is crisp and polished, almost gentle. “Commander Stark, this is Ofhoward.”

Chapter 25

This wasn't what Steve expected to see.

He had trailed off after that, the interaction with the omega. He didn't have anything else to say, or anything else he could have possibly thought that would have improved the situation or even how he felt at that point.

So instead he busied himself. Finding himself falling back into a familiar routine he had sent ever since first finding his job at the refugee center. He spent the rest of the day focused on mopping and cleaning, on work and meal prep in the cafeteria and setting up chairs and tables in the recreational portion of the building.

There were some people that were looking at him, people that he could feel staring at him even if he didn't so much as glance back. He keow what it was. Someone had told them.

Word got around fast now, faster than most gossip or information and workplaces ever used to. When there was a threat that was so close, quite literally looming over a border, word had to. Especially in a place that held said refugees from said threat, who likely would kill to have them returned back to them. Non figuratively.

It left tensions high, which left the gap and need for information higher. Everyone had to know everything in order to feel even an assemblance of calm in this place, though that could be everywhere in general now. Otherwise you wouldn't know who you were working with, who to trust in who didn't.

It was beyond reasonable doubt now that there were eyes on the inside. Hell the Pearl Girls, as much as they denied that fact or outright refused to comment on it all together, were more than suspected of feeding Gilead more outside information on Canada's news and movements. As much as they could gather anyway.

Which Steve might have saw as smart if it wasn't for Gilead being Gilead. But there wasn't much else that Pearl girls we get out of Canada that Gilead didn't already know. They were a country, they had press and media that everyone well knew that Gilead's officials watched. How could they not?

Canada was the place all their citizens seemed to be fleeing to since the new country's first conception, the same place that happens to also be their next door neighbor in terms of geographical location. As well as an opposing political and governmental form advocate. To say at the very least, they were more than interested in each other's activity.

Which made everything tense. For the citizens and for those in charge of governmental institutions, more so for Canadians.

So to say at the very least, working with people that had secrets, no matter how big or small, was more than enough to raise suspicion and warrant social isolation from others. It was something Steve couldn't even fault people for anymore, it was something he himself had even participated in. In particular about a certain alpha co-worker of his that he avoided at all costs since the last conversation they had hadn't gone- well, the greatest.

So it didn't shock him when people had been looking, more so out of concern he hoped then scrutiny. But he doubted anybody could have possibly been crude to him at this point.

The omega's presence had to have been well known by then, in that he wasn't a secret anymore. Pretty much everyone he heard around him had said one thing or another about a "new visitor" and Steve's encounter with him, Steve figured they would have been known, and that they probably did by now. But hearing about it over and over again under hushed words and whispers wasn't helping.

He had almost entirely zoned himself out of the world around him, choosing to instead engross himself in his work.

He was scrubbing tables when it happened, when the firm grip of a man's hand made it on his shoulder and squeezed. At first it scared him though, it probably shouldn't have given where he was at. Still, it was enough to throw him off guard, though seeing Sam's face definitely diminished it.

What he expected for the other alpha to say was something along the lines of "How are you holding up?" or a "Are you good?", especially since that was definitely something Sam would say and given how hard he was scrubbing the table before he had come over.

What he was not expecting was a quiet "Come on." followed by a head tilt and him just striding off, expecting Steve to follow.

It was odd because- well, aloofness wasn't really Sam's style. He was much more of a convivial person. Almost goofy. To the point where he borderlined on just being unprofessional most days. Not that Steve minded.

The man was happy, what else could he say? He had a good job, lived in an environment that was pretty ideal given the circumstances, and a relationship that rode the lines of being sappy. Having pretty decent coworkers didn't hurt either, and to Steve, Sam was actually one of the few good reasons why he liked coming to work everyday given the state of everything around them.

So when he wasn't acting as himself, at least not as Steve usually saw him, he was a bit taken back but didn't comment. Instead, he just waited until Sam had gotten a few steps in front of him and placed his rag down, choosing to follow.

Steve wasn't fully sure at the time if it was just mainly him and his anxiety that made him feel the way he did, but he felt like the world was staring down at him that whole walkway down to wherever Sam was leading him.

He could swear that everyone was talking about him, that everyone was looking, and it wasn't that High School level gossip he was even worried about, not that hadn't been fun when he was a teenager.

But it was the pity. He wondered if that's what they were mainly talking about, if they felt bad for him, how much they knew, who told them, and who saw. Had someone seen what he had done with the omega that day? Or did someone tell them? Why? Had that person pitied them? Was it Sam?

Was it Natasha?

God that idea made a pit form deep down in his stomach. He hoped not.

He already knew how she was and even though her gestures were always genuine, at least Steve hoped so, it didn't mean that they didn't get to him sometimes. It didn't mean that they did make him feel a certain way, and it also didn't mean that he didn't feel something right then.

Because at that moment the only thought that was circulating in his head for once wasn't on the omega, but on how there might have been the slightest chance of Natasha spilling out his failure of epic proportions to all of his co-workers.

She could have called them all in for a meeting, maybe she would have told them all not to tell Steve, he wouldn't have noticed given how laser focused he had been all day. That realization, the realization that all that could have feasibly happened and it going entirely over his head made his heart thump.

He was nervous, a little embarrassed and felt slightly ridiculous at that notion because there wasn't any proof for anything but what he was going to do. Ask? Who, Sam?

He loved the guy, he really did. But he already had enough deep seeded issues as it was, and he really didn't want to ask that by admitting that he was worried about a hypothetical situation. To Sam. Because it's nice as he was, he made Steve feel a certain way, and a certain way that wasn't necessarily good.

But Sam must have seen straight through that because when he glanced behind him, and probably saw how pale Steve was, he gave him a "It's just Natasha." Like he was slightly annoyed by her beckoning and kept strolling.

Which, and Steve didn't think it was at all physically possible, only seemed to inflate his anxiety because then he really felt like she had said something.

Steve didn't say anything else to that, choosing instead to walk a little slower behind them so that maybe Sam wouldn't think he was so close to having some sort of nervous breakdown. Had he even seen that in the first place?

He didn't want to look so pitiful. He didn't want him to see him like that, but even then that just made it worse because now he felt like a child. A literal child trailing behind their teacher because they're in big trouble and on their way to the principal's office.

He didn't want to seem like he was struggling but he was, and it really wasn't helping that the walk had been long and his anxiety mixed with the lack of his usual use of the elevator really wasn't favoring too well on his breathing.

He could feel himself panting at that moment, as well as the bit of dread and embarrassment that had kicked in. He couldn't do that. Not here. Not now. Not when it felt like everyone was looking.

Not when he was stringing along behind Sam like a puppy. Not when his lungs felt tight. Not when he knew he could make it, they were just going to Natasha's office, it wasn't that far at that point from where they were. Not when he didn't have to reach into his side pocket and pull out his inhaler.

And definitely not when he did have to pull it out, when he couldn't take it because he felt like his hands were trembling. Not when he sucked in a breath and Sam stopped walking and looked at him, and definitely not when he saw the brief flash of concerned eyes from people striding past.

Certainly not when he heard a "Hey, you good?" from Sam right after when he had to pause, Steve's hands on his upper thighs and bent while he processed the puffed breath.

But that was what happened, and immediately after Steve had only shot him a brief thumbs up without so much as looking up at the other man. And never once in Steve's life had he ever felt as internally grateful than when Sam decided not to comment on his lack of a response and just went back to walking.

Steve could see it, the apprehensive way he walked off. See the way that he slowed down, like he knew Steve needed a break. The thing was Steve wasn't even sure which part made him feel worse, the fact that Sam acknowledged that and cared enough to slow down, or the fact that he felt self-conscious due to Sam doing it.

But it didn't take long for him to lead Steve into the room that they were in now. Which led them to where they are now. The three of them. Sam. Natasha. Steve. All of them standing, all of them staring at a screen, all of them silent.

All of them watching a bowl.

God...

There it was. Right there. Just next to the bed frame in the omega's room was the bowl Steve had given to him just hours before. The contents inside were empty and long gone, so much so that it looked almost hollowed out. Gleaming and reflecting back into the camera as if it knew they were all watching.

Steve didn't know what to think. He didn't know what to feel. There had been so much leading up to this. So many thoughts filled up to the brim with so much anxiety it felt like Steve was on the brink of combusting with all of the notions and stresses of the day, just for them to all leave him now, probably right when he needed it the most.

Steve felt like he should say something but he didn't know how. It was almost as if his entire mouth felt heavy and bolted up all at the same time.

It didn't take a genius to figure out why Natasha wanted to see him now all of a sudden, or why Sam had seemed so cryptic about the whole thing. Steve didn't know what to think, but a small part of himself told Steve to look at the two others in the room. To gauge for some sort of reaction, but a bigger and even stronger part of himself couldn't tear his eyes away from the screen.

It wasn't a lot, the action wasn't much. But he moved.

It felt like such a wrong feeling to have but every time Steve had pictured the omega in his head, sometimes he forgot that he was even a person. His motions were always either stiff or shifting into nearly inhuman shapes, eyes either closed or staring completely through Steve with an entirely translucent gaze, like the blond wasn't even in the same room with him half the time.

He didn't speak, he hardly moved. His line of vision almost felt like he was either entirely avoiding Steve or locked onto every feature of his face. A computer or an animal, but nothing human had ever really washed across his face once. Nothing except that perma feeling of sadness, something that was entwined deep in his expression even when it was blank, so much so that he even smelled like it.

That image of him from the day before he wouldn't leave Steve. The omega sitting there in the middle of the floor, crouched before the cheap and barely microwaved food as if it were a kind of sacred relic, blackened fingers pushing in and out of his mouth.

Steve could only wonder what he was thinking. What he was doing. It didn't make any sense to him, the movements. But whatever it was, the omega had gotten lost into it. Steve couldn't forget it. He wouldn't forget.

