Prime Directive - I_Mushi - Batman (2024)

Chapter 1: Attention

Chapter Text

“So… Batman is real. The entire Justice League is real.”

“It really depends on the canon you’re going by, and what Earth,” a thin, balding man named Hank was saying to an Indian man in checked plaid. “If you mean after Rebirth things are different versus, say, Earth Prime or the new 52—“

Violet cut in. “Backtrack, wait, uh, Hank, right? Batman and Superman and all the rest are real. Vigilante superheroes are real.”

“Yes,” Hank said, turning to her and twisting a second tissue into his bleeding nose and then looking away quickly. The man who had given him the broken nose, a guy in a leather jacket named Jake, had already stormed out and taken off on his motorcycle. Julie, a woman with perfectly curled brown hair and a severely cut pencil skirt on, was getting an icepack from the kitchen for Hank’s bloody nose while another couple argued about where the broom was to sweep up the broken vase. Amit, the man in checked plaid, fidgeted with his shirt as he calmly debated which version of the Justice League existed in this world.

Violet sat there in borrowed clothes surrounded by strangers on an unfamiliar couch feeling like someone had tilted the world around her and she was sitting sideways and no one thought it was strange. Or really, as Melissa, another woman, explained, she’d tilted and slid between some kind of divide between dimensions, falling into a new universe.

It had felt a lot more terrifying than that. Violet had simply woken up, crossed her bedroom to start her day, and the world had turned into a slurry of color and sound and spun so violently around her she’d been sick. She’d thrown up in an alley instead of her bedroom, stumbling upright with a massive headache, confused and terrified that she’d somehow blacked out and lost time.

The graffiti on one of the walls written in white spray paint had said: “Don’t Panic! If you don’t know how you got here, call this number!”

It had freaked Violet out at the time, thinking she was being followed or having some kind of psychotic break. Then the newspaper in the trash bin off the alley told her she was in Metropolis, that Burger King was merging with Tim Hortons, and something was in the sewers that would be handled by “The League”. She’d turned around and gone back to the alley, bare feet be damned, and memorized the phone number on the wall. At a pay phone in a red telephone box on the corner there was a roll of quarters waiting for her to dial the number.

The woman named Melissa had picked her up, explaining on the way to the apartment that she wasn’t crazy, yes this had happened to her too, and most importantly that she wasn’t alone.

Now, in a t-shirt and sweats that didn’t smell like vomit, Violet sat and watched Hank pop a painkiller and debate which version of The Flash was running around Central City with Amit. Somehow that was more remarkable to Violet than witnessing two “Alphas” beat the sh*t out of each other upon her arrival and hearing herself be called an “Omega”, whatever that was.

“How?” she asked faintly, looking back down at the newspaper she’d been given, which had started all this talk. It was the New York Times, and on the front page was Superman, sporting a perfect cleft chin and curl of hair on his forehead, holding a tanker truck over his head casually. Instead of being a screenshot from a movie or a page out of a comic book, it was a story heralding his return from some kind of epic space battle with the Justice League. It was next to mundane stories of stock market shifts and congressional politics. This was a story written by an actual, legitimate newspaper and not the Onion. Clark Kent was probably on a byline in the copy of The Daily Planet next to her.

“It doesn’t matter how,” Hank told Violet and Amit in a nasal voice, accepting a bag of frozen vegetables from Julie for his bruised nose. Jake had head-butted him but hadn’t broken anything, which turned out to be doubly lucky because now Hank couldn’t smell Violet, which seemed to calm him down, though he continued to avoid looking at her. She had been about to ask for clarification on that truly bizarre serious of statements when the newspaper had caught her eye.

“How can it not matter?”

“It’s just how this world works,” Ada explained calmly, stepping out of the kitchen with the broom. She was a cheerful Asian woman with bright eyes and a mischievous spark. “It’s just part of their normal, and no one here can imagine what it might be like without them. Superheroes have been around for awhile in this dimension.”

“Really? Then I’m surprised Superman made the front page then,” Violet joked weakly, and Len stepped out behind his wife with a smile and a dustpan.

“Usually he doesn’t, but Superman was off world so the League was covering events in Metropolis. The people here are pretty attached to their hero though, so if nothing else is going on he makes the front page.”

“Anyway, the superheroes aren’t the strangest thing,” Amit said, abandoning his discussion with Hank. He was broad-shouldered and had a very becoming face. “It’s the dynamics that are really weird.”

“Dynamics?”

“Yeah, uh, usually I explain this, but maybe Julie should take this one actually.”

Violet looked at Julie, who looked unpleasantly surprised. Hank gave up his seat and she sat down, bringing the dining room chair closer to the couch. “Okay, so, uh, basically people here are split into dynamics: Alpha, Beta, and Omega.”

“Okay,” Violet said, “What does that mean?”

“It’s kind of like another form of gender.”

“What?”

Amit leaned in to help Julie, who look flustered, while Len and Ada went about cleaning up the room. Hank awkwardly stood by in the corner. “This requires a suspension of disbelief.”

Violet snorted incredulously. “Suspension of disbelief is a literary technique. If you have to do that to accept reality then something is really wrong.”

“What Amit means is you need to keep an open mind when we explain this. It’s radically different from our world, but the actual differences it’s caused are… less than you might expect,” Julie corrected, throwing a look at Amit.

Violet watched the two of them carefully. “You’re not pulling my leg? Humans here have genders and a dynamic, whatever that is?”

“I am deadly serious,” Julie said, and she didn’t blink until Violet did. “I didn’t want to believe it either but you can’t escape it. Dynamics are on a spectrum like gender, and make a big difference in reproduction. You and I are Omegas, Hank and Jake are Alphas, and everyone else is Betas.”

A flurry of sarcastic questions fluttered up to Violet’s mouth but she bit them back. She’d agreed to be open-minded, and if aliens from Krypton were flying around shooting lasers out of their eyes then a slightly different human biology wasn’t that big a stretch. “How do you know? What’s different exactly?”

“We know by scent,” Julie said, looking a bit uncomfortable. Hank turned bright red and looked away from where he’d been awkwardly hovering from the corner of the room. “Scent is really important in this world. You may not notice immediately, but you’ll start to be able to recognize people by their smell.”

“Really?” Violet asked, aghast. That was so weird. By smell? A mental image of sniffing candles in a discount store hit her, and Violet didn’t know how she’d tell people apart when she could barely identify sandalwood from lavender. “So what does that mean? Being Omega versus Alpha or Beta?”

“A lot,” Hank muttered.

“Basically, each dynamic comes with different hormones and a few other, uh, changes.”

“Maybe we should give her a medical journal,” Melissa said as she came back into the room while Julie fumbled to find the words. “You did say you were in medicine in the car.”

“Yeah, I am,” Violet confirmed. “But give me the Sparknotes version.”

“Basically Alphas can’t bear children, but female Betas and all Omegas can. Generally speaking Omegas are supposed to be the nurturing ones, Betas the least hormonal ones, and Alphas the dominant.” Julie winced as she listed those off, and Violet’s expression became more incredulous as she went on.

“Uh, I’m assuming those are all stereotypes? Like an Alpha Male?”

“Mostly,” Ada jumped in as Julie shrugged. “But some of it is actually biological. Alphas tend to be bigger built, while Omegas are slenderer, things like that. But what it really comes down to is the instincts.”

“Instincts?”

“Yes, but they’re more… insistent here,” Ada replied thoughtfully. “Do you know what invasive thoughts are? Like when you’re driving down the highway and think to yourself, I could just swerve right into oncoming traffic, but you don’t, because that would be crazy and you don’t have to listen to it?”

Violet frowned. “Everyone has invasive thoughts, but we also evolved sentience and critical thinking so we aren’t driven entirely by instinct.”

“Right,” Julie said hastily. “You’re absolutely right, and that’s still true, but instincts are much closer to the surface. They’re worse than invasive thoughts; it’s like you don’t even realize it’s a thought until you’ve already done it. It’s weird to feel some of the urges but they’re very real and hard to stop. That’s what happened with Hank and Jake. They don’t fight like that normally.”

Hank had turned an odd shade of puce in the corner of the room when Violet glanced over at him.

“Alphas get protective of Omegas, it’s instinctive,” Julie tried to explain. “You have a particularly strong scent and it set them off.”

“I still don’t really understand,” Violet said slowly, narrowing her eyes at the others around the room. “Instincts made them do that? I mean, we’re all animals with instincts but we control those instincts. If every time someone got jealous and peed on something society would be pretty broken.”

“It’s very hard to control,” Hank said loudly, pulling the sweating bag of frozen peas off his nose. An ugly blue bruise was starting to bloom on the bridge and he’d have raccoon eyes tomorrow. “Even for people who’ve grown up in this world it’s difficult. Society’s a little different because of it.”

“More rules,” Len translated in a surprisingly soft voice. “It’s a bit stiffer between the dynamics. You’d think a lot of things could be hand-waved away by claiming it was done out of instinct, but actually society’s harder on everyone. With instincts, it’s easy to go too far too fast.”

Ada swatted Len. “You’re confusing her. Look, you know how men in our world claimed that they can’t control themselves if they saw a woman’s bare legs or bra straps or whatever? It’s like that, except in this world men don’t just get distracted or turned on, there’s a physiological reaction.”

“Exactly,” Julie nodded. “It translates directly into a physical response. In our world it’s mental—men see an attractive woman and imagine kissing her. Here they may actually go right up and do that on instinct entirely.”

“It’s a way of claiming,” Ada said, spreading her hands. “This requires some mental acrobatics because, let me tell you, I thought that was a huge cop out when I got here. I mean, it just sounds like institutionalized sexual harassment of Omegas.”

“That’s exactly what it sounds like,” Violet said, sounding alarmed. “It’s like Edward from Twilight telling Bella he can’t stop himself from biting her.”

“YES!” Amit yelped, jumping out of his seat and making everyone flinch back. “That’s the perfect analogy! Everyone here has some kind of Edward-instinct, and it’s a constant battle to keep it under wraps.”

“Oh my god how could we end up in a crossover between Twilight and DC Comics?” Melissa groaned loudly as everyone started talking over each other, drawing more analogies to Twilight. Violet tried desperately to absorb all of this but she didn’t have enough context.

“So wait, wait, if we’re all Edwards here who is the Bella?”

There was some more arguing before Julie finally snapped at Amit to sit down and Hank pushed him physically down into the seat. Amit sat abruptly and Hank quickly apologized, stepping back again.

Julie sat back down primly. “No one is a Bella, this world is made up of Edwards. Society demands you don’t impose your instincts on someone else. That’s what Len was saying. If you argue in court you were following your instincts it’s indefensible—in most cases.”

Melissa shifted her weight and nudged Julie to quiet her as she gave Violet her full attention. “I thought Alphas and Omegas were like addicts at first, you know? Can’t help themselves, and you have to feel bad for the suckers a little, even though they’re robbing their grandmas and getting their friends hooked, so they gotta be taken in. It’s not like that though.”

“We have full control over our instincts,” Julie said a little desperately, looking at Hank for confirmation, but he looked away. “It doesn’t always feel like that, and it’ll take practice, but we’re all getting there. We can talk more about what sort of instincts Omegas have privately and when, well, uh, we don’t have full control. There are a few other, um, delicate things you should know.”

“Delicate?” Violet asked, raising an eyebrow. She wasn’t sure how much more of this she could take.

“Heats,” Julie blurted.

“Heats,” Violet said slowly, eyes widening as Julie just nodded. “Instincts. Heats like… animals have.”

“Yes.”

“Is it like an uptick in sexual arousal during ovulation every month or—“ Julie was already shaking her head. She stood up and ushered Violet out of the room. “Let me explain without everyone else around. It’s probably the weirdest part of all of this.” The others didn’t argue, dispersing instead while Amit excitedly started on the Twilight tangent again.

Julie led her up the stairs and firmly shut the bedroom door. The room had dark wood furniture and a messy array of clothing piled on a chair, along with a pale blue bedspread. The police badge hanging from a hook over the mirror caught Violet’s eye. “You were a police officer?”

“No no, this is Melissa’s room. I live in Gotham, actually. Amit had a feeling something was going to happen so I came up.”

“Oh.”

“The heats are every six months, actually.” She sat on the bed’s edge and readjusted her perfect curls uncomfortably.

“Omegas go into… heat every six months?”

“Yes.”

“How does that coincide with the menstrual cycle? I assume the heat is for reproduction?”

“That’s exactly what it’s about. And yeah, you basically get your period every six months instead. That’s the only good part.”

Violet sat down on the other side of the bed and actually started to smile at the only silver-lining she’d heard all day. “So every six months you, what? Get horny for a little while? Smell different? Yowl at the moon like a cat?”

Julie wasn’t laughing. “It’s not just horny for a little while. It’s three days of madness when you lose your mind in agony or marathon sex,” Julie said quickly with disgust, her throat red with embarrassment and anger. “Omegas go completely out of their mind.”

“What?” Violet said, a laugh dying in her chest at Julie’s utter sobriety. “Out of your mind craving sex for three days? That’s insane!”

“I know! I haven’t actually had one but I can’t imagine it’s any fun. It must feel like being an animal. It’s embarrassing and gross.”

“And every Omega goes through this? Are there male Omegas? What would be the point of that?” Julie’s damning silence stopped Violet short. “Male Omegas? No,” she breathed.

Julie nodded.

Violet exploded. “How?! What are genders even or is there basically only dynamics? What about the necessary parts?”

“Male Omegas have, uh, both, is my understanding. I don’t know the details and don’t really want to know, honestly. Not male Betas though, they can’t have, uh, children. The pregnancy for male Omegas is higher risk, I think. It grosses me out to think about it really.” Julie shuddered.

“So they’re… intersex? Does Melissa actually have those medical journals? Maybe I can get an old edition of a medical textbook,” Violet mused, caught somewhere between horror that this was now her life and fascination at this totally new human biology. Every definition of male, female, and birth-capable had just been upended with this knowledge, and it was easier to think about it medically and scientifically than to consider how Violet’s own body had been upended too. “Dynamic really is more important than gender, isn’t it?”

“A lot more important,” Julie confirmed bitterly. “Gender basically says if you have a dick or not, as far as I can tell. Dynamics are on driver’s licenses and passports, it’s a big deal here when people ‘present’ it’s called, which is basically puberty. People associate differently across dynamics, you get different benefits from the government. It… it changes a lot of things.”

