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The very first thing he could remember was white.
That was the furthest back his memories went, wiped away like a mirror after a shower. There were…Remnants. Fragments of something else, some other memories, but they clung to the surface for bare seconds before dissipating. He remembered white and he remembered faces with open mouths and bright teeth. Sounds he couldn’t comprehend; sounds he couldn’t make sense of.
A language he could not understand.
Poking and prodding and pain. Scents he could not chase after, that made his teeth ache with a memory of something. The urge to reach out and hold onto the source of them was tamped down by the straps holding him in place.
Pheromones so rarely hit him in that white place. He did not remember anything but the white place and the scentless void that it became.
The black holes of unknown language and too-bright-teeth spoke in their weird, alien noises and they tore him apart. They put him back together wrong, leaving things inside. They stabbed and cut, sliced and tore, until there was almost nothing left of the original anymore. His memories faded even further, leaving him with even less – He no longer remembered his first days in the white place. He changed, there, until he was so different there was nothing else.
Even his skin changed, grey and ridged, the longer he stayed there.
They kept him in a tank, floating in liquid most of the time, and it gave him a small reprieve from the scentless world he lived in. The oxygen they had to feed him, the tube shoved into his throat, smelled almost like nothing but it was something more than what he had been given before. It smelled stale but clean, a small taste of something other than nothingness.
He clung to it.
They would pull him from the tube and push him until his body gave out, writing the results down each time. He could see their pencils move, that same nonsense language given form before his eyes.
Then he would be back in the tube.
There had been screaming, one day, panic – an alarm, a siren, constant noise. The scentless nature of the white place had changed. Everyone had a scent, then. He had been brought out of the tube and pushed into a room. They had crammed something sharp into his temple, the world blacking out for a few moments as he tried to breathe through the pain.
But then his body hadn’t been his.
Not that it really was, in the white place, but it was worse after that. He had been dressed in black leather, meant to do something – if he had been asked, in a language he could understand, he would have said it was to intimidate and frighten those who saw him.
PROTOCOL: ELIMINATE SURVIVORS AND WITNESSES
METHOD: ANY MEANS NECESSARY
TIME ALOTTED: FOUR DAYS
He had his orders.
The city he was dropped in was a mess of scents and terror. Fire everywhere, screams of survivors quickly becoming infected, targets he did not need to eliminate. The white place was behind him, somewhere he would not be going back to – he had been set amongst a burning city. His orders did not include returning.
Sent to die.
The first hours were a blur – his body acted on orders from the metal in his head. The scents were confusing and frustrating, lines that crossed again and again, trails that trailed off and slowly died.
There was one scent among them all that drew his attention.
It hit his nose first when he lifted the helicopter, pushing it out of his way. The man before him, small and wide-eyed, backed away, his mouth moving in that same alien language. His teeth were not the same too-bright of the ones who had caused him pain, his scent that of an omega. It drew him in, lit something on fire in his brain.
He followed it, the orders in his head allowing it for the sake of destroying the man as a witness.
The scent started hopping around, changing directions. A little rabbit, he thought, the thought brushed away by the overriding orders. He followed it everywhere, finding clothing discarded in the rooms it concentrated in, following the noises he heard until he finally cornered the man. He was leaning over a balcony, dropping more fabric—
He grabbed the man’s neck, pulling him close.
They faced each other, the small man’s mouth moving in that alien language again, he knew a few words – ‘Down’ was one he recognized, but his hand would not release him. His orders were stronger than his curiosity.
A sound exploded next to his ear, pain echoing across his temple for what seemed like forever.
The orders…Stopped.
He hit the ground, his knees aching as the small man stumbled with him. He stayed on his feet, gun in hand, as he stared. There were more sounds, more words, and he knew two of them, with something in between: ‘Let go’. He did – the orders were gone, his hands were his own. The man stepped away. He seemed to hesitate, his eyes softening as he watched, before he made those noises again.
‘Want’
‘Do’
‘Something’
He knew those words. He could almost put the next ones he knew into a sentence. ‘Looks’ and ‘hurts’.
He nodded.
Still kneeling, his posture submissive before an omega, he nodded. The omega pulled a tool out of his pocket, something a bright red, almost cheerful despite their surroundings. He stepped close and though the pain came back, it stopped quickly before disappearing entirely. The orders were gone, the machine that gave them dismantled. Removed from him. When the omega went to move away, he reached up and grabbed him, his face falling into the small man’s neck.
‘Scent’
‘Following’
The sort of tone that indicated a question. Another nod seemed to relax the omega, his body no longer trembling. He picked the man up. He knew almost the next full sentence by context of what had been done to him in the white place – ‘Is this why you’re’ followed by another questioning tone. The word ‘outside’ was after that. Another one he knew of that alien language, outside meant a lot of things. The omega was asking if he was carrying him because he needed to go outside?