It hadn't left him alone. Not when he carried on about the rest of the day. Not when he went home and tried to sleep. Not even when he was on the road with Natasha mere hours ago.

His knees. That green and blue that blossomed across them, him kneeling there on the frosty floor on the thinned and peeling skin, as if his mind had become immune to it. Steve couldn't, as hard as he tried, possibly begin to fathom what he had to have been through to get there. To get to that point.

To get a person to do anything like that, so gone that even through thin and swelling knees someone could still find it in themselves to kneel down, was something Steve couldn't wrap his head around. It was something that scared him.

Deeply and truly it scared Steve down to his core, things that made it hard to sleep at night. To think of anything else. Most of what the omega did scared him, but it was more than the staring, it was what that represented, and Steve couldn't help but let the image of the man's scarred and flesh bitten skin flash in his head. He wondered if that was the only thing they had branded.

He couldn't say anything, feeling like his jaw had been wired shut was something Steve hadn't felt in a long time. Not ever since he was a little kid, and even then Steve felt like he had a choice in the matter. Not like now.

He wasn't sure if there was some sort of God or not, but what he did know was that he was grateful to whoever he had to be grateful for the fact that he didn't have to speak. That Sam had broken the silence for him.

"Okay." Sam said and then smoothed out the wrinkled spot on his jeans right on his upper thighs, his voice tight.

“So, he can’t talk. He can’t read. He’s got—fucking—body parts missing from his goddamn body. How is this—” He cut himself off. A hard sigh. “We need a new plan here.”

“This is not-” Natasha began carefully. She exhaled slowly and entirely through her nose, her hands together. “This is not something I’ve dealt with before.”

“Jesus Christ, I’d hope not.” Sam laced his fingers together and rested them on the back of his head, leaning backwards in his chair, eyes shut. “I’ve got a fucking headache.”

He then got up, abruptly at that, and strode over to the small refrigerator propped up on a shelf in the corner of Natasha's office and reached out, opening it and cracking open the bottle of water as gently as he could. Not that Steve could see.

Natasha had slowly pulled her eyes from the screen once Sam had started moving around, but Steve hadn't so much as breathed too hard, like there was some sort of paranormal fear that had taken over him. As if looking away would make everything in front of him disappear. Lose complete access to the omega.

He could hear the sounds of Sam taking a sip of his water, of him asking Natasha if she wanted one. He didn't have to hear her say yes, Steve already knew she did because the sound of a water bottle being tossed to the air and her catching it was heard immediately after.

But his brain was tired, so tired in fact that he hadn't realized Sam had already closed the door and taken his seat next to him. Not until the water bottle was placed in front of him. He was so wrapped up in it all that his usual insecurities didn't even have the chance to flare up on why he didn't just toss him one, too engrossed by the image on screen.

Tired but with manners still intact, Steve's mouth had come up with a mumbled “Thanks.”, never even giving Sam a single glance.

Sam didn’t say anything and Natasha grabbed her own bottle, twisted the cap and then began gulping it down before standing back up.

It felt so odd to him, nearly foreign. He wasn't used to this, being the outsider looking in for once instead of the other way around.

His eyes just couldn't peel away from the screen, staring into the brown wooden bowl as if it was commanding him. He kept replaying the omega's face in his mind. That miserable, blank expression that stayed strung about his face every time Steve had walked in.

It felt weird being on the other side of it all. Of being, by all means and accounts, technically responsible for him. In a way it hurt, it struck a nerve deep within him. How someone could look at another human being and do anything that could remotely get anyone to the level that man was at.

The omega was scared of him. The fear. Steve could see it. A man that could probably tear that whole room apart without so much as thinking about it, was crouched under a bed. Cowering from Steve- cowering from everyone, it made him wonder why he would even bite someone. What would even compel him to do that?

Even with the others, as big of a risk as it was, he hadn't seem as erratic as one would have to be in order to bite someone. He was still human, he was still a person deep down in there somewhere. Right? It wasn't normal to bite people. He was just freaked out, and anyway Steve had seen people do way worse on their first day.

Right?

It took Natasha's hand being placed on his shoulder to stop the shakiness he was starting to feel in his fingers, squeezing them together under the desk. He didn't want to believe it, that someone could go that far, but he already knew what that hand meant before she even said anything.

He was going back in there.

Chapter 26

Knock.

Speak.

Enter.

Now Steve didn't know what to do.

The meeting had lasted longer than that, although Steve wasn't entirely sure he could even describe it as that. It wasn't really as much of a meeting as it was just a gathering.

He had learned, rather quickly, that Sam had been put on to the case as well. Which wasn't too surprising. Each individual within the shelter technically was and had a case, an ID number and a team, the omega was no different yet for some reason Steve entirely expected to deal with it on his own.

In a way he knew he was wrong to even feel a sliver of excitement at anything that was going on. It was like a part of him couldn't help it. The idea of being relied on so heavily for once instead of relying so critically on everyone else… it was something that didn't exactly make him happy given any of their circumstances, but it sure did make him feel- well, needed.

He didn't know how to contextualize it, and it was a feeling that was mainly odd. He knew he was necessary to this, and he did want to help for more reasons than one.

There was almost a little guilt behind it given the situation but he just couldn't shake it, it was like an opportunity in a way. A twisted one at that, but it still was one.

The omega was a person, a human being. A human being that he still didn't know the name of, one that would send himself into a panic if eye contact was held for too long.

He needed help, he needed a team. He needed as many people as physically and realistically possible on his side and Steve knew that, Steve wanted that.

He needed so much. Steve had already come to terms with the fact that he was nowhere close to even beginning to request for a asylum case, something he desperately needed. There was no way for him to advocate for housing after his adjustment period with the shelter, to request citizenship, or even to seek employment after either.

Honestly it was even difficult for Steve to see him even beginning to take his first step for an asylum case. He would need a trial date, a lawyer, and given that there was no other place for him but the shelter, he would still need someone as his caseworker advocate even from the outside.

He needed so much so soon, and the sooner the better. Yet Steve already knew there was no conceivable way he could get there from here, at least not now.

Now he just needed a team. Some people to help him make those first initial steps forward so that he could begin, what Steve could only imagine as, a healing process of sorts. As his current case worker Steve knew that responsibility was suddenly thrusted on him unlike before, and as the voice of the shelter it was Natasha's prerogative and responsibility to do every little thing possible to help Steve with achieving that goal.

Part of that initiative was Sam, the man was good, and Steve had to admit it. For all of the twenty seven times Steven Grant Rogers had spun around the sun, he had never seen a person be as good with people as Sam.

He didn't get it, but the man was a social genius in that way. He could diffuse situations before they started, regardless of the fact that he wasn't all that well with his own emotions.

It was weird how that worked but with Sam it made sense, he was able to talk to anyone at any time and make things better. He was a counselor. It was his job, even in the before. But to Steve and everyone else around him it seemed like he was almost magical with it.

Usually he was the first to get signed on as someone's case worker or consultant at the very least. But given the omega's outright refusal to speak, it made Steve a necessity.

It all also went without saying that the omega potentially had some hostility towards alphas, something Steve himself still hadn't quite figured out yet.

He had deduced a while ago that it might have just been the size that phased him more so than the actual dynamic of the person, but that still didn't really explain his indifference towards Clint and the others that had tried to speak to him.

He hadn't shown any emotion towards them one way or another, and just barely any acknowledgment. He was aware they were there, that much was clear. But he didn't seem to give any sort of real reaction. Not to the way he gave to Steve.

He actually saw Steve, and reacted to him in a way that had almost made the blond uncomfortable.

Steve still couldn't, for the life of him, rationalize that interaction in his head. There was no way he could have known if any of the others were alphas or not in the first place. There was only an assumption he would be hostile towards them given the fact that he had bitten someone, something that was even harder for Steve to wrap his head around.

But even if he did know, that still didn't at all explain his behavior towards him. Steve was more than sure of his own dynamical presentation, he had known since he was fifteen. If the omega would've known then he surely would have acted out.

But he hadn't acted out. That's what was bothering Steve so deeply. Because he was on blockers, they all were. All except for the group that had entered his room before, and somehow even then their smells didn't get him to act out, at least not enough to lash out at someone. Yet somehow, now Steve was fully expected to just stand in a room with him.

In all honesty, Steve really didn't even think about what he would do once he actually got in there. He was so focused about getting there, that it didn't occur to him what he was actually going to be doing. Now there he was, standing close to the door and trying to come up with some sort of plan. Which, luckily, he didn't have to.

They had already come up with a plan, or more so Sam really did. It was on the spot and kind of rushed, but it was the only thing that seemed even a little sensible.

They needed him to get back in here, that much was clear and there was no avoiding it. The omega was making progress, or at least Steve and the rest had believed he was.

Pushing out the bowl something at least. It was acknowledgement at the bare minimum, with Sam and Natasha figuring that he had pushed it out for Steve to see at the door. Or at least for someone to see.

It only made sense to send Steve back in. It meant that the omega was waiting for someone, or at least expected someone to come through that door. It didn't mean a total lack of fear. It definitely didn't mean trust. But it meant something.

Sending anybody else in could risk a relapse, or bad reaction. Something they couldn't afford. Especially since he had actually bitten someone.

They didn't want to push him back into any form of fear. Not now. They definitely didn't want to push him back into any sort of violence, and even though Steve might have been the worst choice for the ladder concern, he was the best choice for the first.

Which was why he was standing there with a water bottle squeezed in his hand, using the soft moldable plastic against his fingers like a stress ball. So much was riding on this, at least in Steve's mind. He didn't want to screw up. He had already screwed up so much for the omega already, someone he was supposed to be the very caseworker for.

The plan was simple enough. Sam had devised that it would probably be better if he came in with some sort of peace offering as he put it. Something that would put the omega's mind at ease.