Violet rocked back on the bed. “Len said society was stiffer, less forgiving of transgressions. Are there strict gender roles? Or I guess it would be dynamic roles?”

“Everywhere,” Julie said angrily. “I can’t believe how f*cked up this world is. It’s fine for the Betas, they’re practically the default and they don’t have heats or ruts really. It’s like if everyone in our world was a Beta, except without some of the extra instincts. Ada even gets her period every month, but she doesn’t turn into a sex maniac every six! I mean, Hank and Jake have knots now, which is weird—”

It sounded to Violet like Julie had been meaning to get this rant off her chest for some time, but she absolutely had to interrupt at that.

“I—Wait, you just said they have knots? What is that?”

Julie turned pink but gamely answered. “The base of their penis swells to lock inside an Omega. Dogs have it too apparently.”

“Oh my God,” Violet felt a little faint at the thought. “That’s, well, that’s messing with something I’m sure the men didn’t appreciate.”

That got a snort out of Julie.

“Jeez this is insane. I thought Superman flying around was the weirdest thing, but you weren’t kidding.”

“That’s just the beginning of it,” Julie said. “But I don’t want to overwhelm you. It’s a lot to take in, and we’ve given you a lot to think about. Just… Hank didn’t say it, but I think it should be pretty clear. There’s no way back. The portal seems to be one way as far as any of us have figured.”

“I honestly am so stuck on this dynamics stuff and Superman that I didn’t even think about that.” Violet let out a shaky breath. “Thanks Julie.”

The other Omega just nodded.

“You know what I’ve kinda wondered,” Melissa said suddenly over the sound of the Bee Gees (the radio options were interesting here), “Female Alphas. How do they impregnate someone?”

Julie’s mouth opened automatically and clicked shut.

Len and Ada in the backseat looked at each other while Violet turned over a thousand thoughts while she looked out the car window.

“Maybe it’s reversed? Male Omegas ejacul*te eggs?” Ada offered. “I can’t believe it’s never occurred to me.”

“I still don’t know how male Omegas get pregnant given they shouldn’t have any of the equipment either,” Violet added after a moment of silence to process that.

“I’m not googling it,” Julie declared. “I’ll see something I can’t unsee.”

“It doesn’t really matter for you anyway,” Melissa told her, and Len snorted.

“Unless you’re gay,” Ada said brightly, before suddenly turning to Violet. “Did we tell you about that? hom*ogender relationships are totally normal, but hom*odynamic are not except for Beta-Beta. That’s what ‘gay’ means in this world.”

“hom*ogender?”

Melissa met her eyes in the rearview mirror. “Think about it. Two different spectrums are related to sex. hom*osexual could mean dating someone of the same gender or the same dynamic. Or both.”

“Ah.”

“Alpha-Alpha and Omega-Omega are still really rare. It’s not even legal.”

“I mean, Snapchat hasn’t even been invented yet so…” Len rolled his eyes at Ada, who laughed.

“Give them a few years, it’ll progress.”

“We’re having a crisis moment.”

“What’s happening?” Julie demanded into her phone. Her voice echoed uncomfortably in the stairwell but there wasn’t much privacy in an open-plan office and any Secret Peace talk was strictly member-only.

“I just got a call from Diana. The League is at the Batcave studying some kind of tech left from that last alien attack spree. It’s some kind of forcefield.”

“Oh no,” Julie muttered, slumping against the wall.

“Yeah,” Hank confirmed. “They’re trapped. Not sure for how long.” She could imagine he was rubbing the bridge of his nose under his frameless glasses as he spoke. He really hated them, but they were the height of Metropolis fashion. It was no wonder women weren’t throwing themselves at Clark Kent with his thick black frames. “Worse, the police have been tipped off, but it’s not clear by who. Barbara Gordon apparently managed to warn Batman that he has an hour before the police descend on his manor.”

“And the Batcave.”

“And the Batcave. Gotham police may not be best, but they’re not that stupid either. Alfred is, of course, caught in the same net, and the Robins are away, so the cave is unguarded and there’s superhero gear out.” Hank readjusted the phone for a moment, sending rustling noises down the line. “Doesn’t help that a billionaire’s manor isn’t something most people get to see. You, Jake, and Violet are in Gotham and well… no one will stick their nose anywhere if Violet’s there.”

“Hank!” Julie chastised, wincing at the loudness of her voice in the metal stairwell. She hissed the next words into the phone. “That’s a huge risk. Violet’s unregistered!”

“I know, I know,” he repeated, but Julie plowed on.

“And Bruce Wayne is an Alpha Prime. We can’t put an Omega Prime without scent blockers or suppressants in his house!”

“We also can’t let Batman’s identity be discovered or risk the whole of the Justice League getting caught in a net they sprung on themselves!” Hank argued. “I don’t like it either, but it’s the only thing I can think of. And this is the first time they’ve asked for our help, we have to do something.”

“Surely there’s something else? It’ll blow her cover.”

“We’ve got an hour starting from five minutes ago, and Wonder Woman wouldn’t call if she had any other resources. They’re trapped. And the police aren’t likely to ask questions, they’ll be too shocked to see Violet.”

Julie made an exasperated noise, and Hank rubbed the bridge of his nose again. He was short on time and ideas, and Violet was the most obvious solution. A fast google search about Omega Prime’s had confirmed to him what he thought: their personal information was jealousy guarded by the Omega Prime Council, and the police were expected to uphold the utmost discretion by not even recording a Prime’s name if they were involved in an incident. Violet could probably commit murder and get away with it.

“I’ll see if I can find her a wig or something,” Julie finally said, and hung up.

Julie hadn’t been in this dimension the longest, but she had perhaps the best sense of this new world, thanks to a career in publishing that included a lot of science fiction, fantasy, and some truly strange romance novels she’d worked on. Reading every manuscript that reached her desk had left her with a unique impression of the strangeness of human imagination. This world didn’t even make it to the top fifty most bizarre.

“Dammit,” she muttered under her breath as she scrolled through her phone for Violet’s number. If there was one thing publishing had prepared her for, it was that when disaster struck in a novel it was almost always horrible. And considering they were in a world where comic book heroes were real, ‘horrible disaster’ was on a new level.

The phone rang once before it was picked up by a curious voice. “Julie? Aren’t you at work? Is something wrong?”

Right. In their home dimension no one under the age of forty made personal calls anymore without dire reason. Violet still hadn’t shaken that off yet.

Actually, this scenario did count as dire.

“The Justice League is in a tight spot…”

“Be cool, Violet, be cool,” she muttered under her breath as she climbed up the vine to the broken window. The trellis was bolted into the old stonework, but the vines growing on it weren’t a terribly stable ladder, and with each foot up she was another foot from the ground. As she glanced down she could see the stone patio that would definitely crack her skull like an egg if she hit it at this height.

“Calm and cool. Calm and cool. If Batman can do this, you can do this too…”

Violet kept up her muttered mantra in progressively higher pitch as she made her careful way up the trellis to the third-story window she’d thrown a rock through after two tries. They didn’t have time to break into Wayne Manor any other way, and it’s not like Bruce Wayne couldn’t afford to fix it. If she’d broken a first story window the police coming for the raid might have noticed, so Julie had convinced her to break this dark window high in a corner of the house and climb up to it, like this was a remotely safe thing to do. Only the reminder that she was helping Batman and, in the moment, being almost as cool as the superhero, kept her climbing. Also the ticking clock. She had fifteen minutes before the raid would be rolling in, according to Oracle.

The vines eventually parted below the window and continued to the roof, while Violet used another rock in her pocket to further break the shards of the window so she could safely climb through. Wrapping her hands in Julie’s scarf she grasped the windowsill and, with a lot of scrabbling, cursing, and disturbed leaves, pulled herself over the lip and into the room.

She crouched for a moment to gather her bearings and ensure she hadn’t cut herself on broken glass. She’d been in college the last time she’d done something as stupid as climbing up to a window, and she’d done that because she’d had tequila and no room key—and the window had been open then. She wasn’t nineteen and trying to impress the men’s volleyball team practicing behind her dorm anymore. She was in her thirties, completely sober, and literally breaking into Wayne Manor because Batman, Alfred, and several Justice League members were trapped in a forcefield in the Batcave. Her life didn’t even sound real anymore.

Dimensional rifts into comic book worlds aside, breaking and climbing up to the window was the easy part.

The room looked like an unused guest room, based on the impartial decorating scheme and lack of any personal touch. It wasn’t the lived-in part of the manor, where the challenge would be.

Violet’s understanding of the situation was limited, but Julie’s description in the car had sounded pretty serious. Some kind of villain’s technology had fallen into Batman’s hands, and while the Watchtower was being repaired from the latest alien attack, the Justice League had met in the Batcave, whereupon the tech activated and trapped all of them in a forcefield they couldn’t escape.

In the life of a superhero this was just the beginning of the problem, of course. Hank hadn’t been desperate to call her because Batman, Superman, Wonder Woman, and a few others were going to miss patrol tonight, but because Barbara Gordon had called alerting Batman to a police squad coming to his manor tonight to do a drug raid.

Coincidence? Batman was the detective, not Violet. She didn’t know anything else except that the police could absolutely not search the house. Nothing was hidden in preparation for a thorough search, and all the Robins and other Bat-children were well over an hour away or otherwise occupied, so it was up to Violet to stop the police at the door.

She had now, at most, ten minutes to prepare for the police, so she needed to be quick and find the kitchen. She exited the guest room only to stop dead in the hallway. She’d known to expect this in theory, but the scent of Bruce Wayne was almost overpowering to her newly sensitive nose.

Violet felt like a dog who’d just smelled the roast in the oven. She automatically followed the scent down the hall and to the stairs at the end, somehow sensing for the first time in her life what it meant to identify strains of a smell. This wasn’t anything as overt as baking cookies or a turkey dinner, it was the smell of Bruce Wayne overlaid on his home, his possessions, his territory.

An Alpha Prime’s territory.

As an Omega Prime, Violet was essentially the extreme end of the Omega spectrum of the dynamic chart, which ranged all over from Alpha Prime to Beta to Omega to the adynamic. She and Alpha Primes were evolutionarily designed to get under each other’s skin because of the excess hormones they both secreted and needed and the complicated way that intertwined with instincts. At the moment even the leftover promise of Bruce Wayne’s Alpha hormones in the air tasted like a drug.

If this is what she did to regular Alphas then no wonder Hank freaked out every time she saw him, and it certainly explained why he and the others were so adamant she not go out. That was still something Violet disagreed with, but she could grudgingly admit now they had a point.

Of course, if she could have chosen the best way to introduce herself to the vagaries of her dynamic it wouldn’t have been this. Violet, an unmated, brand new Omega Prime, had just wandered her way into the bedroom of an Alpha Prime. She’d had no way to accustom herself to the scent of an Alpha except the leftover traces on her housemates, and now she’d dived headfirst into the deep end. Bruce Wayne, billionaire, sculpted superhero, vigilante defender of the weak, and Alpha Prime, was literally making her weak-kneed, and it was taking all of her self-control to not shove her hand down her pants. He probably dealt with these animal urges and Omega Primes like her all the time, and here she couldn’t take the residual scent of one man.

Violet yanked her hand from where it had popped the button of her jeans. Alpha Prime or not, Bruce Wayne was a man first, and she had experience with that. He smelled divine, was a totally rich hunk, with a secret pillar of ethics and morality. Fine, didn’t he have a thing with Catwoman? Or Talia al Ghul? Didn’t she not care because she had a mission, and it wasn’t to get laid? She could jerk off all she liked later, but right now she had a time-sensitive mission and she was not going to disappoint Batman.

It didn’t take much to find the strongest source of Bruce Wayne’s scent. In the large bedroom Violet quickly located the closet and yanked out the first white button-down she saw. She’d been warned her scent would linger anywhere she went and an Alpha Prime’s nose was sharp. No doubt Batman kept his extra keen, so he might well be able to identify her one day by scent alone if she stuck around, and certainly if she touched the rumpled sheets of the bed he slept on, probably entertained on…

Stop stop stop stop stop

Violet darted out of the bedroom, checked her watch, cursed, and headed down the grand staircase, keeping an eye out for obvious secret doors, Batman cowls, batarangs, or superhero capes laying about. Her phone buzzed just as she arrived in the kitchen on the ground floor.

“Wonder Woman has made contact,” Hank said without preamble. “You set off a perimeter alarm when you broke in. I didn’t give her any details except that they would be safe.”

“That can’t have gone well,” Violet said, poking through the cabinets and rooms off the kitchen. Eventually she found the pantry and in the corner a small wine fridge. Violet picked the first American bottle she found—had to be cheaper than the fancy imports, right?—and started rifling for glasses.

“I’m sure I’ll be called for a meeting soon,” Hank grumbled. He was the liaison for the Secret Peace members to the Justice League, their group of dimension travelers, and he tried his hardest to keep the groups separate. The risks if Secret Peace members spilled details either about or to the Justice League were all he cared about, and the less the Justice League knew about them the better, in his opinion. He’d managed to make the Secret Peace sound like just another bunch of dimension-hopping people who’d gotten stuck, and maybe knew a few things about some superhero secret identities. Violet wasn’t sure how Hank had managed that actually.

“Anyway, wipe down anything you touch. The less of your scent left behind the better. Raid begins in five.” He hung up without a goodbye, and Violet dropped her flip phone on the kitchen table, poured out a glass of wine, and headed for the study she’d spotted on the way to the kitchen, chugging wine more expensive than she’d probably ever drunk.

She’d been nervous at the start, but with a glass of wine in her hand, half of it soon gone, and the heady knowledge that she was saving the Justice League, she was starting to feel weirdly calm. She’d have the powerful, handsome Batman sniffing around his home for hours after she’d left, she’d gotten out of the safe house in spectacular fashion, and she was flirting with danger and loving it.

It didn’t take long to find the music system and a song to get her hips moving, especially with the intoxicating scent of Alpha Prime Bruce Wayne in her nose. To further sell the lie she and Julie had come up with, she slipped into the first bathroom she found and stripped down to her bra, underwear, and Bruce Wayne’s fine white shirt.

The silk alone was arousing against her sensitive skin, but surrounded in his heady, musky scent made Violet feel dizzy with want. She could feel her pulse between her legs and an emptiness there that was beyond any she’d experienced before. Violet walked out of the bathroom trying not to imagine the cameras Batman definitely had in his house and failing miserably at not being turned on by it.