He shook his head.
The omega’s scent was stronger – he needed to be sheltered. There were others in the city, others sent to destroy any survivors and witnesses. The strength of his scent required medical attention, he remembered that without any context and headed for a symbol he recognized.
Once inside, there were more sounds. More words. A few he knew.
The omega’s scent smoothed out into softness and warmth, a tang of a spice he’d once known. Familiar but without any context of the before that had once been there, before the white place. Water and medication. Treatment to make sure they were not followed and the omega was not killed. His scent was comforting and warm. His death would be a wrongness in the world.
He knew what the problem was when the omega hesitated. He was smaller than him, that was certain – he could not carry all of what he might need on his own.
A bag sat on a display. He grabbed it and offered it.
There were more words he did not know, but the smile he got in return was better than knowing the words. His cheeks were pink, and his eyes were bright. The next thing he knew was necessary was water. Even he needed water. The omega would not be able to carry the entire bag if it contained all the water it could. There were more words as he watched him, words he did not know.
He took the bag back and swept the water into it. There were bags of food, supplies the omega would need.
With glances at the omega, he kept pulling things into the bag. Words drifted between them, still not understood, until silence fell. When he looked at the omega again, he looked desperate for something.
“I’m supposed to help people,” he knew those words, that was a full sentence. ‘Keep them safe’ followed.
With a nod, he added more medical supplies to the bag. Helping meant medical care. It meant survival. He zipped the bag shut and put it on his shoulder, picking the omega up. When the words ‘police station’ came up, he nodded. It was a question, the omega was supposed to help people, and he had seen someone there while chasing the omega. Someone he had not followed for the sake of finding the omega. Someone who might need help.
“Are you okay” was the next thing he heard, pushing through doors and breaking locks so the omega could progress in his mission. He nodded – everything was in optimal condition, with the exception of the command node that had been placed in his temple.
A small hand traced over the front of his coat, seeming to check for injuries.
There was no further prodding or pressure. Just a careful touch and then nothing more. He walked through the halls, getting further and further down, until they were below the station. The maze they walked through felt like the white place, built by the same hands.
And then there was another alpha.
She pointed a gun at the omega.
The omega moved in his hold, startling him. The alpha smelled too clean, like the few scents he had been allowed at the white place. She was a danger, she held a weapon, and she would use it. He could see it in the way her muscles tensed, her eyes narrowed. But then the omega moved to get down when she fell. They had spoken and then she had fallen, and the omega tried to get down. ‘I need’ had been followed by ‘help you’ and he had no context for the words in between, no idea what the omega was saying.
The alpha was injured.
Dying.
With the name ‘Sherry’ said, he had context for her. Annette Birkin, scientist. The name ‘Claire’ rolled around in his mind, tucked away for the moment. No context, no connections. Not until the omega also said her name. Another survivor, someone he knew. They were heading for the evacuation point; he knew those words. He could only grunt when the omega said something, back in his arms as he headed for the train.
Once there, a small woman with brown hair had her hands on everything. A beta, anxious and frightened from her scent, looked scared when she saw him. The omega calmed her down, her name used as a touchstone.
The omega’s name was Leon.
Leon stood in front of him, head tilted to the side, his neck exposed. His hands were down, held together in invitation. Submissive and inviting, he was offering up his scent gland.
The touch that followed had Leon shivering, soft noises of contentment coming from him. With soft touches of his own, Leon pulled him down until he could put his lips onto the skin of his face, brush a soft kiss over his nose. He could only answer by picking him up again, carrying him onto the train, and keeping him close. Even when the little girl, softly scented like all children, with no obvious trace of what her dynamic would be, spoke, he kept close to Leon. His face was buried in the omega’s stomach, eyes closed as he recalled something from before the white place – a smile, a question of children. Faint memories that faded quickly.
The omega tried to move, and he held onto him. There was laughter at that, a sound he wanted more of.
‘Need to hand this’ were the next words he knew. He took on the task himself, the paper delicate in his hand as he handed it to Claire, the beta.
Eventually, with the three of them communicating in their alien words, the train came to a stop. He picked up Leon, first, then scooped Claire and Sherry up. There were protests, but they did not fight him. He could carry the three of them and the bag of supplies. They needed rest. The little girl’s eyes were already slipping closed as he walked.
It took hours to get to safety, to get somewhere Leon recognized. His apartment was still intact, outside an evacuation zone – though there were still fires burning, his home was safe. With their arrival also came the darkness, allowing them cover to slip quietly back into his home.
They took turns taking showers, cleaning themselves off from the time they had spent in the city full of the dead. Leon gave them each clothing, though the little girl had to roll up the sleeves and tie the shorts tightly. He could not fit in the omega’s clothing.
