Chapter Text
Everyone agreed on three things about Throckmorton.
First: he was an alpha
Second: he was terrifyingly large
Third: something about him made other alphas extremely nervous.
Rumor circulated constantly among museum staff. Some said he had perfect instinctual control. Others believed he had the kind of overwhelming pheromone dominance that forced everyone else into submission. One beta security guard swore he had once seen Throckmorton stare down an aggressive alpha in the breakroom and make him leave without saying a word.
This reputation was somewhat undermined by the fact that Throckmorton was currently spending his lunch break on the museum steps, carefully photographing a pigeon because he suspected it might be a juvenile red-tailed hawk.
Throckmorton himself couldn’t care less about his status as an alpha. There were advantages, certainly. Alphas had excellent cardiovascular health and above-average muscle density, and Throckmorton appreciated both. Society was also built conveniently for them. Even with his seven-foot frame and two hundred and eighty pounds of muscle, he never bumped into doorways because of his size.
No—he just bumped into doorways because he had poor depth perception.
One of the dozen or so alarms on his phone rang from the pocket of Throckmorton’s black slacks. Pocketing his camera, he untucked the laminated badge that hung against a chest that looked capable of wrestling an American bison—Bison bison bison, as Throckmorton had added when his college roommate once remarked on its size. The correction had not, unfortunately, improved the conversation.
Back in the grand hall of the museum, Throckmorton assumed his position in front of the 2:30 tour group. The students were from Pinehills Elementary. He and Izzy had already devised a game plan for handling the unusually large class: two separate groups, opposite sides of the museum, meeting again at the Egyptology exhibit at the end.
Izzy was Throck’s best work friend. When she had first started at the museum, the omega had been drawn to him for the same reasons most people were—his status, his size, and his pheromones. After a few months of working together, however, she had come to understand that Throckmorton was not going to give her what she had originally hoped for.
Fortunately, she had discovered that Throckmorton was an excellent coworker.
The chaperones hushed the students, and once the hall was sufficiently quiet—which, given the presence of thirty-seven fifth-graders, was not very quiet at all—
“Alright, give our tour guide your attention,” one of the teachers said.
Throckmorton stepped forward. “Hello, and good afternoon. Dr. Rojas and I will be your guides today.”
One of the chaperones, a smaller alpha, gave a short, amused chuff. “Do security guards usually lead tours?”
Throckmorton could smell the teacher’s pheromones—musty, slightly sour. He knew the scents differed between intimidation, arousal, and fear, but he had never been particularly good at identifying which was which.
So he answered the question instead.
“No,” Throckmorton said calmly. “I am a museum guide.”
The alpha teacher’s face scrunched in confusion.
“I’m Dr. Throckmorton Pembroke,” he continued. “I’ll be leading Ms. Patel’s class down the east wing. While Dr. Rojas will lead Mr. Thompson’s down the west. The tour will conclude in the Egypt exhibit.”
A new pheromone scent filled the hall. It smelled sweeter, more citrus-y.
This one came from Ms. Patel, who had visibly perked up the moment he mentioned he would be guiding her group.
Throckmorton made a quiet mental note of the change in scent.
Interesting.
The east wing held the fossil exhibits. Ms. Patel must be excited about the dinosaurs. Most people were.
As Throckmorton guided the fifth-graders through the various epochs represented in the exhibits, he gestured toward the first display.
“Here we have Smilodon, from the Pleistocene epoch,” he said.
“Despite popular depictions,” Throckmorton continued, “Smilodon did not hunt humans. The timelines do not overlap.
Ms. Patel's pheromones grew sharper the closer the tour got to the Cretaceous dinosaur displays. Throckmorton smiled to himself as he guided the group. He couldn’t wait to show them the museum’s Parasaurolophus—his favorite.
“And here,” Throckmorton said, gesturing toward the towering skeleton ahead of them, “is Parasaurolophus walkeri, a hadrosaur notable for the elongated cranial crest extending from the back of the skull.”