She had minutes before the expected raid, so Violet settled into a hip-swaying dance in the front hall, aware that the danger and excitement of the moment and the scent enveloping her was turning her on, and there was no way Bruce Wayne or half the police force of Gotham wouldn’t notice. Good, she thought to herself, If you’re going to shame me, judge me, and control me for what I am, then let me show you why you’re afraid.

If the police found out that she was an unregistered Omega Prime, she’d be under the thumb of the Omega Prime Council for the rest of her life. If she got away clean with the police she’d still always have Batman and his stupidly sharp nose to contend with, but right now she was in control and free, and after four weeks of identity crises, homesickness, and house arrest, that was all Violet wanted.

Violet felt a throb between her legs at the thought of Batman hunting her down by scent. Getting laid had not been a big deal before, but heaven’s above she’d never needed it so bad now. If this wasn’t even half the lust a heat could make her feel, Violet didn’t know how she would survive one alone.

The bell rang. A second later there was pounding on the door and a police officer shouted, “Bruce Wayne, this is the Gotham Police! Open up, we have a search warrant!”

Violet took another sip of her wine and ran her fingers through her hair before adopting what she hoped was a sultry sway to her hips as she approached the door. Outside on the front steps was a graying, mustached man and three other officers. At least four cop cars were parked in the drive, others possibly around the bend.

Violet cracked the door, like she might be of the more timid Omega Prime variety she’d read about. “Officers?”

“Open up,” said a disgruntled voice. The mustached officer pushed the door in and stopped mid-stride at the sight of her. Violet stood there in a man’s shirt, skimpy underwear, a glass of wine in her hands, and the unmistakable scent of an aroused Omega Prime. “Uh… where is Mr. Wayne?”

“Working,” Violet said, clutching the button-up shirt closed and trying to look meek. “What’s going on? Is everything okay?”

At the sight of a second Alpha pushing in behind the first and a group of them outside, Violet felt her heartrate ratchet up, and she didn’t have to fake the slight scent of distress she was giving off. She really was uncomfortable with this many Alphas nearby and no safe place for her. The look of them, the smell, she felt a flash of longing for her bedroom and the shut door, especially in the dark. That was safe, this was not. Violet burrowed her nose in the collar of Bruce Wayne’s shirt and suddenly knew what to call part of his scent: safety.

“We have a—“ the second Alpha faltered and stared at her hungrily.

“Officer Daubert, back to your car,” the first one said, and when Violet peeked up she found her gaze skittering away from the look on his face to his uniform. ‘Commissioner Gordon’ was printed in yellow letters on his shirt, and Violet relaxed a little with her next exhale. She knew who and what she was working with. Commissioner Gordon, meanwhile, looked out of his depth for a moment staring at her, but he hadn’t forgotten his authority. “Matt! Back to the car!”

Officer Daubert backed off, though he barely took his eyes from Violet. Commissioner Gordon turned on him and there was a tense moment as they glared at each other—something was in the air, some kind of energy Violet couldn’t pinpoint—and then Daubert backed down the front steps. Gordon turned back to her, looking more tired than before.

“I… apologize. This is not what we were expecting. Uh, well, you’re, uh, with Bruce Wayne?”

Violet, confidence restored, gave him a shy smile and loosened her grip on the shirt. She could scent Gordon now that she was paying attention, like familiar soup and paperwork, with a hint of gun oil. “Obviously.”

“Right, well, uh, we’ve got a search warrant for drug paraphernalia in this house…” Gordon seemed to search for the next words, perhaps permission to continue the search or further question Violet, but when she sipped her wine lazily, eyes fastened on him, he failed to come up with them. “We’ll call it off tonight. There was no, uh, notice of an Omega Prime at this residence.”

“I’m so sorry, Commissioner,” Violet said, trying to look sincere and kittenish at the same time, “This is all new with me and Bruce. The Council hasn’t…”

“That’s quite all right, not our business,” he murmured, waving her explanation away and adjusting his glasses with a sigh. Violet wondered how much extra work she’d given him tonight and felt a twinge of sympathy. “Right, enjoy your night then. As per protocol, no information about your involvement this evening will be mentioned in our report. I think you’re supposed to alert the Council though.”

“Of course. Thank you so much Commissioner, I really do appreciate it.”

The gushing thanks seemed to make Gordon more uncomfortable, and he left without another word. She could hear him barking at Officer Daubert outside as she shut the door and locked it.

Mission accomplished. Now to get back out of the house once the police were gone with her stolen shirt, bottle of wine, and a lot of new fantasies for the lonely nights.

The forcefield holding them in fizzled out like a dying firework as suddenly as it had snapped to life. Wally was gone immediately, darting off for the nearest bathroom. Diana stretched like a cat, and Aquaman, Cyborg, and Superman made their excuses and left. After spending nearly three hours together in a forcefield the size of a Narrows apartment, everyone wanted some space.

Bruce was no different. He unhurriedly made his way out of the main Batcave and back toward the house to check on the status of the police raid while Alfred fussed over the damage to the electronics. Hank from the Secret Peace had given them no information except a promise his identity wouldn’t be discovered, and he’d done a poor job of reassuring them when the proximity alarm went off. No one had stormed the Batcave yet, but Bruce wasn’t an optimistic man by nature.

“Master Bruce, all video feeds are down, no doubt thanks to the pulse that alien weapon sent out. Would you like me to check the manor?”

“I’ll check, Alfred,” Bruce replied, stripping out of his armor. He pulled on a pair of sweatpants and an old t-shirt in case the police were still around, and disappeared up the staircase into the manor.

He didn’t notice the scent at first, not until he made it to the foyer. But there, hidden under the scent of a cleaning agent, was a sweeter, cloying smell he’d never encountered before.

Bruce traced it from the downstairs bathroom to the front door, where it lingered strongest, and into the kitchen. The pantry had been searched, a single wine glass in the sink, a bottle opener out of place, and the counters wiped down with that same cleaner. What whiffs he got of the underlying scent were warm and sweet, clinging to his nose, stirring something in his chest and lower. Female Omega definitely, and potent. How had she deterred the police?

He followed all the clues, assessing the path through the house of the perfume she’d sprayed in a bid to hide her scent. He went up the main stairs, passing the hallway to the family bedrooms, and on to the wing of empty guest rooms and found the broken window that had set off the alarm. The perfume was starting to irritate his nose, so Bruce backtracked and pulled out his phone. “Barbara, give me an update on the raid.”

“Bruce,” she said, a little breathless. “Good timing. I’ve been trying to figure it out. They called it off. Got to the door and the official report just says ‘encountered difficulty and could not proceed’. No indication yet if they will come back to try again.”

Bruce didn’t want to head back into the cave yet while this faint scent lingered, so he connected the laptop in his study to the Batcomputer remotely. He typed in Barbara’s words from the report.

“Your father?” he asked as he scrolled through the Gotham City police reports and pulled up ones that used the same wording. There were only three though, so with a few taps Bruce was ghosting through the FBI’s files. He kept a running list of key words and notes alongside the police reports, tracking any similarities that struck him.

“I’ll ask, but it’s unlikely he’ll tell me anything. I can’t figure out why they’d back down like that. Did the Secret Peace say anything?”

Bruce grunted but didn’t respond. He was starting to see a pattern.

He told Barbara he’d call her back and focused on the hunt. Using powerful search engine software modified just for his use, Bruce was able to pull up journal articles and medical notes, looking for details regarding scent signatures and responses. He even got up and went back to the front door and took a couple of deep breaths there, letting her Omega scent settle on him and draw out a rumble in his chest. The response was obvious, if a little embarrassing when Alfred stepped out of the drawing room. As the consummate butler and Beta he did not glance at the noticeable bulge in Bruce’s pants.

“An Omega Prime, Barbara,” he said into the communicator in his ear while looking at Alfred. “The Secret Peace includes an Omega Prime member.”

Chapter 2: You're So Vain

Chapter Text

Diana was the first to hear the news as she was the only one who had stayed behind in the Batcave.

“An Omega Prime? You are sure?” she asked, hands on her hips. “Perhaps it is manufactured.”

Bruce stared her down. “It can’t be manufactured, not for a Prime’s nose.” He turned away to pull up the files on the Batcomputer that he’d been sorting on his laptop. “The police seem to use the phrase ‘encountered difficulty’ without elaborating as an allusion to an Omega Prime. According to law they cannot record any personal information of one, only their guardian, and it’s the guardian’s responsibility to report the incident to the Council.”

“And where would the Secret Peace find one? I have met only one, and she is on Themyscira.”

“It’s one of their members. Omega Primes are too few and carefully tracked to do something like this.”

Diana raised an eyebrow and looked up towards the main staircase into the manor. “I should like to—”

Bruce growled dangerously, and his hands were suddenly in fists. Diana turned to squarely look at him, her arms folded across her chest. “I mean nothing by it, I merely wish to—”

“No. Not while that scent is in my house.” Bruce clenched his teeth and took a breath, reining in his baser instincts. He never let himself get worked up like this, but he’d also never scented a fertile, free Omega Prime like that before. He’d met Omega Primes before, including a memorable unmated one, but he’d had more control over his body’s response than this. He’d have to analyze why later. He turned away from Diana but kept an eye on the stairs up to the manor in case she tried to move. He knew he was too tense, ready to throw the first punch if she dared while on his territory. “It’s too fresh up there.”

“I apologize. I know you can handle this appropriately Bruce, I did not mean to overstep,” she replied, retreating away from the entrance to the Batcave to give him some space. Diana was always very good about Alpha-Alpha relations, a vital skill in a group with a lot of Alphas. “I will warn the others and call Hank to meet with us. I have much to ask him.”

“As do I,” Bruce replied, already imagining the confrontation with the pencil-pushing Secret Peace liaison.

Diana left moments later and Bruce ran a hand down his face. He hated to lose control, but it was good too that he hadn’t lost more. The urge in that moment to physically fight Diana for territory rights had been stronger than he’d ever felt before. The scent, faint as it was, simply wouldn’t leave his nose.

Several hours of research later he had accumulated a list of Hank Villier’s acquaintances and narrowed down those he believed might be members of the Secret Peace, editing an old list he’d made some time ago. It was hard to say how many there were, but Bruce estimated no more than fifteen, given the small circles Villier moved in and what few mentions he’d made of the group. None of those would be the Omega Prime most likely, since their scent was so difficult to conceal, but if he branched out he might be able to find out who would have contact with her.

Nearing three hours later, Bruce stopped his incessant searching and admitted to himself that he was letting his instincts override rational thought. Finding out about an Omega Prime who already knew both sides of his life and was protected by a bumbling accountant was blurring the line of what was important. A single unregistered Omega Prime lying low wasn’t worth his effort. He was hardly the model of a good Alpha after all.

Bruce forced himself off the computer and to do something hands-on when the kids came home from the early evening patrol. He had mob meetings to interrupt tonight, a new challenge for Tim to complete, and a city to protect.

He let thoughts of patrol routes and recent gang activity consume him as he crossed the manor to retrieve a piece of tech from his room, but those thoughts couldn’t compete with the faint scent that lingered in the hallway outside the main bedrooms.

Goddamnit she didn’t…

Bruce pulled open his bedroom door and caught whiffs of Alfred overlaying his own scent and then, lightly layered on top, was her scent. No perfume or cleaner to mask it.

She’d been in his bedroom. Why? What had she done here? Had she…

Bruce stood very still, recognizing and compartmentalizing the sudden urge to press his nose against his sheets. He was rock hard again, aching at the thought of that Omega laying in his bed, languishing in a haze of his scent, wetness between her legs, coating his co*ck in her—

He growled and shook off the images. He’d need to arrange another charity event to drop in on, if only to have the excuse of some Omega company. It would take the edge off and keep his playboy persona alive and well.

She hadn’t touched the bed anyway, he could tell as he followed her scent to the closet where one hanger dangled, pointedly missing a white, button-up shirt.

She was wearing his shirt.

Bruce didn’t get much sleep that day, even after picking a fight with Black Mask. He was bothered with dreams of bared throats, a woman dressed in his clothes, and the low beat of the music she’d put on. He came twice into his fist before daybreak.

It wasn’t often that Hank got to meet with the members of the Justice League, so every time he did he had to swallow down his nervous jitters and put on his Superman Face, as he called it. It was the face he’d worn when he’d confronted the CFO of his small brokerage firm about the thousands of dollars the man had skimmed off payments to their tax attorney. It had been the highlight of Hank’s career, even if the executive had gotten off on technical charges, and Hank had actually been standing behind the managing partners who’d delivered the ultimatum.

At the time, as a thirty-two year old accountant working a humdrum job, it had felt like the closest he’d come to being Superman. He’d done the right thing, confronted a bad guy, and gone through the justice system like his hero would have wanted. Who would have thought he’d actually stand in front of Superman?!

Sometimes Hank wasn’t sure which was stranger: that in this world he was an Alpha male—he, the guy who had milk routinely poured on his comic books in the cafeteria in middle school—or that he’d met Superman. Twice.

As Hank adjusted his collar for the fortieth time, he decided Superman was the stranger thing.

Unfortunately this time it was harder to keep the jitters down and adopt his Superman Face. His first meeting with the Justice League had been about Julie’s abduction to beg for help, the second an interrogation about the dimension hopping he’d told them about to explain how he knew so much about Julie’s abduction and the Justice League. That one hadn’t been pretty, but he’d spent a week prepping for it.

Things were different now though. He was a criminal in this world: he’d falsified public records for the Secret Peace so they could work, used a semi-illegal tax scheme to purchase a second house, but worst of all, he was hiding an Omega Prime. That alone wasn’t illegal but if anything happened to her—raped, injured, kidnapped, the list reverberated in Hank’s head and got longer everyday—then it was on him as her Alpha, her legal guardian, and that was a felony because he hadn’t disclosed her existence to the Omega Prime Council and put in place the proper measures to protect her. Nevermind that he’d be expected to control Violet when she lunged at whoever told her she was technically living under his custody.

He couldn’t throw Violet under the bus either and blame it on her refusal to go public and be tagged and treated like an endangered animal. Not only because was that the least Superman thing he could do, but also because Hank agreed with her. They might disagree on a lot of things, including basically anything to do with politics and especially Batgirl’s transformation into Oracle, but they agreed on this: no one should be placed under permanent guardianship until marriage and put in a golden cage like Omega Primes were.