Knowing that, along with the fact that Bruce's report on the omega's fluids not exactly being where they needed to be, made the water bottles in Natasha's office a good choice. It gave Steve a little ease if nothing else.

He was helping. Even if he felt like everything was about to go wrong, at the bare minimum the omega got a bottle of water out of this.

Steve let out a tentative breath and did his best to square his shoulders up. They both couldn't be nervous, Sam had told him that. He had to be confident, to reassure the omega that somehow everything was now under control. That he had nothing to worry about. Body language Steve. Body language.

He couldn't help the small shimmy in his shoulders, trying to let out all of his tension. Sam was right, he couldn't be tense. The omega, as far as he's proven himself, was a bottle of nerves. He needed reassurance. He needed to know he was safe, and Steve was so caught up on that thought that he only then realized how quiet it was.

It was silent. The man hadn't made a sound.

It was odd, and almost enough to make Steve's heart start speeding up. The man wasn't verbal, Steve wasn't expecting him to be, but usually there was some sort of noise.

Some creek, some groan. Some awful humanoid, mangled sound. Something. It was never this quiet.

Steve's heart rate immediately skipped up. He couldn't help it. His mind went immediately to the worst. The first thing his eyes did was shoot down to the base of the bed, where Steve could still see that bundle of red the omega had been cloaked in before.

His chest was tight, Steve's heart throbbing and threatening to climb through of his ribs. He had to remind himself that Natasha was in her office, that Natasha could see the cameras if he had done something.

He had walked in on something once, something that made him swear off of dealing with any the refugees all together. It was something he couldn't unsee. The stiffness. The cold. The gray pale film.

He couldn't take it. No one saw it coming, they couldn't prepare. It happened so soon, and right after his mother had-

No. Steve tried to shake the thought. He wouldn't see that again. He would never walk into that again. It was more than their broken faces and missing tongues that touched him. Their victims. He wished she could have done more for her. He was only the janitor at the time.

He didn't clean occupied rooms after that. He didn't bring them food or clothes after that. He wouldn't counsel, he wouldn't help rehabilitate. He didn't want to see them. To ever see that again.

Steve forced his body into taking a step forward. Then another, and another. His back was tight and tense, and he could feel the familiar squeezing of his lungs that only his inhaler could soothe. Please, please, please.

He could hear his own steps in the room. He could hear the light sound of the air conditioner in the ceiling tiles, the sound of his own shoes. The breathing through his nose sounded enormous, his heart in his ears.

Steve had to force himself to remember what Sam said. Patterns. He needed to establish patterns.

Legs trembling. Palms sweaty. But Steve forced himself over towards the middle of the floor as he had always been. His legs felt like they were going to give out as he slowly bent himself forward down on his knees. He swallowed. He crouched low on his side. Patterns. He could finally breathe.

The omega was alive. At least far more than Steve expected him to be. He laid on his side, chest moving, lids just barely creaked open enough for eye contact. That was enough for him, Steve finally breathed.

That was all there was to feel relief about, even though he did look slightly better. The sweat on his face was still there, the white undergarments he wore still being soaked through with sweat. It made Steve suck his lip in, that was how he slept last night.

That was how he had been sleeping for the past few nights. More guilt kicked in. He made a mental note that he would try and get him some better clothes if the omega would allow it. Not now though. He had to remind himself to keep focused. He lightly squeezed the water bottle. Focus Rogers

Grease soaked his hair, and Steve had only just then realized that that might have been why it looked so dark. Or the fact that his skin looked so pale in comparison. His eyes were still sunken in at the lids, and his skin was soaked in with sweat everywhere else.

But now he just looked- well, tired. It seemed no matter how long Steve would leave him alone, he almost always had that look of constant exhaustion on him, although now it was only by a tenfold. It seemed to have a near permanent grip on him, and the only acknowledgement Steve got was when he slid up his head to look at him.

"Uh," Steve forced a smile. His lips felt dry. His mouth moved. "Hiya there, um, pal."

The omega blinked at him, and extremely slowly at that. He didn't seem to give much of a response to whatever it was that just fell out of Steve's mouth. Almost immediately the shorter of the two felt stupid, but he didn't know what else to do. What else to call him.

He had a name, the omega had given him a name, but Steve refused it. He had made the decision a long time ago to not so much as breathe an ounce of life into that title. It wasn't a name. His name. Not to Steve, whether he wanted to identify with it or not didn't matter. He wasn't doing it.

But he didn't seem to mind it, or at least Steve thought so. It had flown out of his mouth earlier and the omega didn't seem to care, much to Steve's relief. He had been worried before that it might have sent him into a frenzy. Handmaids weren't allowed to identify themselves with anything else, not even by other people.

Steve figured when it first happened that he would have immediately freaked out or panicked, he seemed to always think he was being watched.

The man didn't move from his spot on the floor but even Steve could find some relief in that. His eyes were less blown open, pupils shrunken back down to something that was almost normal.

The omega was calm, as calm as he’d been so far. Steve had wondered how much of that was just his adrenaline finally running low versus him actually getting comfortable in his presence. Judging by the fact that not too long ago, he had been staring at Steve like he was a monster, he guessed it was probably the latter.

Steve wanted to find the time to take that in, the fact that he was actually calm. But he took in a deep breath and blew out calmly through his nose, he had a job to do.

“Hey,” Steve said as he eased himself up from on the ground, keeping himself close two yards away from the omega, per usual. He held up the bottled water close to his lap to show him. "This is for you."

He had been careful in keeping his movements slow and smooth, and Steve set the bottle on its side. The man's eyes dropped from Steve’s face to the ground hard, staring almost like he was tracking the container.

Steve felt almost compelled to speak. He didn't trust him. Steve knew that he didn't trust him, but that wasn't the point. That didn't make Steve feel any better. He knew why. The omega had every justification in the world. But it didn't hurt Steve, it stung.

He wasn't going to hurt him. Steve had to let him know he wasn't going to hurt him.

“Next up we can try some Gatorade," Steve felt unsure. So unsure to the point that what he had just said came off as a question. "Or maybe something with better nutrients."

The omega blinked and his face scrunched in, pulling a look he'd never seen on him before. Whatever it was it nearly scared him, his face being twisted into an weird, indescribable look. Steve's mouth never felt more compelled to keep on going, or dry. "It'll get you feeling better faster."

He breathed out quietly, trying not to do anything to startle the omega. He was talking too fast and needed to slow down, he didn't want to push himself into some sort of asthma attack, but he really didn't want to push the man into a panicked one.

"But for now,” Steve said quietly, forcing his voice to remain quiet. He gestured over to the bottle as subtly as possible. “Just some water.”

The man just sat there after all of that. He didn't groan. He didn't grunt. He didn't make any sort of noise for once, and Steve wasn't quite sure what that meant but it had to be better than the sounds he was making before. He would have felt worse if he had.

Then his eyes suddenly looked back up, snapping back on Steve's face. He hadn't looked at him that whole time, and now that was it felt like they were putting pressure on Steve's skull, boring through him in a way that made Steve want to back away.

Confidence. Confidence.

He had to keep reminding himself of that word, over and over again in his mind. He needed confidence. If he didn't have it in himself, then there was no way this was going to work.

From the way this was going it didn't seem like it could really even go further. He had wanted to try and push the bottle towards him but Steve had no idea what sort of reaction that would have caused. For once he wasn't panicked and for as long as humanly possible Steve wanted to keep it that way.

He tried instead to remember anything else Sam might have said, anything that might have helped him now. He was so close to Breaking something through. He could feel it.

He tried to rack his brain, trying to remember the last time he had a breakthrough with him if there was ever one. Then he remembered.

Natasha had talked about it only a few minutes ago and yet Steve had somehow forgotten back quickly. They wanted to see more sign language. Something Sam had added in about active communication, it seemed to be the only way the omega would actively communicate back. Something that was better than the constant stares.

He took a deep breath. Holding his hand out barely in front of him his index, middle, and ring finger extended out into a ‘W’ shape. His thumb and pinky were tucked, making his hand look like a non-signing person counting three.

The omega watched and Steve didn't give a reaction, he wanted to look but he knew better. Steve didn't want a reaction.

With the tip of his pointer finger on his mouth, Steve slightly shook his hand against his bottom lip, other fingers still held the way they were before. Water.

He didn't look over to see if the omega gave him any sort of reaction to what he said, Steve wasn't even quite sure if he wanted to see any reaction from him at all. Instead he looked over to the water bottle and pointed at it, then finally looked at the omega and made the sign again. It's water.

Steve's heart was skipping. The man's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. His eyes were narrowed, paying rapt attention to Steve’s hands. His own hand gripped and squeezed onto his ribs. There was fraying in the thick cotton there, no doubt from him doing that exact same thing over and over again, a grounding tactic, and the only one he seemed to have at that. Steve had to remind himself to breathe.

"It's for you." Steve tried again, repeating himself.

The omega blinked. He blinked hard.

Steve wasn't sure what that meant. He wasn't sure what any of this meant. Blinking seemed to be the only way he relayed calmness, or at least that's how Steve chose to see it. He didn't want to see it as anything else, not for what it actually might be.

The swift thought that it might be surrender had came to him even way before now, but he didn't want to believe it. He shook his head and did his best not to make any sudden noises. He knew that repeating himself too many times might make the man panic, as if he were mad at him.

"You just twist off the cap," Steve started nervously at the silence, trying to encourage him. “This one’s all yours. You can have it.”

Instead of the all-encompassing blank stare the omega usually wore, the new one was strangely soft. It was a tired, long look, and even through it Steve could hear his breath picking up, increasing in speed at every passing second.

It wasn't a trap. He wanted to tell him that it wasn't a trap because that's immediately what Steve knew he was thinking. His face had almost immediately scrunched up into that nearly sad, wrinkled look Steve had became accustomed to for him.