Several of the students gasped appreciatively.
“The crest is hollow and connects to the nasal cavity—”
Ms. Patel made a small, strangled noise.
Throckmorton glanced over.
Her face had flushed a deep shade of red, and she was gripping the railing beside the fossil display with concerning intensity.
Another wave of sharp pheromones hit Throckmorton’s nose.
He paused mid-lecture.
“Hm.”
One of the chaperones—a beta—looked between them with widening eyes.
“Oh,” she whispered.
Ms. Patel swayed slightly.
“Oh no.”
Throckmorton stepped closer, calm and attentive.
“Ms. Patel,” he said, “are you feeling unwell?”
The beta chaperone made a choking sound.
“Oh my god.”
Ms. Patel looked up at Throckmorton, eyes unfocused.
“Alpha—”
Throckmorton nodded thoughtfully.
“Yes,” he said. “I am.”
Ms. Patel raised a hand to Throck’s face as she swooned into his arms. Her breathing was erratic, and Throckmorton could feel her pulse racing at an alarmingly fast rate.
“She’s going into heat!” the panicked beta chaperone cried.
Throck’s mind immediately replayed the several one-on-one meetings he had had with the museum director regarding proper procedure during a Heat Flare.
“Understood,” Throckmorton said calmly.
He paged the appropriate code into his walkie for a replacement guide.
He looked down at the fainted teacher, her dusky skin glistening with sweat. Throckmorton did not wish to make assumptions, but based on her appearance and the etymology of her name, he suspected she might be of Indian heritage. He had attended field school in Khajuraho.
One of the students raised a hand.
“Is this part of the dinosaur tour?”
“No,” Throckmorton said. “But thank you for asking.”
Throckmorton was wiping Ms. Patel’s forehead with a cloth he kept in his back pocket—for emergencies—when the intern arrived.
“I’m taking Ms. Patel to the breakroom,” Throckmorton instructed. “Finish with the fossil exhibits, then move to the west hall. If I am not back, conclude the tour with Dr. Rojas in the Egypt exhibit.”
Scooping Ms. Patel up was fairly easy due to Throckmorton’s physical prowess. Even though he only worked out twice a week, his body built muscle mass with unusual efficiency.
He carried her bridal style through the halls of the museum. A firefighter’s carry would have been less straining on the spine, but Throckmorton decided her comfort was more important.
Staff and guests alike parted for them as Throck carried Ms. Patel toward the breakroom. Her hands grasped weakly at his pectoral and biceps, and she buried her face against his chest.
He could hear her inhale deeply.
Several times.
A sensible approach to regulate her breathing during medical distress.
A pair of visiting omegas froze as Throckmorton passed them. One instinctively stepped aside, lowering her gaze, while the other stared openly at the sight of the massive alpha carrying Ms. Patel through the hall.
“Oh,” she whispered.
“Oh,” her friend agreed.
Throckmorton knew that when he himself was in distress, it often helped to focus on a point of interest. The same might apply to Ms. Patel.
“The crest of the Parasaurolophus was likely used to produce low, resonant sounds,” he said in a low, steady voice. “A group of paleontologists recreated the resonance chamber of the crest and forced air through it. It’s one of the few dinosaurs whose vocalizations we can reasonably approximate.”
As he passed the entrance to the west hall, Izzy caught a glimpse of him. He nodded, and she smiled and nodded back. This was the third tour in less than two months that a Heat Flare had occurred in his group. Just another tally in the long list of such incidents during his years at the museum—first as a curator, though he ultimately preferred museum education.
The dinosaur facts seemed to work. Throckmorton could feel Ms. Patel’s heart rate beginning to steady, though it remained above resting levels. She continued taking deep breaths against his chest.
An omega at the water fountain watched him pass and called out, “If she doesn’t survive that heat, call me!”
Throckmorton nodded politely.
“I will inform medical staff if her condition worsens,” he said.
The breakroom door closed behind Throckmorton with a soft click.