Hank had come a long way from the man who’d confronted that CFO, but he still stood by his beliefs: the less the Justice League knew of how much devastating information the Secret Peace had the better, and Violet did not deserve to be chained up by the Omega Prime Council.

“We talked about this yeah, you’re gonna do fine,” Amit was saying from the driver’s seat, chauffeuring Hank to the discreet building in Metropolis where he would be meeting at least three members of the League. He had three guesses who they were. “Remember, it was the nuclear option. You didn’t have a choice with the time restraint, and you knew it’d be okay.”

“And if they ask how I knew it would be okay?” Hank asked tightly. “Tell them, what? I didn’t tell the League the whole truth? Lie and say I saw this coming and yeah, by the way, I know all your secrets and weaknesses?”

“Hank, man, calm down, deep breaths. Don’t let those Alphas get to you. You’re an Alpha too,” Amit said quickly, glancing at Hank as he navigated Metropolis traffic in the rented car. Julie had photocopied coworkers’ licenses at her temp job just for this express purpose and they’d paid in cash. Hopefully if Oracle or Cyborg tried to follow the money they’d hit that dead end.

Hank turned to face the window, trying to stay calm. Superman wouldn’t get worked up like this. It was just those dumb instincts again, worrying about instigating a fight he couldn’t win and, as usual, Violet. Even in a total different city she plagued him.

“I’ll explain it,” he said, trying to keep his voice firm. “She’s got no documents, we don’t want the government and everyone else upsetting her when she’s exposed, she’s happy with the situation right now… They’ll understand. I mean, that’s all true, not like I left out the comics or anything.”

Amit snorted, and they both chuckled nervously. At Hank’s second meeting with the League he’d had a lot of explaining to do. That had involved a series of small white lies Hank had told himself a thousand times over the course of week until he could say it stone cold: our world is ahead of this one’s timeline (true, in regards to non-superhero things), we’re familiar with superheroes from stories (also true, just not how much), and we do know some of your secret identities (some heroes didn’t have a secret identity after all). Hank had also implied that the future might crash and burn if he messed with how things played out, and the freaked out way Flash had started talking bolstered that argument.

He didn’t actually know if that was true, but Hank had read so many comics that he believed it as much as Flash did. And Superman had accepted it, which had given Hank the confidence to hold fast to the lies.

“It’ll work,” Amit assured him. “You did it before. I mean, they don’t think we know anything, and if Doctor Fate didn’t see through it neither will Superman.”

“Would Superman lie though?” Hank asked. “In this situation, given that I’m trying to protect Violet, an Omega Prime, and the integrity of the world—”

“Clark Kent tells lies, right? But they’re to protect others. You’re fine, man.”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Hank repeated, steadying himself and adopting his Superman Face. In this world there were real superheroes, but today Hank and Amit would be a little like superheroes and put the greater good before their own.

“How’d it go?” Amit asked carefully as Hank slipped into the passenger seat and they drove off.

Hank blew out a breath. “I think it was okay. Batman was… pissed.”

“We were expecting that.”

“Yeah, but it’s ten times worse when it’s an Alpha Prime. The guy radiates menace when he’s mad. I got the feeling if I ever get mugged in Gotham he’d let the robbers get a few good punches in…” Amit muffled a laugh. “I had to keep saying it was what she wants, not going public and all, and I’m doing it for her happiness. He still wasn’t happy.”

Amit and Hank shared a look. Hank didn’t dare say more than that when he was pretty sure there was a listening device on him somewhere. He wouldn’t put that past Batman as a way to learn more about Violet. Hank knew the billionaire vigilante would be pissed since she’d come into his house, but Hank hadn’t realized exactly how much that very incident had stoked Batman’s anger. Superman’s disappointed look and grim reminders that Hank, for all his good intentions, wasn’t familiar with this world and what a Prime was like, had been harder to take than Bruce Wayne staring him down.

They drove in silence the rest of the way to the Metropolis Walmart, where Hank stripped out of his thrift-store suit and switched into the sweats and t-shirt he’d packed. Amit balled up the suit and tossed it while Hank poured a bottle of water over his head and then used hand sanitizer on his hands and arms in the hopes of washing off or breaking any tracker Batman might have put on him. He didn’t trust that someone hadn’t slipped something on his suit when he turned around. Amit even rubbed a hand through his hair.

“Think you’re clean. A shower at home will help though.”

Hank sighed and they both got back in the car to drive it back to the rental place and take the long way home.

“You’re sure these work?” Violet asked, voice hitching with excitement as Julie worked her magic with Violet’s hair.

“Yes, and trust me, if Ada wasn’t sick, I didn’t have a cast on my foot, and Len hadn’t been to a thousand fancy events in our own world we wouldn’t have wasted those pills on this night.”

“You’re as bad as my mother, Julie,” Violet winced playfully, but she was too excited to care.

Two months. Two long, stinking, cold months when she was essentially trapped in the safe-house after her jaunt at Wayne Manor. They’d added a deer fence behind the safe-house, and Violet had been given free rein to decorate the enclosed backyard, but it just made her feel like a house pet. She was unable to work, only allowed out on short jaunts because the over-the-counter scent suppressants didn’t work well on her, and she was slowly going crazy. If she hadn’t gotten to do something as cool as save Batman’s ass she probably would have snapped by this point.

Her thoughts drifted to Bruce Wayne’s shirt, tucked into three layers of plastic bags and hidden between folds of extra blankets in her closet. After stealing it and the bottle of wine she’d sniffed the shirt like a junkie getting high: often in the dead of the night or when no one else was home, and she could sit in the dark and imagine dancing around his mansion again and warding off the Police Commissioner of Gotham.

It had easily been the most exhilarating and arousing thing she’d ever done. Unfortunately, it was shaping up to be the last exciting thing she did until Hank managed to get his hands on some high level suppressants.

Hank had gotten them after their last meeting together, though she wasn’t sure how. He’d… well, he was still learning that an Omega Prime made his prized control falter. Since Hank was the head of the Secret Peace’s impromptu pack, Violet had gone to him to ask about getting out of the house for anything. Really anything. Could she run errands? Could she go to an Omega-only bar or club? Could she sneak out at night in costume, doused in perfume, and fight crime?

He’d gotten pretty riled up at that last one, or maybe it was the pout and the way Violet hunched down to make herself look sadder and smaller. Or her brazen disregard for his safety measures when she’d taken the car and driven to Metropolis to meet with him. Manipulative though it might have been, two days later the suppressants showed up.

“Jake can’t get many of these,” he’d told her over the phone when Julie had unexpectedly brought the package. “They’re not over the counter for a reason, and I promised the Justice League I’d keep you safe. Otherwise Superman might insist on you being registered and I—”

“Thank you Hank, really,” Violet had interrupted him, quietly cursing Superman’s boy scout honor. If there was one thing she and Hank agreed on, it was that neither of them wanted her to be registered. Violet wasn’t sure Hank realized how afraid he was to lose her from his pack, but Violet knew that every story she’d read about Omega Prime’s confirmed how little freedom she’d have. At least among the Secret Peace she didn’t have to pretend.

However, two months cooped up mostly indoors had eroded Violet’s sympathy for how difficult her very presence could be on Alphas. She would get out, even if she’d taken advantage of a situation that didn’t really require her. This wasn’t like getting out with a government guardian at her heel though, she reminded herself. She could flirt, drink, wear something a little daring, come back late, and she’d drive Hank up a wall but at least he didn’t treat her like a doll. That’s how all the papers seemed to describe Omega Primes, anyway.

“Okay. Don’t touch it, don’t fix it, don’t even remember you have hair tonight and it’ll stay, I think,” Julie declared, spritzing a little more spray on. Given that Violet’s whole head smelled strongly of hairspray she couldn’t imagine why anymore would be needed. Her hair was like a perfectly curled, coiffed, and molded helmet. Then she touched the edges of the style and was surprised to find it still soft, despite the new hole in the ozone layer Julie had just created.

“Thank you so much, Julie,” Violet murmured, trying not to touch her hair to the point of messing it up but also very impressed with her skill with a curling iron. Her normally boring hair was carefully curled and pinned against the left side of her throat, leaving the right bared, an obvious show that she didn’t have a mating bite. Julie hadn’t liked the idea, but Violet had essentially challenged her to do it, and with all the hairspray, perfume, and suppressants how could anyone smell her?

“It’s nothing. You haven’t seen the dress yet,” Julie pointed out.

“How did you guys manage all this? Hank makes it sound like we’re a couple paychecks away from living on the street.”

“He’s a stingy grump and an accountant, that’s all. The dress is actually from Wonder Woman, who can’t make the auction. She asked that someone who couldn’t be traced to her go and bid on an item for her. That’s why Len’s there on fake credentials, pretending to work at some law firm, and why you have to be nice to the old ladies from the Bridge and Crosses’ Foundation. They are most likely to bid hard against him.” Julie tugged the gold sheath dress out of it’s garment bag and whistled. “Maybe she forgot this isn’t the Met Gala.”

“Oh my god,” Violet gasped, her eyes already looked huge with the mascara and make-up, but they managed to get wider. “That’s way too beautiful.”

“Well, normally an Omega Prime is a knockout by scent alone, but adding a visual doesn’t hurt,” Julie said awkwardly, biting her lip. She wasn’t very good at compliments, but she was trying. Violet had found Julie hard to get along with in the beginning, but as the only other Omega among the Secret Peace she was also the best equipped to explain everything to Violet. That they also shared the difficulties of a new dynamic helped, though they’d never be true friends.

“You’ll look stunning,” she added, but her smile didn’t reach her eyes. Violet glanced away from the beautiful dress, unsure if or how to address the jealousy in Julie’s brief look.

“Well let’s see how much we have to pin it. I’m not nearly as tall or fit as Wonder Woman,” Violet said instead.

“Yeah, that woman’s a literal goddess. I still think she and Bruce Wayne got it on. She’s the kind of beautiful, strong woman he goes for.”

Violet didn’t let the sting of Julie’s deliberate barb show in her face, just reminded herself that tonight it would be her looking like a goddess, and Julie and her occasional petty comments would be on the sidelines.

The dress was a beautiful fall of shimmering gold fabric, draping like heavy velvet to the floor. It was a sleeveless and backless affair that cinched neatly at the hips and waist, creating a hourglass figure Violet didn’t think she had. Despite the length issues, once Violet slipped it on it combined with her hair and makeup she felt like a movie star. She had to practice walking the length of the room in the heels and holding the dress to ensure she didn’t trip, but just to wear something this fine was worth it.

With a few bangles and earrings the whole ensemble came together, turning Violet into an acolyte of Aphrodite instead of the bum who’d shown up at the hotel’s back door in a faded t-shirt, jeans, and a second-hand jacket with most of the down flattened out. She quickly popped another suppressant pill, grimacing at how big it was as she swallowed.

Len looked stunned for a moment when he met her in the hall.

“You do clean up nicely, Ms. Juspeczyk,” he complimented, using the fake name Violet was assuming for the night.

“You look very handsome yourself, Mr. Cage. And please, call me Laurie. I couldn’t bear to let you stumble over my name.” Len looked impeccable in a deep blue suit with pops of silver at his cuffs, throat, and handkerchief. He liked to dress well and he enjoyed inside jokes. Unlike Violet he’d been an avid comic book reader in his youth, and in a nod to that he’d taken Cage as his last name, rather than simply using his given one from their dimension. He’d jumped at the chance to make up Violet’s name for this event and given her something unpronounceable for a surname.

“No wonder you fooled the police,” he laughed, offering her his arm. “You sound very genuine.”

“Lying with a smile is always a useful skill,” she winked. “But I wasn’t lying about the first part, you do look good.”

They took the elevator down together and were whisked out of the hotel and into a car. The chauffeur, for on such a fancy occasion no one drove themselves, took them smoothly and quietly to the huge historic museum that dominated Museum Row of the historic part of Gotham. Violet secretly hoped to catch a glimpse of Clark Kent or Lois Lane in the press lines if they were there, but with all the flashing bulbs she saw nothing but white lights until they were inside.

Violet had never attended anything quite like this, and she tried not to gape at the exquisite outfits of the guests, the fancy decorations, and the little trays the waiters carried around with tiny hors d’oeuvres, each alone costing as much as a meal. It was a party of such quality Violet idly wondered if James Bond would be somewhere in the crowd.

Len snagged them both glasses of champagne as they moved to the side of the room to scope it out. “Let me know if you need to leave at any time,” he said softly, leaning into her. Even though he was a Beta, it wasn’t considered outrageous that he might date an Omega—just not an Omega Prime.

Violet’s gaze was lidded flirtatiously as she looked back at him. Len was devoted to Ada but he could play a part too. “Did you know it’s illegal for people like me to drink?” she whispered. Giggling Violet took a sip of the champagne. Just being in a black tie party and playing another role was making her giddy. She schooled her features back to something more neutral, lest she get carried away.

“Glad I could help you get out. You really don’t smell like yourself at all,” Len admitted, eyes tracing her silhouette in the beautiful dress before flicking around them. His gaze was thankfully not speculative when he looked at her, but rather comparing her to the crowd.

“Good, that’s the point. Now where are the old biddies I need to find and convince not to bid?”

Two amazing shrimp kebabs, a miniature quiche, some kind of candied fruit, and more delectables that Violet couldn’t name later, she had met a flurry of people from Foundation This and Company That and promptly forgotten all of their names. She managed to amuse one of the Bridges and Crosses’ folk by embarrassing a cute, slightly flirty Beta before the auction even started, and then scored a seat with them so that she could distract or dissuade them while Len bidded. The night was turning out well, and Violet couldn’t imagine not getting out again.

It was during one of the auctions breaks and on her way to getting a third glass of champagne and one of the mini lobster rolls she’d spotted that Violet saw him. Across the room in a side chamber, in a bespoke suit with a cheeky smile, was Bruce Wayne.

He was recognizable not just from the tabloids and his Wikipedia page Violet had seen, but by how the Omegas in that smaller room gravitated toward him. They were all circling casually, their eyes magnetically pulled to him.

She too had trouble looking away, but it wasn’t just the Alpha Prime charm from across the room that drew her eye. Watching him move so confidently among his peers, flirting, charming and complimenting every person who crossed his way, she saw the Bruce Wayne he wanted the world to see. Nothing gave away the Batman underneath.