Steve's usual reaction would be to freak out, to start frantically telling him it was fine like before, but he didn't want to risk it. The man hadn't started fidgeting yet, so he had to take his chance while he still had it.

Softly and with as much gentle guidance as he could muster, Steve tilted the water bottle over and lightly pushed it towards him. Making the sign again. Water.

The omega had stared at the water bottle as it rolled over to him. The expression from before had dropped and he only looked back at Steve just barely to catch his signing. His gaze then went immediately back to the bottle, tracking it immensely.

Steve opened his mouth to say something. The omega was just staring at the bottle as if it were a loaded weapon, a gun. His eyes seemed to go from dazed out to narrowed in, and he didn't look back at Steve once, not a second before his expression would drop again. His face going crinkly as if he would break then and there. That's when Steve wanted to stop, to speak and say something. But the omega had beaten him to it.

W-A-T-E-R

He didn't look at Steve still, not even then. His eyes staying fixed in on the bottle that had rolled over right on his forearm. He had moved only slightly when the bottle was rolling, shifting himself on his stomach with his head and back up as much as the bed would allow it, his right arm barely supporting him.

His head hung low, but somehow Steve knew he was looking at it. That same curtain of deep brown shielding his face.

It took the blond a moment to digest that. His words, the fact that he had even attempted to sit up. Was he asking him a question? It was the only way Steve could see it, and if he was he wanted to be quick to answer.

The omega didn't speak. He didn't even sign other than once. Now he was.

"Yeah," Steve answered quickly, almost breathless. Somehow that had knocked the air out of him. "Water."

The man's next movements were slow, pushing his body back on his side, facing Steve. His hair stuck to his face in clumps and strands on his cheek, but he moved.

He grasped the bottle and brought it to himself. The brunet hadn't responded to any of Steve's words, and Steve wondered if he had even heard him at all. He watched the man's face lower, and wondered briefly what he was doing, but had sat frozen in place. All until the omega had moved the bottle cap past the vines of hair.

There were wet noises. Clearly, the cap was in his mouth, and Steve still had no idea what he was doing until the omega stopped and the cap had hit the floor. He got it then.

He needed one arm to hold it steady. He didn't have the other to open it.

He drank it down almost immediately. He never once lifted his head but Steve could hear the sounds of the bottle crackling in the plastic slowly becoming slimmer and slimmer, his grip tightening harder and harder on the bottle.

It all happened quickly, Steve hearing his struggling breaths as he took breaks to breathe out of his nose, but his face never once moved away from the plastic until it was empty. As empty as he could get it. Then he dropped it.

His head only turned over to Steve after, and Steve felt like the omega had another grip on him. A part of him looked deranged. Big eyes, paled skin. His body hunched over within the darkness of the bed.

But another part of him just looked scared. It looked tired. It looked unsure. It looked like everything in the world, and Steve wouldn't know what to call it even if someone threatened him. The man's head was tilted over towards him, his body unmoving except for the relentless shaking in his arm. A motion that turned into light spasms as he flexed his fingers, the caked dirt squeezing between them. Steve held his breath, he didn't have another choice. M-O-R-E

Steve's breath was still squeezed in his chest at the shapes the other man had created with his hand, then quickly remembered that he had to eventually let it go. The omega's eyes dropped to the floor just as quick, his face hidden behind hair, and Steve's mouth immediately opened to form a sentence. The man's hand had beaten him to it.

P-L-E-

"Okay," Steve was quick to cut him off, restraining himself from barking it out. He wasn't going to let him finish that. "More."

The omega tilted his head back, just slightly. Not to the same degree he had done before. Almost as if he was surprised? Steve couldn't tell if he was shocked or curious but the look was brief, and his eyes settled back at the floor. The blond shook his head. He had to focus.

"I'll go get you some more." Steve said and all but scurried to get himself up and off the floor. His pants were quickly dusted off as he made his way to the door. He didn't look back into the space once, there was something new in his chest. It was almost buzzing. His body shook.

He didn't even remember to get the bowl.

Chapter 27: Meetings

"You know we don't have to do this right?"

"Do what?"

He squints his eyes at me and I grin, of course all knowing, and I watch his face push into a new look. He was serious at first, now he's jovial, and I watch as his whole face shifts into a smile. I touch his lips.

"You know," He gestures towards me, I can scent his nerves. "This."

My eyes roll, we must have talked about this at least a thousand times. Over and over. Again and again, stopping and pausing every time we even came close to this point. But I don't fault him. It's… sweet.

He's sweet.

I push myself up with my elbows to meet his face. He's hovering above me, hands on either side of my arms, closing me in. He's so intense. Brown eyes bold, breath soft against my cheek. I can feel him. I can smell him. I lean up a bit to kiss under his chin. He's soft and glows like honey on my mouth here. How couldn't I love him.

"Yeah," I mouth against his throat, and I can feel him grinning. "I know."

---

I have to blink it away.

He was almost there, he was right there to the point where I could feel it. Where I could smell it. He always smelled like that, like honey around me. I can see his eyes on the floor of this house, deep and rich and brown.

I saw him in the floor, right as Aunt Carter spoke. The part of him that mattered most to me. Polished, crystal clear eyes. They were intense. They were the prettiest. They were the best, and if I focus hard enough he's almost here.

He's not.

The feeling of Aunt Carter's hand on my thigh pulls me out of wherever I was, whatever high it was I was just chasing. I hadn't done that before, I hadn't done that in so long it really feels like I never have.

I used to do it, I know I did but that was only in the beginning. Only when I needed something to cling to, to remind me that maybe there was a chance of going back. I needed something to take me out of the place my country made it apparent it was becoming. The first few weeks at that place. At that center.

I feel my eyes staying but not at her hand, at my thoughts. I hadn't thought of anything from the before in so long. I try not to. It doesn't ever do me any good.

I take my eyes from the floor and nearly forget myself, Aunt Carter's touch was so sudden regardless of how soft it was. I'm surprised I didn't just yelp. That's how far I must have been gone.

I feel my head turning over to look at her quicker than I can register it. My eyes burn and sting at the sudden flush of water in them. The reaction was so great. I hadn't meant to. But it was like I was there, I was almost there.

The silence just moments before made me think, the fear from before made me think. The fear I know is still here, sitting in front of me on those couches. Sitting beside me on this couch. I haven't thought in so long, I've been trying to do anything but think for so long-

"Ofhoward." She says, Aunt Carter, her voice is soft and smooth. It always is. It seems to be her default other than her more accustomed to jollier and friendlier tone. I know what it is though, her voice. It's the one she always uses when we've done something wrong. When I've done something wrong.

I watch as both of her hands reach up towards my face, the contraption on my head likely blocking the Starks from view of them. I nearly flinch but keep myself instead. I know how to behave, and I know how to especially behave in front of guests. Guests as important as these.

Her hands come towards my face and I allow her. I allow her because I know better, and her hands make emotion like she's fixing something on the inside of my wings but it's clear to me what she's doing.

I feel her thumbs swipe away at the bottom of both my eyes, smudging away whatever tears must have popped up. She must have seen them. She must have seen that they were too big for me to get rid of on my own.

I could have reached up. I could have wiped them away from my place from before with my head dipped but what would that have said? Would the Starks have noticed? Would Commander Stark have noticed? What would that have said about me? About Aunt Carter?

I was the best. The best of the best at least to her. She thought I was ready, and not only that but ready enough to serve a High Commander and his family. I couldn't be a mess, I'm not allowed to be a mess.

She smudges them quietly, high above my cheekbones, and I watch and feel as her hands masterfully maneuver around my headdress, using her thumbs to push away the tears until I can't feel them anymore. Then she pulls away, a smile coming back to her face from her focused look. Like nothing had ever happened.

"Oh there we are dear," She says towards me, voice just as sweet. "Isn't that better?"

She looks at me expectantly, but in a way that doesn't have any menace. There's no callousness behind it, just blanketed in a simple question. My hat was bothering me, that was all. My hat was bothering me.

"Yes Aunt Carter."

"Ah," She smiles at me all the same, and then smooths her hands over the outside of my wings just for good measure. Her attention immediately goes back to the Starks. "Good."

My head goes down but I almost forget that it's still facing her and I slowly swivel it back into position. Hands in my lap. Nice and folded. I don't need to give anyone a reason, I don't have a reason to give anyone a reason.

"Dreadful things they are sometimes," Aunt Carter says, again with another wave of her hand that I can't see. "Our boys' wings. But our Lord must see his devotion."

Her words came out with joyful conviction and I can't help but be hyper aware of my surroundings now, I don't want to do whatever it was I did before. I have to be aware. I want to be aware.

She lies so well, well enough to the point where I don't even think they noticed. I'm not sure if I should be grateful for that or not, I'm not sure if I should even be grateful for this headpiece or not. It shielded me, shielded from their eyes. From seeing. Maybe that was more than the point.

The briefest of pauses goes by where I fight to keep myself focused in on the conversation. I had clearly missed something last time, it was why Aunt Carter seemed so passively aggressive with her touch. I have to pay attention. She won't keep correcting me.

The sound of Mrs Stark's voice makes me squeeze my hands tighter. "Oh yes, of course."

There's almost laughter in her voice, almost but not quite. I can see how loose her body had just gotten from below and she waves and dismissive, playful wave.

There's something about her that seems so joyful, it's like I'm not even here. Or like I am here but under different circumstances. Like we're a bunch of old college friends catching up, asking about each other's lives and telling jokes. Like the woman beside me isn't delivering me to them. Like she won't be holding me down while her husband-

"Why was just thinking about the other day," She starts, Mrs. Stark, I watch as one hand slides away from her husband's, so that she can clasp her own together. "I had seen some of the girls playing by the park, and how those hats just kept falling."

"Miserable little things they are sometimes, and oh they just kept falling off over and over," I can feel the sweat on my palms growing while she speaks. "But I said to Howard the other day, 'Now why can't their mothers just tie them on right?'"