He laid Ms. Patel carefully on the couch and stepped back to assess the situation.
Her breathing was still rapid. Her skin remained flushed. The pheromone concentration in the room had risen to a noticeable level.
Heat flare confirmed.
Throckmorton moved efficiently.
The museum’s emergency protocol cabinet was located beside the refrigerator. Inside were several fleece blankets, two pillows, electrolyte packets, and a laminated instruction sheet.
He read the sheet.
Then he began constructing the nest.
Throckmorton approached the task with the same care he applied to fossil handling. Blankets were layered carefully for insulation. Pillows were arranged to support the neck and lower back. The lights were dimmed to reduce overstimulation.
After a moment’s consideration, he added a second pillow.
It seemed prudent.
Ms. Patel stirred just as Throckmorton was tucking the final blanket around her shoulders.
Her eyes opened slowly.
For several seconds she simply stared up at him.
The pheromones in the room spiked.
“Alpha,” she breathed.
Throckmorton nodded.
“Yes.”
She reached up and grabbed a fistful of his shirt, pulling him closer.
“You stayed,” she murmured, voice thick.
“Yes,” Throckmorton said calmly. “Museum protocol recommends remaining nearby in case symptoms worsen.”
Ms. Patel stared at him for another long moment.
“You made me a nest.”
“Yes.”
Her grip tightened.
“For you.”
“No,” Throckmorton corrected gently. “It is for you.”
Throck leaned over, muscles flexing as he dabbed Ms. Patel’s forehead with the cool, damp cloth. The touch made her close her eyes as she inhaled deeply, drawing in his scent.
“Ms. Patel," Throckmorton said calmly, “You’re in good hands. You’re not my first Heat Flare, and you won't be my last.”
“I—I need you,” she replied weakly.
Throckmorton noticed the blankets shift as Ms. Patel tried to push herself upright. Unfortunately, Throckmorton was very thorough when constructing heat nests. The blankets were layered and tucked with considerable efficiency.
Her face paled slightly as she realized she would not be able to escape the nest.
“I’m sorry,” Ms. Patel said, a tinge of shame in her voice. “This is the first time for me.”
“Heat?” Throckmorton asked.
“No. A Heat Flare.”
“How old are you, Ms. Patel.”
“Twenty-eight.”
Throckmorton nodded slowly.
He knew enough about alpha and omega biochemistry to understand the situation. Ms. Patel was older than most unclaimed omegas. Extended periods without bonding could lead to chemical imbalances in the brain—depression, anxiety, attention disorders.
And in the most severe long-term cases, neurological decline later in life.
“That must be quite uncomfortable,” Throckmorton said sympathetically.
Ms. Patel swallowed and shifted beneath the blankets. The nest rustled as she reached out again, fingers brushing against his wrist.
“Alpha,” she murmured, voice low and unsteady. “Please… come closer.”
Throckmorton considered this.
In his experience, patients in distress often benefitted from a reassuring presence.
He stepped forward.
Immediately Ms. Patel tugged him down toward the nest.
Throckmorton resisted—not out of alarm, but simple physics. At seven feet tall and nearly three hundred pounds, lowering himself into the nest would collapse most of the structure he had carefully assembled.
Instead, he placed a steady hand on her shoulder.
“Your pulse has stabilized somewhat,” he said.
Ms. Patel stared up at him.
“Throck,” she whispered.
“Yes.”
“I need an alpha.”
Throckmorton nodded.
“That is correct.”
She blinked.
“You… understand?”
“Yes.”
Relief flooded her face.
“Oh thank god.”
Throckmorton turned slightly toward the breakroom counter.
“I will retrieve additional electrolyte packets,” Throckmorton said.
“Or Gatorade,” he added after a moment of consideration.
As Throckmorton searched through the staff refrigerator, he heard—and smelled—Izzy enter the breakroom. Her pheromones were strong.
She was experiencing powerful emotions.