“Champagne, miss?”

“What? Oh, yes, two please.” The waiter handed her two flutes and vanished into the crowd, while Violet determinedly broke free of the spell of Bruce Wayne. As tempting as it would be to linger near him, knowing what his bedroom looked like, what he smelled like up close, and of course knowing he was Batman made it far too risky. These suppressants weren’t foolproof and they wouldn’t last. She could throw off their effects if she got too worked up, Hank had warned, and that would be far too easy with Bruce Wayne around.

“Florence, won’t you have another glass? Nonsense, what’s a late night to girls like us?” Violet joked, joining the Bridges and Crosses’ Foundation as the auctioneer warned they’d be resuming shortly.

Bruce Wayne, playboy billionaire and businessman, made the rounds of the auction with his usual ease, greeting familiar faces and setting tongues wagging of those he knew and didn’t know alike. His guest of the evening was a Hollywood star who was as dazzling and generous as he was genuine and warm. They both played their parts magnificently.

Bruce didn’t plan to stay long after the auction when the after-hours co*cktail time began, since the mob had been running a racket somewhere out of the Docks district and he was hoping to catch someone in the middle of a deal. His thoughts were drifting that way during a conversation with yet another woman, her Omega on her arm, this one with a scent that peculiarly reminded him of the ink stamps his assistant used to mark PR scripts, when he spotted a dark-skinned man in a tailored blue suit and a woman in a gold sheath dress on his arm.

Leonard Cage, he recognized. One of Hank Villiers associates and high on his list of potential Secret Peace members. Bruce knew at least one member was here since Diana had told him her plans for coverage at the auction—which had become double coverage for Bruce to investigate the Secret Peace—and Cage, while well-dressed, didn’t actually come from an industry or wealth that fit in to this crowd. That gold dress also fit the description of the one Diana had lended the Secret Peace to make his job that much easier, though it seemed Cage had chosen his own suit. Adjusting his cufflinks, Bruce politely and indirectly wound his way across the room to Cage and his Omega’s position.

Not his Omega, Bruce corrected when he got a better visual. She had no bite and their posture, while close, may have been because Harry Wentworth, a partner of a major business firm Wayne Enterprises worked with, was learning towards her with a hungry look.

“…Interested in setting up something soon I’m sure, perhaps over an early breakfast? Our firm hosts them often and it’s always a pleasure to invite new faces who can offer some real insight into the industry,” Cage was saying, clearly trying to draw Wentworth’s attention back to him. Wentworth, a slavering Alpha with meaty fists the likes of mob enforcers Bruce had dealt with, was clearly interested only in the woman on Cage’s arm.

“Breakfast?” Bruce interrupted, stepping up between Wentworth and the Omega in gold. Her scent was muted beneath some kind of floral perfume. “Already? What’s the plan until then?” he smirked at Cage, noting how the pulse in his throat jumped at the sight of him and the way his eyes widened. Oh he definitely knew who Bruce was. The Omega had given him a once over, as most Omegas did, so he didn’t know if she was also a Secret Peace member or an unaware date.

“You’re welcome to join this gentleman for breakfast, Wayne. I can entertain the lovely Laurie, perhaps with another drink?” The Omega Laurie’s expression was pinched; Wentworth’s invitation was clearly not welcome.

“We haven’t met yet, I believe,” Bruce interrupted, deliberately ignoring him. Wentworth growled under his breath, but he didn’t try to exert his dominance. Too bad, the Alpha in Bruce liked showing up less dominant ones. “Bruce Wayne, and yourselves?” He looked at the Omega first, who had a bold gaze when she offered her hand.

“Laurie, and my associate, Len Cage,” she said.

Bruce kissed the air above her hand politely and had to physically stop himself from taking a second sharp inhale. Beneath the perfume, hair spray, and smells of a hundred other hands who had touched hers, for just a moment he thought…

“Len Cage of Manduk, Freyer, and Parker. Are you, uh, picking up anything at the auction, Mr. Wayne?” The Beta was sweating nervously, his gaze bouncing between Bruce and Laurie, who notably did not include her last name, confirming she wasn’t an unaware date at all.

“Not today, ancient art just doesn’t fit my taste,” he said with a self-deprecating smile that he knew showed off his dimples. Cage was looking for an exit while Wentworth was still trying to elbow his way back into relevance.

Bruce had barely started on his next sentence when an older Omega sidled up to him, patting his arm when he gave her the same vapid, flirty smile he used on everyone. “If these old bones only could,” the woman responded playfully. “Now Laurie, I wanted to thank you for that lovely advice earlier, before Esmeralda butted in. You’ve got an eye for art you know, and I’d say pursue it! You should be proud your sister has gone into nursing, since between you and me, being a kept woman is much easier.”

The old woman winked, and when Laurie smiled at her Bruce thought he caught a touch of irritation in her scent, but it was hard to tell. His nose was sharper than most’s, but reading emotions by scent was difficult with strangers, and hers was muted by suppressants and the crowd, not to mention her faint perfume. A curious thing to wear for an unmated Omega who might well find a wealthy mate at an event like this.

“Now why don’t you walk me to the door, and I’ll get an usher’s pen and give you my number,” the elderly woman continued, long necklaces around her neck jangling as she moved. “I know a few Alphas who would be very good for you.”

Laurie graciously unhooked her arm from Cage’s, and Bruce spotted his opportunity. “I’d be remiss to let such a lovely Omega slip by me,” he said, turning up the charm on this elderly woman. Laurie’s gaze darted back to Cage, but Bruce waved at the man before he could intervene. “I’m sure Wentworth knows some people who’d be interested in your breakfast invite, Len. Send one along to me too.”

Cage could hardly argue with the insistent shoulder Bruce gave him and the billionaire’s offer, but he did try.

“I couldn’t possibly—”

“Oh let’s not make a fuss,” interrupted the old woman. She extended her arm out to Bruce and then gathered Laurie close to her other side, leaning in when she thought Cage couldn’t hear. “He’s obviously fond of you, Laurie, but I do think you can do better than a Beta lawyer. Call me and I’ll arrange something.”

Laurie’s gaze met Bruce’s, and he winked at her. Her cheeks flushed pink.

The coatroom wasn’t far, and Laurie was handed a business card by knobby old hands as the older woman bundled up and left. Bruce offered her his arm, walking them deliberately and slowly around the perimeter of the room. Her scent was hard to identify beneath the scent dampeners and perfume, but he couldn’t forget that familiar whiff. Had she picked up that scent from Cage? “Can I get you a drink before I return you to the arms of your guardian?” he asked, then voice dropping lower added, “Or something else, perhaps?”

Laurie narrowed her eyes at him even as he felt the pulse in her wrist speed up. “I’m quite alright, thank you.”

“It’s a party,” he coaxed gently. “I’m not sure you can drink so well on your guardian’s budget.”

“And I think you’ve had enough, Mr. Wayne, you’ll ruin your shirt,” She tapped the white of his shirt cuff over his wrist where a drop of wine stained it. Bruce laughed and held his wrist up to see the small stain, both amused that she’d noticed something so small—wine, not blood, though for a moment he almost couldn’t tell—and because it masked him turning his head to breathe her in more deeply. Barely there, stifled under all the others, but recognizable, he thought. Was he imagining it, did she know the Omega Prime well, or was she…?

“And you can ruin a perfectly good man if you want,” he responded after a beat.

Her laugh was short and quick, caught off guard. “I certainly could, but I haven’t met a single one here.” Bruce’s grin was genuine as he deliberately slid the hand holding her arm a little higher. The inside of the elbow would hold a better scent than the oft-used wrist. The throat would be best, but Bruce’s blood was running hot enough, and if his guess was right he needed to tread carefully.

“What about the man on your arm?”

“Len? He’s a good man, but we only associate professionally.”

“Not the man I was speaking of, but you are full of surprises.”

Her mouth formed an ‘o’ in perfectly faked surprise. “You? Oh no, I think you’re a bit too ambitious to just be labeled ‘good’, don’t you think?” Her eyes flicked up and down his body and when they met his again her blush deepened but she didn’t break eye contact for a long moment. For a second Bruce wanted to just yank her into the hall and kiss that bold mouth. He might well have said or done something very stupid except for Cage appearing.

“Laurie! I’ve called the car around. Need to be getting back and finishing a few things, you know,” he said. He looked nervous to see Bruce still with her, which made the Alpha in him preen.

“It’s been a pleasure,” Bruce said, taking his cue. His hand slid down her bare back before he pulled it away to bow his head to her. “I’d be happy to prove you right sometime.”

“The pleasure was all mine, Mr. Wayne,” she said, in a voice just a bit too sultry for an affluent Omega, and it forced him to remember how unforgiving his suit pants were. That little tremble down her back as his hand had gone by still tingled in his fingers.

“Have a good evening,” Cage added briskly, before escorting Laurie away as quickly as he politely could. Bruce watched them go, his plans to interrupt the mob temporarily derailed by the urge to follow the couple and investigate her. In the privacy of the men’s room a moment later, Bruce pressed his hand to his nose and shut his eyes, breathing in deeply.

Yes, under perfume and hair product he could smell it, dampened but still there. An Omega Prime.

“How did it go?” Hank asked anxiously as Len and Violet walked back in, Violet still in a full face of makeup though she’d taken off the dress in the backseat of the car. It was far too conspicuous for their lower middle-class neighborhood.

“Smoothly. The bridge club ladies were more than happy to bid on some vase instead.”

“Violet has some real charm,” Len said with an easy smile. “They didn’t give me much trouble, and the artifact is on its way to Diana’s secret collection.”

“Florence was an Alpha, and the other ladies had great fun teasing her about leaving Esmeralda for me. Plus, I used to do tea with my grandmother’s friends sometimes,” Violet told him shrugging off her coat.

Hank eyed them both as they passed, his nose twitching a little at Violet. “You smell like an Alpha,” he told her, following her up the stairs with his eyes.

“There were more than a few at the auction, Hank,” she reminded him, still glowing despite the accusation. “Plenty wanted to talk to any unmated Omega there.”

“But Len—“

“Hank, I got the back of my hand kissed two dozen times, one Alpha ‘bumped’ into me, and another escorted me to get my coat. It was a mixed party, and I didn’t even finish my glass of champagne. I’m back and no one’s the wiser, okay?”

Hank scowled as Violet climbed the rest of the stairs and disappeared. She smiled and winked at Len when she passed him in the bathroom doorway. “All good,” she whispered. “If giving Dad a report makes him happy I can do that.”

Len shrugged, glancing down at the floor in the direction of Hank, their Alpha. “I know why he does it, but I wish there was a better way.”

Violet’s smile slipped a little too. “Me too.”

She went to her room, the largest in the house, and carefully sat down on the bed, reluctant to start scrubbing off the makeup and removing the jewelry. When she started stripping off the final accouterments of the party Violet feared it would feel like she was consigning herself to another two months or more of house arrest.

Hank never seemed happy with her, and she didn’t think in any other world they would have been anything more than distant acquaintances. It had taken Violet the first couple of months in this world to understand that the prickly feeling she got when he was disappointed came from her new Omega side. It wanted the only Alpha regularly in her vicinity’s approval, a common phenomenon to smooth over pack problems apparently, and one Omegas had to learn to balance early. As soon as she’d realized that, it had been easy to turn it around on him. Her rational self didn’t want Hank’s approval, and his Alpha self wanted to appease her. It would have been easy to run roughshod over him for that, but as Len had ruefully noted once, Hank’s Alpha didn’t seem to rear its head often.

This was a good thing, because Jake actually only met with Hank in public because Jake’s Alpha’s instincts laid too close to the surface. It was impossible to know if that was just Jake’s temperament or some kind of genetic foible, but it meant he butted heads with Hank and got very worked up around Violet for obvious reasons. Between him and Hank it was some kind of dominance issue regarding their pack, the other Secret Peace members agreed, but no one quite understand what the problem was exactly. Was Hank not dominant or aggressive enough? Did Jake feel inadequate because Hank had gotten a full-time accounting job and provided for the pack, while Jake could only find work as a part-time bartender? Or was it connected to the rest of them another way?

Actually, no one was even sure Jake was in the pack, or whether everyone even counted as a pack since they didn’t all live together, which was generally how this world worked. Pack lines were one of those vague things everyone who had grown up in this world had a sense for, and for Violet and the rest it was like walking into an alien high school unable to tell the cool kids from the nerds.

Violet lived with Julie while Len and Ada, who had been married in the previous world, lived in the first floor apartment of the split house while Julie and Violet, the only two Omegas of the pack, shared the second floor. The house was located in the first ring of apartments and condos that weren’t three stories or higher outside Gotham and had been bought using money Hank and Amit had invested in startups like Uber and Facebook. The timelines and decades didn’t quite match up, and Hank had a convoluted theory about the many alternate universes in comics affecting the world, but ultimately this world was a little behind their own, so Hank took full advantage.

Hank had an apartment in Metropolis with two other members of the Secret Peace, Amit and Melissa, the former being a gangly, capable engineer, and the later a police officer turned security guard. Jake lived in a rundown apartment by himself on the edge of Metropolis, barely making ends meet. He had chosen to go undocumented rather than let Hank help him forge a fake identity and kept to himself.

Violet finally started pulling pins out of her hair, the amazing amount of hairspray still holding most of the style in place, then started on the jewelry. She could hear the front door closing, probably Len going downstairs, and Hank and Julie in the kitchen. Hank probably wouldn’t stay for long she knew, as she put away the fine gold chain of her necklace. His Alpha side came out around the two Omegas, and he hated that. He was a wiz with numbers and probably the single most knowledgeable comic fan she’d ever met, but he was also a control-freak.

As Violet started undoing her earrings her wrist came close to her nose and she caught just the faint remnants of Bruce Wayne’s scent. It was musky and warm, and she could feel her back tingle again as she remembered how he grazed his fingers down her spine. He was an Alpha Prime who wasn’t afraid of his animal side, something that made him infinitely more attractive than Hank, though that was a low bar. Violet’s eyes fluttered closed and she privately grinned to herself. She’d met Bruce Wayne today!