" It was just shameful." She says, the tone of her voice only dropping a little. She had made so many gestures with her hands, crinkled slightly with age. Moving around like she was telling some sort of whimsical tale. "Just letting those poor things run around like that, you would think a Martha or someone would have taken care of it."

I do my best to try and watch her but I keep finding myself just amazed by her talking. She's doing so much of it, something I didn't think would actually happen.

I remember spending so much time in that center, hearing time and time again about why we were here and what we were here to do. How sometimes Wives and Commanders might be a little tough on us but it was only a testament to our patience and servitude and that God would see to it that we triumph regardless.

We should hold our heads high. We should all play our part. That the Lord would see our efforts and bless us eternally for our service should we push through and redeem ourselves from our nature willingly and diligently with honor.

But not this, never this. Not whatever it was that was going on in this house right now. There was never supposed to be this much chatter. Never any compliments or niceties. Indifference, annoyance or aggression sometimes, at least until we're carrying. But never this, never like this.

She sighs, her body slumping a bit. "Then again Tony would never sit still long enough for me to do much of anyth-"

"Yes ma'am?"

It takes everything in me not to move, I had already messed up once. Probably twice. My nerves have been so rattled ever since walking in here, practically bouncing all over the place at this point. So much so that I tried not to shake at the woman from before all but teleporting so suddenly next to me, all but biting my tongue to keep the sudden urge to look at her in check.

I recognize her voice a little bit from before, the Martha. I don't know her name, or her face. I haven't even really seen her yet. This house is so filled up with strangers, to the brim even. Maybe this is why we're always brought in with an Aunt.

But I don't dare move my head, as much as I can hear Mrs. Stark's voice addressing her. I try my best not to look at either one.

"Oh Martha thank you," Mrs. Stark says, her voice ever the same. "I was just talking to Aunt Carter and our newest guest, Ofhoward."

I can't tell if Mrs Stark says anything else to her, or she made some sort of gesture with her eyes or face that I just can't see. But there was a pause just long enough for some sort of communication between the two. Whatever it was it was silent, and whatever it was no one else in the room said anything about it.

But she speaks to me. "Blessed be the fruit."

My answer is automatic, the response to the phrase had almost been completely integrated in my head at this point, like the punchline to some old and tired joke. I don't dare move her way. "May the Lord open."

My answer is quiet, just as quiet as her question, both being just loud enough for others to hear. It seems that's all it is, a performance. Just enough to know that we're playing our part and nothing more. It's what it feels like.

"Yes," Mrs. Stark seems pleased, it radiates from her voice. "Well with God willing, Ofhoward here will only be here a few months."

She sighs affirmingly. "And then everything will go back to normal."

"Yes ma'am."

Normal. She says that so candidly, as if anything about this situation is normal. As if me being here, doing what I am expected to do is anything close to normal.

I haven't heard that word in so long, or have even thought about it. I had nearly forgotten about what normal even was at this point. I remember the before, because of course I do. I can't forget it. I yearn for it now. Because as far as I am concerned, I will get back to it one way or another. I have to. I can't live like this. I won't live like this. Not in a place where this is normal.

Aunt Carter's voice doesn't allow me to divulge into my thoughts any further than that. "Ah, well yes Mrs. Stark. Our Ofhoward here may be young, but he is very keen on serving his purpose."

"He has been an exemplary student of mine at the center, and can I assure you he will not disappoint.” There it was again, that conviction. That assurance. Firm but always jovial.

"Oh, well that's good." Mrs Stark begins, some sort of relief in her voice but then briefly stops. There's a moment of curiosity in me, but I can't see shit in this damned thing.

"Oh and Martha dear," She starts, I figured what she paused for.

The Martha's voice comes from a distance, it sounds like she's only a few feet behind me, as if she silently moved throughout the Commander's wife and Aunt Carter's conversation. But she immediately answers. She must still be in viewing distance.

"Yes ma'am?"

"Could you be a doll and get some biscuits and tea for our guests, they must be exhausted." She says, her voice hinting at sympathy.

"Yes ma'am."

I have to control myself in order to not look. Every square inch of me wants to, every part of me just wants to turn around, just to get a glimpse of her. I want to know what she's like, to see what she's like. I want to reach out to her, to build whatever fragile bond I can with these people as much as I can.

But just as quietly as she appeared, she must have just as equally vanished, because in an instant Mrs. Stark had gone back to Aunt Carter as if the Martha was never even there.

"Oh, it's quite alright Mrs Stark." Aunt Carter says kindly, as if she was some sort of intrusion. As if this whole thing hadn't been planned out for weeks. Me and her. "I would hate to impose."

"Oh nonsense Aunt," The Wife says, her voice nearly matching Aunt Carter's in tone. "After all of your hard work? And to bring him to us as well?"

They don't ask me, not how I feel. Not that it matters. I am not here, not to them really. I'm only here in the the flesh not my the presence, only as a concept now. Aunt Carter shakes her head, and I swallow as she does, I don't have to see her face, I can tell just by her own body. A new skill I suppose how I've come to read people with just a shift of their shoulders now. I guess it really is odd how that works, they take away one sense and somehow your body just automatically adjusts like it never happened. I guess it's true. The blind really do hear everything, the deaf see everything.

I can see nothing but what is in front of me though, I smell nothing but what is in front of me. But their bodies, everything that is in front of me, I can see it all. It's almost scary how that works. How I would have never seen it before.

It's almost scarier that the Commander hasn't spoken this whole time.

Mrs. Stark just continues power on candidly. As if I were not here in the first place. As if her husband were not here either, like no one was. I can practically hear the smile in her voice, a praised song. "You deserve a whole cake."

"Oh, well thank you Mrs. Stark," Aunt Carter starts, and I can hear the smile in her voice as well, soaking all it in. "But it is my duty to serve Gilead faithfully, and I always make sure that I have due diligence to do my part with all of my boys."

She's smiling, I know she is. Then a laugh follows like always. "Cake or no cake." A joke.

Mrs Stark doesn't miss a beat, her voice almost sounds whimsical. "Well, praise be."

Before I can even take them in I can hear him, the Commander, like he might say something. The sound of him sitting up in his seat even slightly makes my gut wrench. He hasn't said a word to me, he hasn't even registered me in his home, yet every word, every inch of this man makes my body tense. My palms are sweating again at the mere thought of him breathing.

I almost want thank whatever God would allow this to happen to me for the Martha. Just this once.

The frail woman from before walks back in, teleporting into the room as she seems to always do as far as I know. I try my best to see more of her without straining and can see the wooden tray laden with tea and biscuits in her hands once she reaches the table in front of me.

It's situated right in the middle, right between the two couches, and there's almost a moment that I'm grateful for that. I'm almost grateful for it, I'm almost grateful for Aunt Carter being here with me, that I'm not here completely alone.

But then I remember that this is a posting. That this isn't normal. That they took me from normal, from my favorite foods and my job. They took away my relationships, my friends, my family. My life.

I remember that I only want her because I don't have anyone else. Because it's either this or nothing. It's either Aunt Carter or complete strangers, strangers that she's going to leave me with anyway. Strangers that will either hold me down or do nothing while others do. Strangers.

I hate everybody in this room.

The Martha carefully places down her tray on the table, and I can only watch the lower part of her as she does. Everything about her is silent, even the way she places down the wooden slab. Effortless, like she had been doing this her whole life.

She seems even quieter when she moves, only the sound of the liquid delicately splashing inside of the teacups, the Martha not spilling even an inch.

She fills them all up expertly, one hand delicately on the handle and thumb piece while the other stays on its final. I watch her place the teapot back onto the tray after, and she walks towards me first.

The first thing I did, stupidly, was let my heartbeat speed up. It made me tense, her actions, I couldn't help it. So I do my best to control my next movements, making sure that my back is straight and I get as much of her as I can, reaching for a teacup.

I take one of the smooth cylinders of china into my hand, and if it wasn't for the situation, I might have even marveled at how sleek they felt. She's gone before I even get a look at her.

There's a moment that passes where I sit in silence. The tea is in my hand and the Martha is gone, her back turned to me to serve a cup to Aunt Carter. I know I am supposed to drink this, I am expected to on some level but I don't know when. I don't want to look gluttonous, not in front of the Commander, and definitely not in front of Aunt Carter in front of the Commander.

My palms are sweating again when she speaks to me.

"Ofhoward," She says, this time it's Aunt Carter. "How is your tea dear?"

For once I try to think before I open my mouth. Her words don't get to me this time but I know what they mean. The wife of such a high-ranking Commander has just offered me of all people tea, and most importantly, courtesy. I haven't done anything to deserve it. I shouldn't look ungrateful.

I turn to her, a small smile on my face. "It's good Aunt Carter, thank you."

When I turn my head back I look down into the cup, the swirling brown liquid inside almost making me nauseous. I'm not hungry, apparently it was always custom for us to eat before our first posting for the sake of first impressions, I don't even look at the biscuits. But I'm damn sure not thirsty, and I'm damn sure not thirsty for anything in this house.

But I know what to do, what I should do. It's definitely not what I want to do, and what I want to do definitely shouldn't be grabbing that teapot and scorching the man's face across from me.

It shouldn't be me wanting to smash that pot into shards. It shouldn't be wanting to push one of those shards through her neck, and it isn't.

I drink the tea.

"Good." Aunt Carter says just as cheery as ever. "Well I just think it's very lovely Mrs. Stark."

It's not. It tastes like boiled shrubs, sticks and all. No different than the times I would mix together random juices to make odd concoctions and make believe potions when I was younger. All just to come up with some sort of strange amalgamation that would end up being poured down the sink. Nothing more than hot leaf juice. Brunt, hot leaf juice. Not even with sweetener. Nothing more, nothing less.