Unfortunately, they were one of the more complicated varieties. Throckmorton could reliably distinguish simple states—sadness, happiness, anger—but once emotions deepened and the pheromone chemistry became more complex, the signals blended together into indistinct background noise.
He assumed she was concerned about Ms. Patel.
“Hydration is recommended during heat flares,” he said, holding up the bottle.
Izzy stopped in the doorway.
She took in the scene.
The nest.
The flushed omega.
The enormous alpha calmly holding a bottle of gatorade
Izzy pinched the bridge of her nose.
“Throck.”
“Yes.”
“Did you build her a nest?”
“Yes.”
Izzy looked at the nest again.
It was, unfortunately, a very good nest.
She glanced down at Ms. Patel, who was clutching the blanket with glassy eyes and staring up at Throckmorton like he was the answer to every evolutionary instinct her body possessed.
Izzy sighed.
“Throck… are you scenting the room?”
“Yes,” Throckmorton replied.
Izzy closed her eyes briefly.
“Why?”
“Ms. Patel appeared distressed.”
Izzy opened one eye.
“Throck,” she said carefully, “do you understand what happens during a Heat Flare?”
“Yes,” Throckmorton said.
Izzy waited.
“And?” she prompted.
“It is a biochemical event involving heightened pheromone output and hormonal instability,” Throckmorton explained. “Hydration and a calm environment are recommended.”
Izzy stared at him.
Behind her, Ms. Patel whimpered softly and reached for the giant alpha standing beside the nest.
“Oh,” Izzy muttered.
“Oh no.”
Throck gives Patel the bottle, carefully as she was grabbing at him. His shear force was enough to prevent her from pulling him in.
Throck… you didn’t get into the nest, did you?”
“No,” he said clearly. “That would compromise the structural integrity.”
Then Throckmorton’s senses sharpened.
A new pheromone flooded the room.
It was stronger than before—richer. The scent carried the deep tannin notes of tea, with something bright layered beneath it.
Bergamot, perhaps.
It was a new scent to Throckmorton. He wondered briefly if pheromones could contain citrus-like compounds.
It was not new to Izzy.
She stiffened immediately as Ms. Patel’s pheromones thickened in the air.
Ms. Patel’s fingers tightened around the front of Throckmorton’s shirt.
“Alpha,” she breathed.
The scent of her pheromones thickened in the room, warm and rich—tea and bergamot steeping into the air.
Izzy’s eyes widened.
“Oh no,” she whispered.
Ms. Patel tugged weakly at Throck again, trying to pull him toward the nest.
“Stay,” she murmured.
Throckmorton interpreted the request literally.
“I am staying,” he said reassuringly.
Ms. Patel made a small, frustrated sound and tugged harder.
Izzy stepped forward quickly.
“Throck,” she said carefully, “I think you should take a step back.”
Throck frowned slightly.
“Why?”
Izzy gestured helplessly toward Ms. Patel, who was now staring at him with unmistakable intensity.
“Because,” Izzy said, “she’s not asking for hydration.”
Throckmorton considered this.
“Oh.”
He paused.
“Would she prefer tea?”
Izzy covered her face with both hands.
“She’s presenting, idiot.” She said, stifling a laugh. “How many PhDs do you have?”
“Three.”
“Rhetorical.”
“What should I do?” Throck asked.
The question from anyone else would have made Izzy collapse onto the floor laughing.
But she knew Throckmorton well enough.
He genuinely did not know.
Izzy set a hand firmly on Throck’s shoulder and looked him in the eyes. She knew he disliked maintaining eye contact for long periods, but she also knew he understood when something was serious.
“Look, buddy,” she said. “I know your ace. But Ms. Patel is too far into this flare.”
Normally Throckmorton would have asked for clarification, but her tone suggested he should not interrupt.
“No amount of Gatorade or blankets is going to pull her out of it,” Izzy continued. “She needs an alpha to settle it.”
Throck processed this.
“I see.”