Of course, she thought sadly as she went to the small attached bathroom to get the makeup wipes, he had no idea who she was. She’d just been another Omega for him to flirt with for his image. He did no favors for the macho Alpha-male image unfortunately, feeding into every stereotype about virility, sex-hungry, and risk-taking behavior red-blooded males could do, but Violet considered Bruce Wayne to be a caricature of everything the man wasn’t. He might even now be out there on patrol, punching drug lords in the face or solving another of the Riddler’s tricks, saving his city. Sometimes, she thought as she wiped away an inch of foundation and mascara, the hardest part of keeping the Secret Peace secret was never getting to thank the heroes for their sacrifices. None of the Justice League were supposed to know much about the Secret Peace or have any contact; Hank had arranged that long before Violet had slid through the dimensional divide.

Hank had arrived first, and he’d realized quickly that he’d fallen into the world of his boyhood dreams—kind of. An avid comic fan from childhood, he’d hoped to meet one or two of the stars, only to bump into reality, which continued to exist despite the world-bending rules that coincided with the existence of superheroes and dynamics. He had been utterly alone without any papers or money and had to adjust to a whole new set of hormones for a dynamic class that had no parallel in their home-world. On top of that, the only details about this world he’d known were secrets: superhero identities, powers and weaknesses, common enemies, and big storylines. Hank had to build from scratch and not let his Alpha side go to his head the way Jake’s had.

Violet respected him a lot for that. He’d been on his own for nearly six months before Amit came through, another comic fan. Julie had followed shortly after, the first of them to only be passingly familiar with the DC universe. Julie had been here barely three days, struggling with the influx of Omega instincts that demanded all sorts of weird things—the urge to scent mark people’s jaws was real and bizarre—before she’d been kidnapped.

Julie never talked about it, but Violet had heard from the others that Doomsday, a enemy of Superman’s, had been involved in the freak kidnapping, and ultimately the Martian Manhunter had saved her. J’onn J’onzz was a telepath unfortunately, and he’d known instantly that Julie wasn’t of this world. She’d been locked up by the Justice League for a short while before Hank arranged to explain what was going on. Hank had somehow lied straight to Superman’s face and told them that the Secret Peace only knew a few things about the superheroes, like their secret identities, but not much else, using J’onn’s knowledge of Julie’s mind as the perfect example.

Violet slipped off her heels and tucked the matching shoes into the dress’ garment bag, wondering if Wonder Woman would ever wear it herself. She couldn’t imagine meeting her favorite superhero and lying to her face. She still had trouble imagining how the conversation went given that Hank never seemed a good liar to her and he practically worshipped Superman. And where had been J’onn J’onzz? It was all rather suspicious really, but no one else seemed to care.

Somehow Hank’s story—or something else—had worked, and the Secret Peace had ostensibly been left alone. No one actually believed Batman didn’t have Hank’s home bugged, but that was one of many reasons Hank had jumped through some barely legal loopholes to buy the second house in Gotham (easiest place to launder money apparently) and hide any new Secret Peace members there. It had never come up in any of Hank’s subsequent meetings with the Justice League, so for now it seemed to be working.

The others had come through over the past two years, Melissa about six months after Julie, and then Len and Ada not long after. Violet had been the latest, and hopefully the last, because her very existence complicated everything. Being an Omega Prime without documentation was bad enough, slapping a huge target on the Secret Peace, but it also made her very hard to hide. Hiding her in the remote townhouse in Gotham was the best Hank had been able to do, but he still grumbled about the distance and Metropolis’ housing prices. Gotham’s crime rate made it cheaper, but now their pack was scattered between two cities with a lot of superhero activity.

“I’ve got the early shift tomorrow,” Julie called through the door as Violet tugged on a t-shirt for bed. “So I’ll see you in the afternoon?”

“Yeah, sure,” she replied, sitting in her plain room and dreading more house arrest. Julie initially had lived with Hank and Amit, which made the Alpha very happy, but Violet had needed a lot of help in the beginning, and Julie was the only Omega they could trust. That was eroding though, and now Julie was just a babysitter and guard. Len and Ada downstairs, at least, were looser on the rules and gave her some reprieve.

Violet didn’t want to go back into hiding. She didn’t even want more Cinderella nights like this one, she just wanted a life. Any life. But she was totally reliant on Hank now for food, shelter, money, and suppressants. That needed to change. She needed to find a way out of this mess she was in, while still somehow avoiding the Omega Prime Council. Where could she get help?

Leonard Cage was easy to research. He had all the proper paperwork in exacting order, including an up-to-date vaccination record, which was a dead giveaway he was a Secret Peace member to Batman. No adult man outside the healthcare profession had any idea what their vaccination record looked like.

Laurie Juspeczyk, her surname according to the guest ledger, didn’t exist. No Omega Prime in any of the files Batman found had a name even close to it, even considering anagrams, and expanding his search to Omegas generally turned up nothing. Bruce spent a fruitless hour chasing down dead-end leads from Cage on potential Omega contacts before he realized what he should be looking at instead.

Pulling up a picture from the security cameras at the party, Bruce found a decent shot of her face and put it into his modified search engine.

Immediately he got hundreds of stills from the security cameras at and outside the party. Filtering them out, Bruce scrolled through images of women with the delicate Omega bone structure and her hair color and nothing else in common with her. As he got further and further down the page the more he realized there were no pictures of this woman on any security camera in Gotham other than that night. That could mean only one thing:

She was the Omega Prime of the Secret Peace.

They had to keep her hidden, away from where she might set someone off or risk exposure. The U.S. government would dig deep into her nonexistent history if they discovered an adult, unregistered Omega Prime. As she’d never existed in this dimension she was completely undocumented. “Laurie” was a great black hole where Batman knew to look.

The thought of an Omega Prime under the protection of Alphas like Hank Villiers or Betas like Leonard Cage made Bruce’s hackles rise, especially since there had been no good reason to risk her at the auction. It was reckless, and it would get more dangerous if Hank thought he could just brazenly hide her during her heat. Every Alpha for miles might come for her, and the idea of Hank even remotely satisfying her was laughable. That’s what Alpha Primes like Bruce were evolved to do.

But he wouldn’t be doing anything with her, he sharply reminded himself. Bruce needed iron control, not to get worked up at what her imagined situation was. He closed the window where her face looked at him from the security camera footage. He didn’t have enough information about her situation to get involved, beyond the clear and obvious warnings he and Clark had made to Hank about hiding an Omega Prime. It did no good imagining what might happen if it blew up in Hank’s face anymore than it did to worry about fresh new hell Damian was going to unleash tonight.

He had patrols to complete, financial records to follow, and bugs to plant. He didn't have time for an Omega Prime.

Chapter 3: Starships

Chapter Text

Two months was the magic number. Two months of prepping, planning, hiding pills, holding on to cash, and only a bit of inter-group drama, and Violet got another swing at getting out of the house — and helping out superheroes.

Violet actually shrieked a little with glee and Len started laughing out loud as Hank’s tinny voice over the phone repeated himself with fond exasperation.

“Yes, I know, it’s the Watchtower.”

“Outer space!” Violet repeated, jumping up.

“Outer space,” Julie groaned, sitting down hard in her chair.

“The Watchtower! My God the Watchtower!” Ada hugged an equally surprised Len.

When the squealing and excitement has subsided everyone could finally hear what Hank was trying to explain.

“Some kind of inter-dimensional being has gotten onboard and is messing everything up. Wires have been cut, airlocks have been opened, bedrooms trashed, it’s been a real nuisance. No one’s been injured, and the only person spaced was Superman thankfully, but they aren’t taking any risks.”

“Wait, wait, so we’re taking the risks? In space?!” Julie demanded, sitting up in her chair. “Why are we going? I thought this was an invitation!”

“Well, like I said, it’s an inter-dimensional being, and no other superheroes, including demigods and other inter-dimensional beings, have been able to see them. As fellow inter-dimensional beings on Earth—”

“We’re inter-dimensional beings?” Ada asked, mouth dropping open.

“Batman classified us that way.”

“Huh,” Len said, making a face. “Makes us sound cooler.”

“Anyway, no one else has been able to see these beings or touch them, but the Justice League is grasping for straws now. We’re to teleport up there and use some weapons Batman and a few others have designed to remove the pests if we can see them.”

“Glorified exterminators,” Julie groaned. “What about our identities?”

“More like Ghostbusters!” Violet interrupted. “This is gonna be awesome.”

“Julie has a point,” Len cut in, leaning toward the speaker on the phone. “The Watchtower is heavily surveilled, and Batman designed a lot of it himself, so he’ll have cameras everywhere.”

“Masks. Amit thought the simplest solution would be easiest. Everyone is to wear all black, including gloves, and no logos, jewelry, or any skin visible. Make sure the masks have black mesh over the eyes and cover the entire face. Jake recommended taping a bandana or something to the inside too to muffle your voice.”

“Would it be weird if I chose a Wonder Woman mask?” Ada asked, and Len laughed fondly.

“Just get something normal,” Hank sighed over the phone. “A clown mask or something—wait no, not like the Joker. Uh, maybe a blank mask.”

“We’ll figure something out,” Julie said, and she looked very unhappy about it.

“Great, get clothing and masks sorted asap, because we’re meeting tomorrow night at a League warehouse outside Metropolis, 7pm on the dot.”

Only Julie got a blank mask. The Gotham branch of the Secret Peace showed up at the designated warehouse twenty minutes early. Violet was in a black long-sleeve shirt, leggings, new black Vans and leg warmers, with a glittering, black and white masquerade mask. From forehead to nose it had a swirling gold design curling in Venetian-style spirals, which blended into white bottom half with a smiling gold-painted mouth. Her hair was hidden under a black scarf wrapped around her head and tucked into a turtleneck.

Ada and Julie were similarly adorned, though Julie chose an utterly plain white mask which was actually pretty creepy in the fluorescent light of the League warehouse. Ada had gotten a masquerade mask too, but one designed like a jester, half blue and half white split vertically with little jewels set into it. Len wore a No-Face mask and hadn’t stopped chuckling about it in the car to Metropolis. The four of them met Hank, Amit, and Melissa outside the warehouse.

Amit, unsurprisingly, had designed his own Spiderman mask, whose significance would be lost on anyone outside the Secret Peace, while Hank donned the classic Guy Fawkes mask. Melissa had opted for a ski-mask with mesh added to the eye holes, and was apparently quite annoyed that she was the only person who’d even considered the obvious.

“I like the bank robber vibe,” Len complimented her as they approached the warehouse doors.

“No-Face? Really?” Violet could just imagine Melissa’s raised eyebrow behind the ski mask.

“It’s a joke, get it?”

“I get it,” she groused.

“Where’s the last person?” Ada asked, voice hard to discern behind the thick mask as the door remotely unlocked for them, an obvious reminder they were being watched.

“He’s coming,” Hank said, putting his hands on his hips and then dropping them to cross his arms. He managed to be one of the few who looked uncomfortable in jeans, even black ones.

The silence began to get awkward, as no one wanted to say too much and accidentally identify themselves, and Hank was frowning at all of them even though they couldn’t see his face. He hadn’t wanted to include Violet, as she’d learned when they’d stepped out of the car, but the Watchtower was big enough that they needed everyone. All the Justice League members were essentially displaced until the inter-dimensional threat was contained.

Hank had actually pulled Violet back behind the car so whisper to her, which was made doubly weird by the masks they were both wearing.

“Hey… so you know, the Justice League doesn’t know you’ll be there.”

“Right,” she said, confused. “I figured they wouldn’t.”

“No, I mean,” Hank ran his hand through his hair, the only one of them who left it uncovered since the League knew who he was already. “I told them specifically you wouldn’t be coming. Batman asked me directly.”

“Oh,” Violet said, suddenly out of words. The thought of Batman ordering Hank not to endanger the Omega Prime made her feel all funny inside. It was a weird mix of attraction and irritation, which just made her wonder what Batman would do if he found out, and then the curious arousal started to win. She hurriedly thought about Hank having sex to kill the scent.

“I couldn’t leave you out, not when we need everyone, but the League is under the impression there are more Secret Peace members than are coming tonight. They don’t know our exact numbers.”

“Got it. Don’t let on what I am.”

“Take more suppressants if you have to,” he continued, rounding the car to regroup with the others. “Our scents will be in the Watchtower and there’s nothing we can do about that, but I don’t want them to have any more clues to who we are.”

“Don’t worry, I doused myself in perfume too.”

Len had wrinkled his nose when she, Julie, and Ada all came out smelling heavily scented from the worst-smelling bottle they’d been able to find. Perfumes and colognes were very subtle in this world, so they’d been very liberal with the heavy bergamot one they’d found. Melissa had borrowed it from them when she realized what a simple ploy it was to confuse who was who.

Jake stumbled up to the outside of the warehouse after they’d waited almost ten minutes in awkward silence, banging the car door shut loudly and cursing when his foot caught a rock.

“Told you I’d find it,” he grunted, coughing behind his Jason Voorhees mask and stumbling a bit as he joined the group.

Hank sniffed and his shoulders stiffened. Violet had no doubt he was doing that scrunchy-eye thing he did when he was annoyed. “Are you drunk?”

“No! I had a shot to calm me down, that’s all. We’re going into space to fight monsters, and I mean, it’s the Watchtower man. I’m just a little amped up.”

Hank groaned and started to rub his eyes before he remembered the mask, and Julie intervened before the two could start arguing. Jake knew a lot of stuff about supervillians and some of the darker arcs in the comic, but he hadn’t been very stable since coming to this world. He’d struggled particularly hard with his Alpha dynamic, and he still got riled up easily. Violet hadn’t actually seen him in person since the first day they’d met, when he and Hank had gotten into a physical fight with each other when they scented her.

“Okay, let’s get to the teleport pad and get up there. Remember to keep it short and simple. Just clear your area and meet back at 5am.”

Everyone nodded, and Violet almost expected the group to put their hands in like a sports team, but Hank just led the way inside the warehouse and down a short hall to the pads. The teleportation itself made her whole body feel like it had fallen asleep and started tingling with that pins and needles sensation. Just as it got unbearable it stopped, and she opened her eyes to the inside of the Watchtower.

It was chrome and silver and blue screens and surprisingly bright lights as they stood blinking in the entryway. Across the futuristic room was a large pedestal with a 3D holographic map of the complex, including multiple tiers with different levels of personal rooms, weaponry ranges, parts still in construction, and other facilities. Small couches were scattered around with oddly personal items nearby, including several tablet computers, water glasses, magazines, and a bottle of lotion. The main conference room was on this floor, and where Batman’s cowled face on a large TV screen directed them after Amit peeled Hank off the floor. Hank, to his embarrassment, had passed right out when he stepped off the teleporter.