"Ah, thank you Aunt." I can hear Mrs Stark say, her voice sounding so appreciative towards the comment. It's high-pitched and happy, like they're just women catching up, then her voice goes quiet in a joking whisper. "It's a family recipe."

I want to roll my eyes into my own head. I'm sure it is

"Well it's just heavenly." Aunt Carter says, and the way I can hear her sip her tea tells me I should do the same. I do.

The silence that befalls while the Martha hands out tea is immeasurable. I think about this a lot sometimes, I think about it over and over again, but it's true. I'm glad I'm not always expected to speak. I take another sip of the bitter tea, my eyes staying on my lap.

Aunt Carter decides to break the silence, talking as if she had just suddenly remembered something all encompassing. "Oh Ofhoward love,"

I hear her voice starting up and the urge to roll my eyes and ignore her is something fierce, but it's something I won't do. It's something I've never done, never to her face, never one another Aunt is around or even some of the other men at the center. It feels odd, weird even, to not be able to trust much of anyone anymore.

I look at her. "Yes Aunt Carter."

"I do believe Mrs Stark had given you a compliment dear."

My head runs a million miles at that. I don't remember it, if she had really said much of anything to me. I am aware that she probably did, she seems to have a penchant for talking, but whether or not anything else she had said since she had stood over me was towards me was a mystery. A mystery I did not want to get wrong.

I feel the urge to fidget my hands but clinch them around the teacup instead, ignoring the warm just nearly burning sensation. Immediately my hand goes back to the handle of the cup and the other one resists the urge to squeeze my thigh at the near stinging of the cup.

I realize that probably in my delusion she might have said something, in those few seconds I wasn't paying attention, and I berate myself. Fuck.

Fuck. I should have been paying attention, it was why I didn't like to go there with my thoughts for more than one reason. There wasn't really a point in thinking about people from the before, just trying to get back to them. How any person can do that is still beyond me, but I have to try. For the sake of my sanity I have to.

But the compliment. I don't remember a compliment. But to not acknowledge it, whatever it was, could be seen as rude. Disrespectful.

A lady of her statue giving someone as low as me in the eyes of the law is gracious, is compassionate. She has given me nothing but hospitality as far as Gilead is concerned. This might be the best I get, even if it all is just for show, in front of Aunt Carter.

I can't disrespect her, not for my own sake, not in front of a High Commander. I play it safe. "Thank you Mrs. Stark."

In reality, I know the pauses between my words and her next ones are only seconds, but it feels like an eternity. A long, aching, eternity. My palms sweat again and I can feel the urge to fidget around once more, this time with my legs. My breath is hard but I do my best to keep it quiet and calm, I want to hate myself for appreciating these wings for once.

She speaks, and I keep my head down. I know I can look sometimes, but there was no reason to push it. "Oh your welcome dear,"

"Why I was just talking about what a lovely name you have."

My heart stops as she uncrosses her legs from the couch, and I fight the urge not to look back at Aunt Carter. She doesn't know my name, I don't think. Or at least, she shouldn't. It's forbidden. Everything here is forbidden. What is she talking about? God I'm sweating again. Fuck. I don't-

"Ofhoward," She muses. "Isn't it lovely?"

Of course.

Ofhoward

I'm stuck on it. My brain stops against my wants. She says that so easily. To easily. As if that didn't just become my name only forty minutes ago. Like it was obvious. As if it wasn't something else before that, as if it hasn't always been something else before that. Something that is forbidden now.

Forbidden. That's all I can remember from the past year, that word. Forbidden. Everything is forbidden, it's all locked away in some invisible chest with some invisible key that only they have access to. My name, my very being is forbidden. I am forbidden, and it's a thought I can't even think on longer than this.

He speaks.

I should have saw it coming, maybe I wouldn't have jumped so hard just now, I don't know. But his voice, the very idea of him speaking makes the soles of my feet go damp. He hasn't said a word, he hasn't said anything towards me or even Aunt Carter. His wife. Not even a word towards his wife. I don't know what to do, I don't know what to think. My brain shuts off.

"Of course dear."

I can hear the smile in her voice again. The Wife. I want to shit. "Oh we were just talking about it the other day."

"Ofhoward," She says again, like it's a prayer. A blessing. A deeam. "It just sounds so nice, Aunt, like you wouldn't imagine."

Aunt Carter, out of all people, takes the compliment with stride. I know what she's doing, where this is all going. She can't sound too boastful, she can't downgrade the names of all the other men under her care. As ridiculous as it sounded the Wife was right. Ofstuart sounded off. Nothing like this, this almost sounds like a name. The more they said it the more real it sounded, the more I wanted to run. The sicker I felt.

"Ah, thank you Mrs. Stark." She says with jolly conviction, her accent making it sound odd in my ears. "A good name for a good and fit household."

"Oh, thank you" The Wife says, and I have never heard of a Wife speaking so much in my life. But it sounds different this time. Only slightly, like there was a pinch of sadness in there somewhere, and then a sigh. "It's just been so lonely in the house, if you can imagine."

There's another sigh in her voice. "I'm just hoping Ofhoward will be a good fit."

She speaks of me like I'm not here, like I'm not a person on her couch and in her home. Because I'm not. I feel like I've gone invisible, and I'm not sure if I should be grateful for that in this moment or not. Regardless I almost forget to keep my hands still at the notion, they talk as if I'm not alive at all. As if Aunt Carter is just dropping off a simple neighborly casserole.

"Of course Mrs. Stark," The woman beside me says. "We do ample testings and screenings for each Handmaid."

I feel sick.

Aunt Carter's smile chokes me. "Good temperament, good bones."

My stomach twists harder.

"Oh that's good," Mrs Stark says, and I can hear the little nervous laugh in her words, like she's relieved. "Praise be."

“Praise be.”

His voice comes out of nowhere, I keep telling myself to keep still every time I hear it. He's a man, no different than me, no better really. Yet every time I hear his voice I can hear the command in it, even if it's not there. He commands. He commands this whole house and everything that goes on in it, me.

It sounds old and measured, his voice. Calculated and rich, the type of voice that gave speeches. The type of voice that a Commander does and should possess, an alpha.

It falls quiet.

"Ever since the war in Chicago it's been awfully quiet around here." He chuckles to himself quietly, as if it's some sort of obvious joke we're all supposed to get. I see his wife's hand dive back for his.

He laughs again, but the kind you're not supposed to laugh along with. It's solemn, serious. "I'm finally able to get some work done around here."

Only his Wife is confident enough to speak after that, presumably to Aunt Carter. Although, strangely enough, it's almost in a whisper. Just barely loud enough. "It's been awfully empty ever since his deployment."

I keep quiet and try to keep my ears open, that's the thing about statues and tools, if they had ears they would hear everything. I want to hear everything, I want to know as much as I can about this place. Every small thing, every frame. Anything. For the love of everything, anything.

"I pray for him," Her voice sounds timid, almost weak. Like something is being held back. "Everyday I do."

"Of course," This time it's Aunt Carter's voice, foraging sympathy. "But our young Stark is off to do great things, I'm sure of it."

I can't even think of full thought before Commander Stark speaks. "Yes I'm sure of it,"

It sounds sarcastic, and then there's that laugh again, small and deprecating. "Such great things that could have been done here. Things that are actually needed."

The silence fell, even heavier this time.

I don't know what's happening but the feel of the room has shifted, and greatly. I don't know what to do, my palms are sweating again. Aunt Carter, again has to break the thickness in the room. I keep my eyes down internally grateful for my expectation of silence, and though her voice sound awkward through the silence, Aunt Carter speaks. "Well, hopefully we shall have this here emptiness good and dealt with soon."

"Yes of course." Says the Wife quickly, her voice still the same but almost like she's relieved for the broken silence, nervous even. Then her husband speaks, and I can feel the animosity dripping from his words, thick and uncaring.

"Praise be."

Chapter 28

Water. Water. Water.

That was the only thing on Steve's mind, he had to get water.

There was a weird prickly feeling rushing through him, something oddly anxiety inducing yet somewhere in there there was a bit of joy? Excitement maybe was the better word, but whatever it was it was electrifying, sparky.

It made his nerves twitchy, his palms sweaty in a way that they hadn't been in a while without some sort of anxiety spell, which it was starting to feel more and more like with every passing second.

He spoke. The omega had actually spoken to him again. Yes it was only with his hands. Yes it was only in rigid spelling and nothing even comprehensively close to a complete cohesive sentence. But it didn't matter, not to Steve, not right now, because he had spoken to him.

His body felt rigid and flighty inside of the cafeteria, his nerves so shot he could barely remember where exactly the water bottles were, or the fact that he didn't even get the original one from here in the first place. None of it mattered.

The fact that he was speaking, the fact that he had chosen to say anything at all was more than enough for Steve. It was everything.

It meant that the omega hadn't shut down, that he hadn't completely regressed on what little progress Steve had somehow managed to forage. It had scared him, scared Steve did his deepest core that somehow, due to that last not so pleasant interaction with medical staff that would change things. But it didn't.

It didn't, and that's what was important. Steve had no idea what conclusions the omega might have drawn, if maybe he understood it? Or that maybe he didn't blame Steve for it, that was what he hoped.

He didn't need any negative associations assigned to him, not right now, not when the man was so fragile. Any little thing looked like it could potentially set him off, and as of right now Steve needed to space himself away from that level of association as much as theoretically possible. It was nearly vital for any sort of progression at this point. Crucial even.

Maybe it was just that look the omgea gave him from earlier. Steve didn't know. That look that chewed and gnawed relentlessly at the back of the blond's head, or maybe it was out of a different place entirely.

Maybe it was the guilt talking, but the the small sliver of hope in the back of Steve's mind wanted to believe that maybe the omega had just thought that Steve had nothing to do with it in the first place. That maybe he simply wanted them to avoid him, to leave him alone. That Steve could somehow make them. A last resort, his last resort.