The beta and the little girl were given the first room they stepped into. Leon took him further in, into a room saturated with his scent.
His nest.
Something tore through his chest, hot and wanting, and he stared as the omega gestured to the bed. He seemed to be trying a couple of things when all he did was stare at him. With his hands pressed together, Leon stared up at him, his head resting on them. “Sleep?” he tried; eyes bright despite the dim lighting.
He knew that word.
Moving slowly, he set the bag of supplies down next to the bed. His hat and coat followed, folded neatly and set next to them. After that went his boots, his gloves, leaving him in just the pants they had dressed him in. He knew enough about omegas to know their nests were special – breaking it would not do anything good.
Climbing in carefully, he lay down. The bed creaked, but it did not break.
Leon settled in next to him, tucking up against his front. With a sigh, the omega closed his eyes. He waited a second, then slid his hand up the omega’s back. A comforting motion, if the soft breathing that followed was any indication. His arm covered most of the omega’s back, kept him covered like a blanket. The man had been so tired he had not even gotten under his covers.
Careful not to wake him, he pulled a corner up and folded it over him.
It was better than nothing.
When he closed his eyes, he slept. For the first time in an eternity, he dreamed.
In the morning, sunlight streamed through the window.
Leon grumbled and turned away from it, burying his face. He looked down at the omega, brushed his hair out of his face, then sat up slowly. The others would need food, and this was the omega’s nest. They would not set foot in here, not even to get supplies – that was how it worked. Instinct would keep them from entering. He did not know the state of supplies out there. He stood up, carefully wrapping the rest of the blankets around Leon.
Opening the bag, he extracted enough food to feed a growing child and a young beta woman. He added two water bottles to each pile, then walked as quietly as he could into the other room.
They were still asleep as well. He set the food and water down next to their heads, then returned to the omega’s nest.
With nothing else to do, not wanting to disturb Leon’s sleep, he sat down on the floor, next to his clothing. Time passed quietly, his eyes slipping shut as it did. Eventually, there were sounds of life. Leon sat up, grumbling, rubbing his face as the blankets fell off. Claire and Sherry were awake in the other room, likely what had woken the omega up.
“Hello,” the omega said, a smile just for him when he realized he was being watched.
There was something about him in the daylight, cleaned off and well rested. He was bright and shining, something to be admired. Getting on his knees, he approached the omega, his hands on the edge of the bed as he leaned in. After a moment, Leon moved closer to him, legs on either side of his torso, sitting between his hands. The omega fit neatly against him, grabbing his face in both hands and kissing him slowly. He repeated the motion until he joined in, clutching at each other and simply just holding on.
Leon’s eyes were bright, the blue of a summer sky. He somehow knew that, somehow had that information.
It felt important.
There were more sounds from the omega, his mouth arranged in a smile with his not-too-bright teeth barely shown and his eyes searching for something, his brows drawn in. His nose scrunched up as he spoke, and he wished he could understand the words Leon spoke.
He would have to try harder.
The omega got up eventually, his hand taken in both of his. He followed the small man into the other room. The little girl sat up on the couch, smiling but reserved. Nervous.
He curled his shoulders in, adjusting until he knew he looked smaller.
“Sherry,” Leon said her name, more words following. He only knew a few of them, but he understood the basic context: Leon was saying he was not dangerous to her. Despite how they had first met, and the chase that had occurred, Leon was saying he was not a threat. Claire watched the three of them, sitting on the other side of the couch. She had a bottle of water in her hands, drinking from it occasionally. Sherry’s bottle of water was next to her knee, had been opened, and she’d had half of it.
He gestured at the water, then at them.
When he only got blank stares in return, he picked up Sherry’s bottle and put it in her small hand, careful not to bruise or crush as he curled her fingers around it. “Drink?” she asked, smiling again when he nodded. He knew that word. He understood what it meant. Leon said something and both of the girls nodded.
Claire held up her bottle, nodded again, then took another sip.
Better. They needed to rehydrate after the night they’d had. Something in his mind, something that sounded almost like a person, told him to take care of people. This was a situation for such a thing.
Time passed like that, the three of them curled up comfortably. Leon was the first to stand, speaking again in words he could not understand, though he did know some of them. ‘Money’ and ‘groceries’ stood out, as did ‘clothes’. When Leon approached him, he lifted his chin to meet the omega’s eyes. “Stay here,” Leon’s voice was soft. “We will be back.” He kissed him again.
The three of them left, the door closing behind them.
He stayed. Right where he was, he stayed. Leon had told him to. They were going to be coming back.
They did come back.
They had bags of new-smelling things, a small machine he could not understand the purpose of, and fabrics on cardboard rolls. Leon came back to him, before anything else, and kissed him once more. “We came back,” he smiled. He stepped back, holding out his arms to the side. “Can you?” he asked.