“Heh, Flash did that the first time too,” Aquaman said from behind Batman.

“It’s the temporal displacement. Sometimes it’s a shock to the system,” the Flash defended, and the image zoomed out to show most of the founding members of the League. Superman hovered over Batman’s shoulder, with Wonder Woman giving them a small smile. Flash elbowed Aquaman, who grunted and batted his elbow away, while Cyborg rolled his eyes. Green Lantern could be seen in the far background floating.

Amit wobbled like the next one to pass out.

Violet had never seen the League members except in distant shots on TV with the exception of Bruce Wayne, who felt like a different person when she was staring at Batman. For a second she thought it was a realistic television ad for another movie, except that Wonder Woman’s face moved closer until she filled up the screen as she spoke. “Whoever is in that gold and white mask, I like it.”

Violet had a startling urge to cry as one of the women she admired most complimented her, and Julie had to nudge Violet down the hall to the conference room. Len stumbled behind her, just as spellbound. Jake didn’t even look drunk next to how awed they all were. Only Julie seemed to keep her wits.

They took their seats, Hank hesitating before refusing to sit at the head of the table. On the giant screen in here Batman clicked some buttons on a keyboard and slid away from the computer. Violet didn’t know where the League actually was, since it definitely wasn’t the Batcave behind them. Superman’s face filled the camera then, while the map of the Watchtower floated above the table in front of them.

“We’ve pinpointed the hot spots of activity, and managed to find a single sensory range on the microwave spectrum that reacts when there’s a lot of activity. Other than that though, we don’t know why they are doing this or what they want. On the table we’ve left you stun guns, some injectors with sedatives, a few blunt weapons, and at Batman’s insistence,” Superman cut an exasperated look at the Dark Knight that showed he’d lost the debate, “some lethal weapons. Try not to kill them please, we don’t want to start a war or large-scale incident.”

“They tried to kill you,” Aquaman pointed out, in what sounded like an old argument.

“They probably knew throwing me into space wouldn’t kill me,” Superman rejoined.

“They didn’t know that about me,” Cyborg pointed out, “If that manual lock hadn’t been activated I might be dead.”

Diana shushed them before the talk could devolve, and Superman turned back to the screen. “Split up and see if you can even spot them, let alone touch them. If you can’t or find no sign of them then we’ll figure something else out. We’ll be monitoring from here and can guide you via the computer network onboard.”

Violet’s knee was bouncing beneath the table, and the rest of the group were looking similarly restless. This was the opportunity of a lifetime, no way were they going to waste it. Full run of the Watchtower?

Hank tried to distribute the weapons, but there was a mad dash for the good ones. Violet immediately grabbed a long stick with a electrified end and a yellow utility belt, buckling it around her waist. This was literally the closest she’d ever get to being a Batgirl, and she could feel her six year old self screaming with excitement inside her. There was no where in the Watchtower she could go without being watched, but she’d definitely go home and have a proper freak out there.

“Everyone armed?” Hank’s muffled voice called out, and she felt his eyes linger on her. Julie and Violet were the only Omegas, and Hank had a long talk with Jake about not singling them out, she’d heard. The Justice League knew precious little about the Secret Peace, and the fact that there was an Omega Prime among them was already far more than Hank wanted to share.

Holding her electrified stick like a bat, Violet and the others headed into the first hall with the teleportation pads, where the elevators would sort them out by floors. Each of them had three floors to cover, with the large main areas overlapped by two people. They played rocks paper scissors to determine who got the top floor.

“Yes!” Violet yelped, fist pumping. She got the top three floors, including one of the small conference rooms. Conferring with the map while the others did another round to sort out the next set of floors, she peeked at Batman’s scowling visage in the corner of the screen.

“You’ll have a hot spot, gold mask,” Diana said suddenly, replacing Batman on the corner screen and enlarging it slightly. She manipulated the map to zero in on the three floors Violet had. “These are the founding members’ rooms, and several have been targeted, particularly J’onn’s.” The screen shifted and a red bloom marked the main area of activity. “Perhaps there is a nest, or some food source in this room? Please check carefully when you go there. One of us will help you find your way, and do not take too many risks. If the creatures are particularly dangerous we will reconsider the matter.”

Violet nodded, almost afraid to speak despite the thin hand towel she’d taped to the back of her mask to muffle her voice.

“That utility belt has trip wires and a version of batarangs in it,” Batman added gruffly, replacing Wonder Woman on the small screen. “Use them wisely.” Violet wanted very badly to stuff her fist in her mouth so she didn’t say something. She wondered if she’d be able to smell him in his room or if there was some kind of scent-suppressant. Jake crowded her out from the screen to see a map of his floors, and she regrouped with the others.

Searching the top conference room and J’onn’s rooms first, Violet didn’t see anything out of place. The Martian Manhunter kept a spartan, tidy room with one small picture of Supergirl and her sister on his bedside table, and otherwise little else of personal value. The weaponry and spare clothes that had been thrown around the room by the inter-dimensional creatures showed no sign of them now.

“I’m not getting anything,” she told the com by the door, frustrated. She’d really been hoping they would be able to see the monsters and help the Justice League.

“Gold, are you there?” Hank called, and she switched the feed over from J’onn’s face to Hank’s.

“Yeah, V?” she asked. They’d decided the easiest codenames were the ones related to their masks. It made Violet feel very cool too.

“Jason’s having some kind of freakout two floors below you. Cyborg says you’re the closest, can you check on him? I’d go but I think something’s moving here.”

“Sure,” she agreed, wondering how bad this freakout was that Hank was willing to let Violet handle it. Maybe he thought having an Omega there would calm Jake? Of course, nothing would give her away faster than the Alpha jumping her in the Watchtower, and she didn’t really want to use the cattle prod on Jake.

She got down to his floor quickly, and Batman’s face immediately appeared on one of the wall screens. “Second left,” he growled, disappearing just as quickly.

“Get back here you little f*cker!” Jake was yelling as the automatic door swished open on a bedroom. He was holding a baseball bat and swinging it wildly at nothing.

“Jason,” Violet called. He didn’t respond and she repeated herself a little louder. “Jason.”

He turned after the third time, startling when he saw her. “Did you see that little thing? Straight from that movie, whats it?”

Violet glanced around, but other than general disarray that could have just as easily been caused by Jake’s wild swinging as the monsters, she didn’t see anything. “See what?”

“The green thing! Grinchy, gremlin thing. Gremlins!” he yelled, laughing wildly. “Like that Halloween movie, that’s what it is!”

His behavior was alarming to Violet, but she didn’t want to question out loud how much he’d had to drink. Jake stopped twitching around to talk to her, keeping a tight grip on the bat. “You don’t see them? C’mon V—” he stumbled, coughed, and corrected himself, “C’mon Gold, there’s one up there. On the balcony.” He pointed up at at the loft part of the room, and as Violet stared she thought for a moment she’d seem something invisible move, like a displacement in the air.

“It’s invisible?”

“No, it’s plain as day,” Jake said, waving up at it. “It’s pissing me off.”

“Perhaps only some can see it, like those rock bots from Mercury 15,” Cyborg said suddenly from the coms by the doorway. “Someone of the same dynamic or gender as Jason, can you see anything?”

“Nothing, but that chair definitely moved,” Hank said, sounding out of breath. “Gold, what’s going on with Jason?”

“He’s seeing something,” she admitted, watching the loft carefully. Out of the corner of her eye she kept thinking she was seeing it too, but nothing was as clear as Jake claimed it to be.

“Maybe it’s because of that shot he did,” Amit muttered grudgingly. “I’ve got nothing here.”

“Spider, maybe you’re right,” Len said. On the hologram by the door it was hard to tell what was going on with the Justice League, but Flash appeared to be trying to jump into Cyborg’s shot.

“That’s ridiculous,” Melissa cut in over the conference call. Violet still squinted at the loft that Jake was swearing at.

“You think it’s the drink?” Jake asked, turning back to Violet. “I’ve got a flask.”

“Of course you do,” Hank said darkly, as Violet accepted the flask Jake fished from his back pocket. She glanced around the room before turning to the corner and carefully lifting the mask as little as she dared to take a swig.

It burned something fierce as she swallowed. “God,” she coughed, readjusting the mask so she could cough some more. “What cheap swill did you get?”

Jake defended his abysmal drinking choices as she waited for the alcohol to have any effect. It was fortunate she’d been so excited that her stomach had been too queasy for a real dinner, because the vodka hit her quickly. Within the first few minutes she started to see a shadowy outline up by the bookshelf in the loft.

“It’s there!” she exclaimed, “I can kind of see it. Up by the lamp.”

“Yeah, that’s the f*cker! Doesn’t it look like a gremlin?”

“I can’t see any detail,” Violet admitted, and Jake passed her back the flask.

“So they have to get drunk? What is this, a comedy show?” Aquaman remarked from somewhere in the back, voice echoing oddly. The Flash was laughing as Ada whooped.

“Please don’t go too hard, Gold,” Hank could be heard beneath the chatter of the rest.

She managed one more swallow of the awful vodka but the flask was out after that. “How much of this did you drink?” she asked Jake, coughing.

“Enough,” he said, deciding to climb up to the gremlin and deal with it in the loft. “Lemme show you how this is done,” he boasted, and Violet wasn’t sure if he was talking to her or the creature.

“We’re going to need more alcohol,” Violet said as she backed out of the room. “I still can’t really see it.”

“If you drink too heavily you won’t be able to fight,” Melissa pointed out. “Let those shots settle and the rest of us will find something to drink.”

“Where’s the alcohol here?” Len asked.

“We didn’t exactly build in a bar,” Superman commented wryly from over Batman’s shoulder.

“Probably should have,” Barry commented behind him.

“Does anyone have alcohol in their rooms? Some stash we can steal?” Ada asked. None of the founding Justice League members immediately offered up anything except Superman, who sounded sheepish.

“I have a bottle of Kryptonian brandy, but I’m not sure it’s safe for human consumption…”

“Hal?” someone asked, calling out to the floating Green Lantern. He shook his head.

“Oh fine,” Barry muttered, coming back on to the screen. “There’s a bottle of Gordon’s in my sock drawer. So much for that birthday gift.”

“Gordon’s?” Batman grunted, not hiding his disdain at Flash’s idea of an acceptable gift.

“What? It’s not like superheroing pays!”

“Done,” Violet said cheerfully, leaving Jake to his hunt with the gremlin. She was about to get drunk in the Justice League’s Watchtower.

The bottle of Gordon’s gin wasn’t as bad as Jake’s choice of drink, but it really needed a mixer. The Secret Peace reconvened, minus Jake, in Hank’s hot spot conference room with the moving chairs. By Violet’s third shot of alcohol that night she could see the dark shapes mischievously rearranging the furniture. She held off on more as she felt the warmth of the drinks kick in. Everyone made faces as they knocked back a few shots.

“This has to be the strangest solution I’ve heard of,” Len commented, looking at his shot glass speculatively.

“Why do you think it works?” Ada asked, salting the rim of her glass like it was a margarita. She insisted it made the gin more palatable.

“Maybe your brain is more open to seeing inter-dimensional gremlins when you’re tipsy?” Violet offered.

“A valid thought,” Aquaman said from the computer screen. “Are you able to make out these creatures?”

Violet glanced around and ducked down to look at one of the ugly gremlins hiding under the table. It didn’t seem to realize she could see it. “Yup. It looks like a cross between a gremlin and a Furbee.”

“A Furbee?” Diana asked, and Flash shrugged at her.

“I’ve never heard of it.”

“You know, the children’s toy? Creepy little talking fuzzy robots,” Melissa said, knocking back another shot a moment later. Her alcohol tolerance was frightening.

“Definitely never heard of it,” Flash repeated, and it seemed none of the other League members had either. Furbees would be added to the list of differences between here and their home dimension then.

“You’ve been spared a lot of horror then,” Amit commented.

Violet pulled out her electrical stick and thumbed the switch, igniting a small current between the two prongs on the end. She turned it to the lowest recommended setting for stunning and poked the gremlin.

It let out a weird, metallic shriek and collapsed, twitching on the ground. With a gloved hand Violet picked it up by its clawed chicken foot and dangled it for the group. “Is it dead?”

“Are you holding one?” Superman asked, leaning toward the camera.

“It doesn’t have a pulse and it doesn’t seem to be breathing,” Violet noted as she clinically touched the gremlin thing. “Of course, that means nothing when we don’t know if it normally does.”

“Throw it in a crate,” Hank said, jerking his head toward one of the crates. “Don’t assume it’s harmless.”

“With creepy little legs like that, no way,” Amit said, stepping back as Violet dropped the dazed gremlin into the box and shut it.

“One down, who knows how many to go!”

It took them all night. J’onn’s room was indeed infested, and by the third gremlin Violet knocked out the rest had realized what was going on. She had clothes, shoes, and the pillow from the bed thrown at her, and she managed to topple the bookcase on them, squashing the little creatures. It wasn’t an elegant solution, and Violet was pretty sure she looked ridiculous compared to the kind of highly trained fighters the League was used to, but J’onn was actually very encouraging.

“Good, good, Gold,” he complimented as she threw all seven of the gremlins into the laundry hamper and carried them to the cage by the elevator. Each floor had been equipped with one and so far seemed to hold the gremlins just fine. “You are light on your feet.”

“Thanks!” she said, immeasurably cheered. She might not be the next Batgirl, but she was pretty handy with the cattle prod.

By 5am the Secret Peace members had, to their best approximation, eradicated the gremlin threat. Violet had been relieved and disappointed that Batman’s room had been clear of gremlins, but she’d still done a thorough check and confirmed that yes, in the privacy of his bedroom Batman smelled just as amazing as Bruce Wayne’s manor.

She took the elevator back down to the bottom floor, greeting Julie and Amit who looked exhausted and proud respectively. “Eighteen!” she said proudly. “That includes the conference rooms on the eighth floor.”

“Twenty-two,” Amit said, accepting Violet’s high five.

“Nine. And those things were nasty,” Julie complained.

The rest of the team joined them shortly and Superman appeared on the large screen by the teleporters. “Thank you, Secret Peace. The Justice League appreciates what you’ve done for us today. You made excellent honorary members of the Justice League.”

Hank’s chest puffed up comically, and Violet was sure even Julie felt a swelling of pride. The Secret Peace sounded like another Teen Titans or Stormwatch, a superhero team for special occasions.