But it was another thought that Steve didn't really want to believe. That somehow despite every visual indicator, the omega believed that somehow Steve had power over the situation.

That he couldn't make it stop but that Steve very well could. That may be all of his own attempts at positive associations were somehow twisted up in the man's head.

That Steve was the only one who brought him food or water, at least the first person to do so. He was the first one to talk with him, actually talk with him as if he wasn't the crumbled mess Steve had to take care of. He brought him medicine and at least some level of reassurance whether it be fake or not.

Maybe if Steve wasn't so shocked, maybe if so much adrenaline wasn't pumping through his veins he might have thought of that thought again as he had so many other countless times.

That maybe the omega was just scared of him, that he thought Steve had control over him.

That he was just showing Steve complacent behavior, a sort of learned helplessness. He had heard Sam talk about it before, how some people would simply just default to giving up due to past life experiences. That submissiveness in situations was the best course of action, one that didn't get them hurt or made the hurt go away. That fighting wasn't worth it or simply made it worse, so they'd give in.

The mere concept of it hurt. It stung. Because in a way, if omega did believe that, he was right.

Steve did have control, as far as everyone else knew and what the paperwork said he was his case manager now. In a way Steve had to be his lifeline, he had to be his advocate because he was incapable of doing so himself.

There was no way he was going to progress without him, not in the state that he was in now. Someone had to be there, to be the bridge between his world and normalcy.

He couldn't advocate for himself, he wouldn't even request food or water until recently and even then it was only just now the latter. He was nonverbal and reluctant to sign, he slept on the floor and still hadn't bathed. He couldn't trust anything and he had even when on and bitten someone.

There was no way he would be able to open a case to request shelter on his own. Not adequate housing after treatment or even open an asylum case to begin with.

He didn't want to move, he was sick. He slept on the floor. Hell even Steve, with everything he's done, with all of his progress with him considering everything, was afraid to even move too fast or too closely near him.

So someone had to control his food, control his water. Even portions would have to come into play, and was something Steve had given thought to after his display of an apparently upset stomach.

He couldn't eat too much too quickly. He was in recovery, and the undeniable guilt that Steve constantly felt made his body just want to rot because of course his body couldn't handle all of that sugar like that. He had probably gone months without an increased sugar intake.

He felt stupid… but, Steve had never done this before. So of course the obvious felt like learning curves. Common sense felt so complex, far more complex than someone with experience might have thought. So he shouldn't feel like it was that big of a stretch that he missed the big things.

Except, that wasn't the omega's fault and Steve did feel that way. He shouldn't have to pay for Steve's own lack of knowledge. Not to Steve anyway. His ignorance- his ignorance just wasn't fair to the man.

All of which was without anyone saying anything about the man being apparently pregnant, something else that was just piled on top of his added stress and body condition which- which Steve still didn't want to address and wasn't going to.

None of this was fair, especially not to the omega. And to be completely honest, metaphorically it made Steve want to tear his hair out.

It wasn't fair to himself, and it damn sure wasn't fair to the omega. Not Gilead's treatment, not Steve's subpar treatment, not whatever undoubtedly awful shit he had been through to get here because of course it probably was awful. Because Steve couldn't think of anything else, he didn't know anything else in the world that could take a person and give them such a pair of empty eyes and face.

He wanted to help, God Steve wanted to help more than the life of him. The man didn't deserve this, Steve at very least believed that. Nobody deserved this. There wasn't a single man alive Steve could think of that he would wish anything even close to this on, enemies or otherwise.

There was a person in there, a human being that needed help rather that human being wanted to acknowledge it or not, or even wanted to accept it or not. He deserved the offer. He deserved a chance.

Steve would give it to him, even if the dumb blond bumbled the whole way through getting him there, he would.

Sarah Rogers didn't raise a quitter, she never had. As many times as Steve had tripped and fell, and probably would always continue to, if there was one thing Steve Rogers knew how to do it was certainly how to pick himself back up and dust himself off. He had done it before and God damn it if he wouldn't do it again.

This was his first case, a case that even he couldn't believe he had nearly rejected. One that he had actively tried to reject. But it didn't matter now, in the end he didn't quit, and he damn sure wasn't going to start now.

It was a lot, but he could take it. He had taken on worse before in more than a few ways.

He just had to deal with one thing at a time, just one thing or he felt like he was going to explode from the constant setbacks, and revelations, and learning curves. For simply the sake of his sanity, any win was a win. No matter how small. Anything.

That was probably why Steve's mind was a blur at the moment, he didn't have to think about what the omega might have thought about him. Or whatever else was going on in the mind of a man that Steve couldn't read, he didn't need to. He had told him.

Water.

Right now the only thing he had to focus on was water, which was exactly what he was trying to locate. At the moment trying to stay quiet while remaging through several empty boxes at the back of the cafeteria was quite the task for a person who couldn't push his body too far.

But while he did feel close enough, he also knew he had to be a bit quicker. Batman was in there. Waiting. Waiting for water, which no one had bothered or thought enough to offer him earlier, not even Steve himself. Which of course was another thing he now had to think about.

There was just so much going on at once and he still needed to see about getting the brunet clean in some sort of way, being unkempt while sick certainly wouldn't be helping him recover any quicker.

Steve's hands kept moving, over and over again. Box after box. He hadn't really been in there for a while. Not since the omega's arrival save for once, and even then it wasn't really to look around.

He would usually be down here to help serve breakfast and lunch, sometimes dinner with the help of Sam or Clint. But he had never really gone this long without being there.

Everyone had a different style of serving and packaging everything once they were done, and somehow Steve knew this had Carol's signature all over it. She wasn't really the neat freak that Maria was.

He kept looking through them though, box after box of the new containers that had been delivered a few hours ago before the last serving time, even though the residents weren't exactly coming down to get their lunches anymore, someone still had to prepare them and put them together before they went out.

Geez was it messy. The boxes were thrown all over the place, haphazardly late about on the floor with the empty ones being crumpled. Not that Steve could necessarily blame them for doing so.

Everything had been so much of a big mess as of lately, ever since the omega's arrival and even slightly before then with all of the Pearl Girls, and with all the last minute assignments from Natasha it's not like he can really blame anyone for being a bit scrambled.

Still though he persisted on, flipping over every box he could, persistently trying to go faster without pushing himself too hard. He had to get back to the omega, and quickly. The last thing he wanted to risk was any ounce of mistrust at this point.

He pushed over and under every box he could, all the way up until he realized he had pushed every single one with no avail. Until Steve decided to look up. Of course.

Water. Plain as day water, already taken out of their cardboard containers on a full-on display. On the top shelf. Where he couldn't reach. Nice.

He sighed, now was not the time for self-reflection. He just needed to get it done and dealt with as quick as possible so he could leave. He didn't need to think about it or his brain would fall over on something else. Being five foot five and this scrawny apparently wasn't useful for anything else save for body issues it seemed.

So he turned around, fully ready to go and try to get the ladder from upstairs but ended up rushing into another person entirely, and they were solid.

Steve could just barely feel his forehead tap against the person's breastbone and whoever they were they were huge. He knew immediately that they had to be taller than him, which really didn't make the list any narrower, but the slight noise they made from the small impact told him immediately it was a woman.

Steve knew it wasn't Maria or Natasha immediately because they weren't that tall, and it definitely wasn't Hill because, well- she didn't sound like that.

He looked up, fully expecting to see Carol from the a streaks of blonde hair he immediately caught on the woman's shoulders. But his face straightened up instead when he saw someone else.

It was another blonde woman though, and huge, something Steve knew a little too well. She wasn't a beta, and honestly Steve should have seen that coming from the complete lack of a scent while on duty, but he was well aware of her dynamic. Steve had to have been. She was the woman in the hallway from earlier.

"Sharon."

That's all that Steve could get out putting on as much as a professional straight face as he could muster. Yes the unabashful part of Steve was a bit startled from her sneaking up on him, but then again just about everyone could do that given the astonishing inconsistency regarding the accuracy of his hearing aid at times.

"Rogers?" She said, more as a statement than an actual question. "What are you doing down here?"

Steve fixed his lips to answer the question but then found them clamping shut just as fast. Everyone knew at this point where he was supposed to be, and he wasn't. And the last thing he wanted to tell her was that he could not reach a shelf right now. So he lied, which he was bad at.

Steve automatically knew what Sharon probably thought. A panic attack, and that thought had to shut down immediately for this shear sake of his pride alone, let alone the fact that it was more or less not true.

"Just getting some water." He said instead of whatever else was about to come out of him earlier, doing his best to see him casual. He leans back on a particularly sturdy shelf, head up. Though her sheer size alone didn't make that much of a choice. She looked on at him, brow raised. "Cooling off a bit."

"Uh huh," Was the only thing the other alpha had to say in return, her facial expression seemed see straight through him. Steve had wanted to go red but had fought every molecule in his body to keep his face just as straight as hers.

The weather was cold. Really cold, and even he didn't oversee how the salt trucks were coming through that morning.

This is why Steve didn't lie. Steve was a bad liar, and lying to her of all people was probably dumber. But he didn't want to say what it was actually for, he didn't need anyone else doubting whatever progress he was making, or any other abilities he had. He already had enough Natasha to go around for that.

A pair of amber eyes stayed focused in on him as Sharon began to open her mouth. Her eyes were sharp and slightly narrowed in on him, she knew he was lying.

Steve stared back up at her, trying to see him as inconspicuous as ever. That was the thing, she was an alpha, he was another alpha, and the natural tension occurring between the two was slightly stressing. She was pressing for something, with or without words, and even Steve's body could sense the slight intimidation from her posture and facial expression long before he actually registered it. Intentional or not, it was his inclination, and it was just as much her inclination.

It wasn't weird, it wasn't demanding or brash intentionally, but it was still there. Her dynamic made her body large and looming over him, even if she wasn't trying to be, and as insecure and childish as it was, most alphas could view each other face to face. Even if it was a woman and a man having a dispute or a discussion, neither would have to truly crane their body up to view the other.