So he did.
When Leon pulled out a small yellow roll of something, unrolling it and stretching it across his arms, he looked at Leon until the omega met his eyes. “Measurements,” he said, simple and short. He seemed to understand the difference between knowing words and understanding them. He seemed to understand that he could not know all of them, not yet, could not comprehend what all of them meant.
Measurements were an understood thing, though they usually involved tests.
This was not a test, as far as he could tell.
Leon wrote the numbers he said out loud down. He carried the paper over to Claire and Sherry, who helped him unroll fabric. The three of them worked on cutting it out, with Sherry holding a book of some sort up for the other two to look at occasionally. Slowly, he realized, clothing was taking shape.
Clothing that appeared as if it would fit him.
The small machine whirred to life when Claire pushed on something, the fabric slipping through slowly. Sewing. He knew what sewing was, he remembered someone sewing a coat. Small hands, deft movements, and finally a finished item.
Condensation on glass, reappearing now that someone was no longer constantly wiping the mirror down.
He stared as they worked, occasionally stopping to sort through the bags for something else. Claire and Sherry seemed to be helping Leon figure things out, pointing at different spots in the book as they worked.
Eventually, they approached him.
Leon held up their final product: a shirt. “Arms in,” he held it open for him, helping arrange it on his body once he had come out the other side. “First attempt, good,” he looked at Claire, who held up her thumb. Sherry put her hands in the air, laughing.
They were helping him.
Clothing to mark him as something other than the creature the white place had been testing.
The years passed like that.
Claire eventually moved out, her own apartment found once her brother had returned to the US and contacted her. He understood the words when he heard them, smelled Claire’s soft and kind scent go acrid with anxiety when she spoke on the phone with her brother Chris. He worried her, so far away.
She was scared for him.
When she moved out, she had approached him and smiled. Moving slowly, she had hugged him. “Watch over Leon,” she spoke slowly – they knew, all of them did, about the difference in knowing and understanding. They kept things simple, they made sure he could understand. They celebrated Sherry’s birthday before Claire left for the final time.
Sherry was fourteen, now. It felt important to keep track.
She leaned against him while she did her schoolwork. He recognized the numbers, could tell what it was. It had been a long time since he had worked on such things, but he recognized it, nonetheless.
Leon cooked dinner.
A man named Barry had offered Leon land, he knew. The omega wanted to take it, had asked about a house built on the land. It was in the woods, away from the cities and people who might discover him and panic. He had heard through the door, sitting on the bed and not making a sound. Barry had offered it to him for almost nothing, saying that he needed to have more than just a one-bedroom apartment for raising a teenage girl.
Leon had called it a safe haven.
They moved in the middle of the night. He was taken out of the apartment first, settled carefully in Leon’s new car, bought to fit him inside of it. He was only alone in the house for a day or two, left with food and a kiss from the omega.
Once Leon and Sherry joined him, everything was quiet again. They fixed up the house, they planted a garden, and they watched Sherry grow up.
He was slowing down.
Leon was panicking, pacing around their bedroom as he spoke into the phone, the cord tangling around him. He was on the third call, the first had been to Sherry and then to Claire. Someone named Albert Wesker was on the other end – he recognized the name, dimly, but could not bring up the context.
Time passed in slow drips, his mind hazy, until—
“Mikhail Bogdanov.”
He paid as much attention as he could, after that. His mate moved around the room, the frantic energy of his oncoming heat driving up his anxiety. Sherry was there, sitting near him. Her hands were close to his face, comforting and gentle. She smelled like an omega, her scent the same as the candies she made sure to give him around the day she loved. The rest of the world turned white, then, decorated in green and red and gold.
“Testing, one, two, three,” a blond man crouched in front of him, eyes burning bright orange. “Do you understand me?”
It was a language he knew. If he had been able to summon the energy to react, he might have. It was not the alien language he had forced himself to learn in bits and pieces – it was a language he recalled as his.
He nodded. It took a long moment, but he nodded.
Leon was the first to speak, after that. His anxious scent focused into something sharper, something almost solid. He was determined. When the dark-haired man went away, the blond stared at him, stared at Sherry, stared at Leon. He was studying them, eyes wide, and he smelled almost…Afraid.
Unsettled.
Sherry had hugged him, her hands shaking. She knew the blond man. He had hugged her back, his hands shaking as well.
When the blond man left, he was better.
“Mikhail?” Leon’s voice was soft, his hands gentle as he reached up to cup his face. The same gesture he had always done, a thousand times, still made his heart race. He was Mikhail. He had a name. “I love you.”
It was said in his language, his mate’s tongue awkward and struggling over the sounds, but he said it clearly enough to be understood.
He knew those words.
He understood them.
He was not the only one figuring out an alien language with very little help. He could have laughed, leaning down to kiss his mate.