“Good,” Izzy said, already moving toward the door. “I’m putting the breakroom on Do Not Disturb. Maintenance finally installed those acoustic boards, thank god.”
She took the Gatorade bottle from his hands on her way past.
“Good luck, Throck.”
The door shut behind her.
A moment later he heard the soft metallic click of the lock turning.
Inside the nest, Ms. Patel stirred.
The sound seemed to reach her through the fog of the flare.
The blankets shifted.
Then, very slowly, she pushed herself upright.
Throckmorton briefly wondered if the museum director would want an incident report. Maybe Izzy already filled it.
—
The museum was closed by the time his knot had loosened. Even the janitorial staff had gone home.
City light filtered through the tall windows of the fossil hall, and distant traffic created a slow, steady rhythm in the quiet museum.
Throckmorton carried Chandra—he learned her first name during the rut—bridal style through the corridor. Not because her flare demanded it anymore, but because she was exhausted afterward.
A duffle bag containing her clothes was slung over his shoulder. Chandra was dressed in museum-branded sweatpants and a gift shop t-shirt with a sarcophagus printed on the front.
“I’m sorry, Throck,” she said softly, nuzzling into his chest. “I didn’t know you were asexual.”
“It’s alright,” he replied. “I have had sex before. It is generally considered beneficial for cardiovascular health.”
Chandra chuckled quietly.
“I don’t think your faculties have fully returned to drive safely,” he added. “Besides, didn’t you arrive by bus?”
“I did,” she admitted. “And I definitely can’t drive.”
“I will drive you home.”
She tilted her head slightly to look up at him.
“It must be hard,” she said. “Being an alpha and ace.”
“I do not believe so.”
“So you’ve never claimed anyone?”
“Haven’t needed to,” Throckmorton said. “Why?”
Chandra shrugged slightly.
“I was just wondering.”
The ride to Chandra’s apartment was uneventful. They asked each other small questions along the way. The first was “favorite dinosaur.” Throck’s was obviously the Parasaurolophus. Chandra preferred a different crested dinosaur: Crylophosaurus ellioti.
As they pulled into the parking space, Throckmorton turned off the ignition and was about to step out when he felt Chandra grab his wrist.
He settled back into the driver seat and turned to look at her.
The fluorescent lighting of the parking garage cast soft shadows across her face. Her deep russet-brown eyes watched him intensely. Her nose was sharp, with a slight bump along the bridge—the sort often left by a poorly set break. Her thick brunette hair carried the rich hue of espresso with a faint ash undertone.
“Please,” she said, soft as a whisper. “Stay the night.”
Throckmorton opened his mouth to respond, but she continued quickly..
“I have a guest room, you don’t have to sleep with me.”
Throck sat in silence for nearly a minute, gathering his thoughts. Time ticked by quietly as he considered the request. The longer he thought, the more concerned Chandra began to look.
“Sure,” he said finally. “But only if you let me take you out for breakfast.”
Chandra’s pheromones filled the small interior of the sedan—a pleasant mixture of happiness and excitement.
Or perhaps the scent was more complex than he could properly interpret. Much of being an alpha, Throck had found, involved estimation, guessing, and hoping for the best.
“Like… a date?” Chandra asked.
“Yeah,” Throck said. “Why not? I wouldn’t mind learning more about you.”
He stepped out of the car and walked around to her side, opening the door and offering his hand in case her legs were still unsteady.
“One more time, please,” she said, a faint blush rising in her cheeks. “Can you carry me?”
Throckmorton smiled.
Ms. Patel—Chandra—was the most interesting omega he had met in quite some time.
He swept her up easily into his arms. Her arms wrapped around the back of his neck, and she nuzzled into his chest again.
Throckmorton carried her toward the apartment with practiced ease.
It had been a while since he had last been in a relationship.
Why not give it another try?
After all, he already knew she wouldn’t complain about his dinosaur facts.
Chandra, fortunately, had very strong opinions about hadrosaur crest acoustics.