But Steve couldn't do that, as much as Steve didn't want to be aware that he couldn't do that. His mind was, and to his mind, this was the a threat. A challenge from Sharon. In the dumbest little parts of his hind brain, she wanted to punk the information out of him.

Steve, with his mind giving his body that reaction, doubled down.

He wasn't going to talk to her, he wasn't going to give her anything. Not if and while his body felt slightly intimidated, it was dumb, it was stupid, and it was exactly the reason why people took blockers at work. Because if her scent could be read as anything close to what his mind thought her body language was well-

Steve didn't know, and quite frankly, Steve didn't want to know.

But she carried on, staring down at him. Her arms slightly folded up, and her hips slightly jetted out to one side. It took all that to calm him, slightly. She truly was just pressing, just asking him with slight pressure in a way. not intimidation. Maybe.

But it took it all the way up until that point for Steve to realize just how tight the hairs on the back of his neck were. He wasn't scared of her, he was nervous. It wasn't just that she was a fellow alpha pressing him, he was nervous. It wasn't that his body was aware that technically he was cornered in the room with her, he was nervous.

And he could feel the sweat, he could feel the sweat starting to pool on his neck. A little on his face. Could she tell? Could she tell how shaky he was internally at this moment? He had to get his blockers right? She couldn't scent him right? It wasn't like he could scent her, they were all on the same brand of blockers.

He felt his eyes starting to want to waver away from her stare, but the most buttheaded intersocial part of his dynamic absolutely refused, as well as the sudden thick reminder of his sense of pride. He was an adult, a grown ass man. He didn't let children pick with him as a child and he wasn't about to start now.

But God her stare was so hard, and so clear. His thoughts started to prickle in his mind, wondering if his stair should match hers. Or if the casual look was fine, if copying her would just prove her control over whatever this was, if keeping his nonchalant gaze would just show how much he didn't care. That he was as cool as ever.

But his mind started raising, each thought hammering in and leaving him just as quickly as his heartbeat was starting to bounce up.

He was nervous, slightly jittery, and all too aware of his place in the closet, the position of Sharon. It wasn't just being in the cabinet, it wasn't just his nerves. It was her.

It was everything. It was the omega, it was Natasha, it was the Pearl Girls, and his stupid apartment that was always empty, and he's dumb fuckin' hearing aid that didn't always want to work all the time, and how stupid he was, and his medicines, and work, and just how sorry of an excuse of an alpha he was, and his ma, and Brooklyn, and the war-

His eyes started prickling, and he didn't know why and the urge to want to angrily wipe them off strong. But they urged to not look another alpha in the eyes, one that was already pressing him, and cry was so much stronger.

He didn't know what was going on but he felt fidgety all of a sudden, Steve didn't know what was going on or what was happening but is removed in a state akin to nearly autopilot, and God it wouldn't take much to-

Sharon's voice came out of nowhere.

A voice just as smooth and casual as ever, as casual as he had tried to look. "Well I'm just on my break so…"

She gestured to the spot behind him, well technically the spot behind and just above Steve. Where the water was at.

Her face was a bit awkward, not something mean or malicious but something that was just slightly bashful, something Steve had been used to at some point, something he knew intimately. His eyes averted.

He shuffled out of the way, giving her a clear and unobstructed path to the water. A small part of himself could feel the flightiness returning, maybe at the fact that she didn't even have to reach her foot even slightly up to get to the water. Being five-ten generally helped with that.

She got herself a bottle of water and then seemed to pause for a bit, the crinkling of the bottle in her hand stopping. Steve didn't look at her, not in the face he didn't need to to be able to read her.

Because immediately after a second bottle was taken down from the shelf, a second crinkling sound being heard. Then she turned to him, two bottles in hand.

"Uh here," She said as casually as she could muster, Steve looked at her. "You might need one later, I'd hate for you to have to come back."

He looked down at her hands, and usually, in a situation like this, Steve might have just taken that as some sort of insult. As a form of passive aggressiveness that he hadn't dealt with since he was a kid. But because it was her, because it was Sharon, he didn't. He knew what she meant.

He took the waters, his eyes not having the self-control to noticeably look at her hands. Or at least one of them. It was bandaged.

She noticed. A quippy laugh came out in response. "Oh, yeah." She said, seeming embarrassed.

"I kind of cut myself earlier," She made a weird bashful gesture to some of the boxes on the ground which Steve's eyes followed. "Me and Carol dropped a few boxes."

Immediately, at least to Steve, everything checked out. Putting two of the biggest, most headstrong women he knew in one place would probably lead to more than one thing getting dropped. He offered her an awkward grin. Carol would probably deny it to the day she died but she was as major as she was a klutz.

"Oh," Steve said with a bit of a laugh, it was obvious she was trying to break whatever tension there was. His hand found the back of his neck, a small smile still there. "Well maybe we should try to avoid that, next time."

He sounded just as dumb as he thought he looked but honestly he wasn't sure what else to say. Steve was just grateful she seemed to ignore whatever that was and grabbed herself another water bottle, offering him another short thin grin.

"Well I'm gonna.." Sharon started, lightly shifting past him. Steve's face finally lost all of its hardness.

"Oh yeah, yeah go ahead." Steve said looking up at her, trying to keep his body language open and encouraging. "I'm just going to get a few more things here, I'll be out in a minute."

No he did not have to get a few more things there, but also, and even more than that, no he did not want to force her being in his presence any longer than what was critically necessary. She kept her smile on her face though her voice was awkward as she turned.

"Alright then." Sharon said, each one of her steps away giving Steve slightly more breath than before. "See, ya Rogers."

When the door closed, and only when the door closed, Steve could feel every last ounce of air he had neglected to breathe in before suddenly rushing back in. Only for him to exhale it just as quickly. Fuck

He felt nervous, although he shouldn't be nervous it was over. By every sense of the word the interaction was done and dealt with but for some reason it took Steve a bit of a moment to actually shake it.

Yes it was dumb. But also yes, no one liked to run into their ex who was also a coworker, who pretended like they didn't exist the last time they saw them in a building that they both worked at where they knew the other person knew they were there but didn't acknowledge them.

He wasn't mad, he couldn't be mad because Steve really didn't try to make an effort to acknowledge her either but it was weird.

Because she had been around the omega just before him, which meant Natasha had apparently assigned her to his care for breakfast and lunch. That same breakfast where he didn't want to eat, that same breakfast where he had been tackled down a mere few hours earlier before a brand new person was shoved in his face so of course he shut down.

Suddenly the stress came creeping back in and Steve wanted to shut down. He wanted to scream. For the love of him, it felt like every single menial effort he made had to have some sort of immediate push back. Constantly and always. Always just two steps forward and one step back, two steps forward then one step back

Of course he shut down after first coming in because why wouldn't he? Steve expected it. He knew it, and Steve couldn't honestly think of any other reaction in the world. As little as he knew about the omega, as little as wanted Steve wanted to know or needed to imagine, there wasn't a single image in his mind that saw any bit of it positive. Not from his arm, not from his silence, from his eyes or his condition. Nothing.

So when he sees all these new people of course he panicks. Because Steve didn't even need to think about the horrid realm of possibilities that could have happened the last time new people cornered him in a room at the time, or now.

Then Steve popped in and he responded, and then it's great because he's eating. But then he shuts down again because it turns out he's sick, and in a new place filled with strangers, so he's stressed on top of his near rapidly increasingly fast fear developing by the second, and maybe even pregnant on top of that.

Then it's going good and it's great, -ish. Until he needs to be swabbed, and then there's no other way around it but to swarm him, and then he shuts down again, and only God knew how he might have responded to Sharon. Because of course Steve wasn't there. Even if the he wasn't then, he was the omega's caseworker now, and he wasn't there for him.

So of course he locks back up after her coming in there because earlier, Steve just stood there and did nothing while the medical team did what they did to him. So now he was probably scared, and didn't trust him again, or anyone and-

Steve rubbed his face with the back of his hand. He needed to breathe.

The omega was in there waiting on him, and he needed to breathe. He couldn't be stressed, Steve couldn't be freaking out and panicking if not for the sake of his own lungs.

He blinked a few times, trying to gather all of his thoughts together and hold them in before they blew up and out of him like earlier. Out of all the times for his insecurities to come gnawing at him, right now definitely wasn't the time.

But of course Steve's brain couldn't help but let the thoughts slither in. God he was an alpha, and as unrealistic and conforming as it was he couldn't help but want to slip into what he felt like his proper role should have been at times.

He was an alpha male, supposedly the pinnacle of masculinity. Yet here he was, this scrawny little thing that was in, what was essentially, a cafeteria pantry, about to have a panic attack in the back of said pantry on the clock at his job, after a simple two minute conversation. Steve scrubbed his face so hard, he was sure he could have accidentally ripped his nose off. He couldn't berate himself right now. He didn't have the time for it.

The omega, the omega. He had to keep his thoughts on the omega.

Water. He had to keep reminding himself that he had the water, he had gotten what he had come for. What the omega needed. Whatever trust might have been damaged was already done. Whatever little thing had happened, happened.

All he could do now was maybe try to fix it and move forward, figure out whatever it was and push past it. Steve was going to do it. Even if it was the last thing he had ever done on the planet he would do it. He owed the man that, the omega deserved that.

Steve believed he did.

Notes:

Hi guys! I'm back with another chapter! I want to go ahead and thank every single person who has been loving and supporting this fic as it develops, you guys are the absolute best and honestly I'm more than jazzed for you guys to see how the story progresses. After going through such a major move I feel like my life is a bit more stable now than it was before, and I'm so happy to get this story back on a schedule! ❤️

Comments, questions, and kudos, are always welcomed and encouraged! And as always thank you all 🩷