“We’ll let you know if we see anymore activity,” Superman continued on, flashing them that perfect boy scout smile. “Let’s get you back home for some well-earned rest.”

The teleportation still tingled, but flush with victory Violet barely noticed. She ripped off her mask inside the car and whooped as they started the drive back to Gotham. The atmosphere of the car was suffused with excitement and happiness.

“We did good, folks,” Len praised. “We did good."

Chapter 4: Pomegranate Seeds

Chapter Text

The next meeting with the Justice League some weeks later was very uncomfortable for Hank, and he knew there were dark circles of sweat under his arms despite his best efforts. The superheroes had insisted he meet with them again despite how much he emphasized how few and far between he wanted these meetings to be. At least they continued to honor his request that he join by video, which they all knew was to avoid J’onn’s mind-reading capabilities.

“Lex Luthor is a Superman problem,” Hank was telling them, shrugging his shoulders jerkily and fiddling with his cufflink below the camera view as he tried to give an outward appearance of calm. “We won’t get involved unless absolutely necessary.”

Superman was pinning the man in his ill-fitting business suit with a look that made Congressmen and alien conquerors shrink into their shoes. Batman, having been on the other end of that look once or twice, had little sympathy for Hank. The man played the middle ground so hard he won himself no allies.

“If that’s all…” Hank tried, visibly wilting under Superman’s look, but Bruce was short-tempered and having none of it. Not after the long day he’d had and the screaming, panicking Omega he’d dealt with last night after saving her from being kidnapped, or the face or scent of that Omega Prime that had been rattling him at odd hours for the last few weeks. He was halfway convinced she’d been in his rooms in the Watchtower too, but he didn’t want to imagine Hank was that bad an Alpha that he’d endangered the Omega Prime with the gremlin situation too.

“It isn’t,” Bruce said flatly.

Diana’s lips firmed knowingly, and Cyborg shared a look with J’onn.

“Sorry, Batman?” Hank asked, fiddling harder with the sleeve of his jacket.

“The Omega Prime Council is aware that a Prime was at my residence. They want to send a representative since they can’t figure out who it was. I’ve convinced them to send someone I know can be bribed, but he still needs to see her.”

“I can’t condone—”

“You obviously have before. Or is she too much for you to handle?”

Hank swallowed loud enough for even those without enhanced hearing to hear, and a slow red flush crawled up his neck. “She’s not— I’m— Look. Sending her to your home last time was the last thing I wanted. I know the risks, and I just…” He couldn’t hold Bruce’s eyes and dropped them, a sign of subservience that might not mean much where Hank came from, but in this world Bruce had won.

“I’ll make sure she’s safe,” Bruce said flatly, the unsaid, better than you, lingering in Hank’s silence. “This is as much for her protection as mine. I’ll take precautions.”

The atmosphere of the room shifted. Superman glanced at Cyborg and the Flash, and Diana’s shoulders dropped incrementally. The Alpha Prime had this in hand, and the Alpha guardian would bend until the Omega said no. This was an age-old dynamic they were playing out.

The Justice League was aware of how the raid on Wayne Manor had been stopped, but only recently had Bruce told them that the Prime Council had shown up at his door looking for the Omega Prime in question. Bruce had easily lied about the situation to the rep, but the Council was suspicious regardless. They already disliked how Bruce, an Alpha Prime with money, success, and multiple children—the most galling part in their opinion—still refused to take an Omega Prime partner.

They’d tried over the years to hold events in Gotham or specifically entice him, and he’d gone to a few, but he didn’t like the infantilizing language to describe their wards, and the demands of his double life meant he didn’t have time or energy for a partner who had been indoctrinated from puberty. He knew painting the Council in such broad strokes wasn’t perfect, but he also knew what Omegas were capable of: his Omega children were as competent as his Alpha ones—and a lot more stable sometimes.

Superman’s look at Hank was milder than Batman’s now. “I understand the desire to avoid the Prime Council’s notice, but we trust Batman to keep your Omega safe.”

Hank’s ears turned red, and though they couldn’t smell it, the scent of his discomfort deepened. “I have to ask her.”

“I’m sure she wants to get out,” the Flash said, earning a kick under the table from Cyborg.

“Three days,” Batman uttered. He didn’t press his authority into his voice because he didn’t need to. Bruce felt quite sure that if Hank had already let her recklessly go to his home, a high-stakes auction, and possibly into the Watchtower, then Hank could not say no to her. Normally Alphas and Omegas were checks on each other, curbing the worst of each other’s instincts, but Hank was no match for a Prime, and it was only a matter of time before that blew up in their faces and they both ended up in danger.

“Uh, I’ll- I’ll be in touch.” Hank hurriedly disconnected, and Flash sighed loudly.

“Are you gonna give her over to the Council?”

Batman looked over at the Flash who tugged off his mask to loosen his hair. “No, but she should be aware of the risks of remaining independent.”

“Will you have this talk with her yourself, or is it perhaps better handled by another?” Diana asked, raising an eyebrow at him pointedly.

“I can handle it.”

“I can ask if she would be welcome on Themyscira,” she continued on. “We honor Primes there, not the way this Prime Council does.”

Bruce grunted, not sure why he didn’t like the thought of this Omega Prime sequestered away on an island. “I’ll tell her that.”

He stood up, and Clark followed suit, gaze already turning inward to consider his newest problem with his old enemy. “Good luck. Let us know if we can help.”

Bruce nodded, but he knew Clark would be busy with Lex Luthor’s next secret project that Hank had refused to discuss, and he’d have to clue Dick into since it seemed Bludhaven might be where he was sourcing some materials from. In the meantime, he had his own city’s woes to worry about, along with the precautions necessary for “Laurie’s” visit.

Technically it was illegal to record an Omega Prime without their guardian’s clear approval, and Batman might care, but Bruce Wayne’s ethics were a little looser. The simple thought of an unmated, unprotected, reckless Omega Prime in his home made any argument moot. Plus, he needed some video evidence for the Omega Prime Council.

“Master Wayne, I must make my objections clear.”

“Understood, Alfred,” Bruce said, not looking at his consternated butler and friend as he programmed the cameras. All the files recorded tonight would be added to a heavily encrypted database used for only the most sensitive of information. No one but Bruce would have access to it, let alone know of its existence.

Except Alfred. “I don’t think this is wise.”

“Noted.”

Alfred sighed and turned away with a perfunctory “sir”. There was no arguing when Bruce was in a mood like this.

He knew why Alfred disagreed with him, but his instincts were screaming at him to do more than make himself scarce while the Omega Prime was here. Perhaps he could mark up some more furniture with his scent or leave out food, anything to lure her to linger in his territory. It was a primal instinct rooted in eons of evolution, but Bruce cultivated self-control and he had learned the hard way to pick his battles. His instincts would let him do one or the other: keep tabs on her, or keep her.

“The garage door to the basem*nt is unlocked,” Hank’s digitized voice said, crinkly in high pitch from her phone’s speakers. Violet was driving a $300 beaten up car and had just passed through Wayne Manor’s gates. “You have to minimize your time in that manor,” Hank stressed again, sounding like he was one step away from an anxiety attack, and Violet was very glad he wasn’t anywhere nearby. “Batman is aware of who you are this time, and he’s planning something. The whole League might be in on it.”

“Mm-hm,” Violet said, barely listening to Hank. He’d run through their game plan at least a dozen times. His protective instincts coupled with his anxious personality had turned him into a huge mess tonight. He’d initially insisted on coming along, then Len, then him, then Julie, then no one, and then finally changing his mind at the last moment to get anyone to go with her, at which point Violet decided to hell with it and started crying to twist his arm and let her go alone. She hated to be manipulative, but Hank couldn’t decide if he wanted to treat her like a child, an awkward acquaintance, or an actual human being, and she was sick of it.

“As soon as the representative leaves, get out of there,” he continued, as though he hadn’t said the same thing a dozen times already.

“I know,” Violet replied, tamping down the urge to sound like a teenager. She was both nervous and giddy that she was leaving the house again. Of course, Hank, Julie, and Len had made it clear to her how suspicious this all was. She had met Bruce Wayne at the auction, then gone into his private rooms on the Watchtower fighting gremlins, and then the Omega Prime Council sends a representative to his doorstep and he doesn’t have any alternative plan except to use her? It was laughably transparent, but Hank had been strong-armed, and Violet was so cooped-up she didn’t care. Batman probably wanted to talk to her, and frankly she’d take that. She hadn’t spoken to another non-Secret Peace member since the auction. Even if she risked a golden cage, at least she’d live a little in a world of superheroes.

“Did he give you any more instructions?” she asked, driving the car around the back of the manor house after the long driveway. As per the last message from Alfred, the garage was left open so she could hide the car. She drove in and parked in the only available spot next to a sporty blue car with the name McLaren in silver letters on the back.

“No, that was it. You’ve got the wig and the dress on right?”

“Yeah,” she agreed, glancing at the wig and slinky, low-cleavage dress she’d tossed into the backseat. Violet didn’t think for a second Batman wouldn’t see through the disguise, and what was the point when her scent was the important thing? Batman hadn’t told Hank much, but he’d been clear he needed Violet to smell the part, so she’d forgone suppressants and packed her own nice dress, and as soon as she’d gotten off the highway she’d pulled into a rest stop and changed.

“Good, that’ll give you some protection. Just don’t linger. In and out. Spray the bleach on the way out if you can. He swore he wasn’t handing you to the Council.”

“I know,” Violet agreed, flipping down the mirror to ensure her makeup was okay. “Look, I’m here. I gotta go. I’ll talk to you after.” She didn’t listen to the rest of what Hank had to say, hanging up as she got out of the car. The basem*nt door had a light right next to it, and she wove her way through the million dollar cars until she was close enough to open it. She took a deep breath and felt a new, different kind of tension tighten in her belly as the scent of an Alpha Prime enveloped her. She knew she was attention-starved and sexually frustrated, but her feet were still light as she shut the door behind her, glancing back long enough to see the garage door silently close.

As she came up the stairs to the main part of the house, she glanced around for any obvious cameras, but Batman was far too good for that. There was no sign of Bruce Wayne, Alfred, or any Robins, only the tell-tale scent of Alpha male all over the house. Was it thicker here than last time? Violet tried to be surreptitious as she took a good lungful. There was an extra spark to it she didn’t recognize, and it made her mouth water a little. Already her nipples felt hard and her body was loosening up, getting drunk on that heady scent. How could it feel like coming home when she’d spent less than an hour here before?

In the kitchen was the first sign Bruce Wayne was expecting her. An uncorked bottle of South African red wine and a single glass was sitting on the kitchen counter. A pristine white shirt, folded neatly, laid beside it with a note on top in a thick, expensive paper.

Violet entertained herself with the image of Alfred instructing Bruce Wayne how to fold the shirt because at the first sniff she knew no one but Bruce had touched this. It smelled like he’d just been wearing it, not hanging in a closet all day, and she imagined for a second it was even warm with his body heat. She dragged her hands down the fine silk as she read the neat, round letters of the note.

The rep requested to meet you alone first. He has five minutes.

Violet rubbed the note against her neck like she’d read in one of those terrible romance books Melissa had gotten her from the library, then poured herself a glass of wine. She wasn’t going to wear the shirt, that seemed too much with this representative, but she could at least mentally prepare with a little liquid courage.

Not ten minutes later, Violet was regretting not pouring a heavier glass of wine.

The representative from the Omega Prime Council had the look of a Congressman when he walked into the parlor, all cool head and charm with the perfect dab of grey at his temples. He even had a starched collar and well-cut suit, but his attitude quickly morphed into the smarmy one of a pimp when he took a few deliberate sniffs to confirm she was the real thing. “Raphael Lopez. But call me Raph, since we’re going to be friends, aren’t we Omega Prime?”

Nausea roiled in Violet’s gut. She’d kept well away from guys like this before in the past. Give them an inch of power and they wouldn’t just take the mile; they’d take the whole thing at the first chance. She squared her shoulders, reminding herself she was just waiting for Batman to do his thing. “You wanted to see me?”

He smiled toothily at her, and the room shrunk a little. She was glad for the ornate coffee table between them. “Don’t bother with the story, I don’t want to hear it. What I know is Wayne isn’t kidding, you really are a Prime. That’s good. That’s very good. For both of us.”

He sounded so smug that Violet was torn somewhere between hate and fear, realizing for the first time how much she did not grasp the depth of his situation. She didn’t understand the Council or the role of Omega Primes in it really, and Raph did. It was like she was playing Monopoly and she wasn’t just ignorant to the rules but also unaware of capitalism as a whole.

“What do you get out of this?” she asked, wanting more wine to fortify herself but also not daring to show any weakness.

“Oh, this visit makes me very rich tonight,” the Beta went on, grinning as he unstoppered the expensive glass decanter on the small side table. “I don’t care where Wayne found you or if they made you in a lab. Every day I don’t open my mouth is another day I live as large as he does.”

Bribery then. She understood that. “It’ll take a long time to get there, I think,” she commented, and he clinked the decanter against his glass as his hand twitched. Yeah, he might get some money out of this, but he was no silver-spoon-born billionaire. Just another person who wanted to win the lottery without a ticket.

“I admit, I didn’t let one of Gotham’s madmen mess with my glands to land a billionaire, but to each their own.” He mockingly toasted her.

“If that were true, shouldn’t you be talking to that madman to get your payday, not Bruce Wayne?”

His eyes narrowed and she raised her wine glass in mirrored salute before taking a hefty gulp. This was the longest five minutes of her life, but she was finally starting to feel more steady with Raph. Or maybe that was the wine kicking in.

“Okay, I am curious though, how did you slip by?” he admitted, leaning against one of the leather armchairs. “Trust me, the Council will pour billions into destroying whatever lab gave you that hormone co*cktail, and they’ll prosecute every doctor, foster, teacher, and Girl Scout leader you ever had if you somehow slipped by the testing.”

“What does it matter? You’re getting paid.”

“Call it professional curiosity.” His dark eyes pinned her in place, and Violet felt his judgment as his gaze ran over her: the cheap, un-tailored dress, the low heels, the hair without hairspray. “You’re like an uncut diamond, a bit old for the Council’s schooling, but it’ll be to someone’s taste. Any Alpha will get hard for you.”

“Go f*ck yourself.” She held his gaze in defiance at his surprised look and drained her glass, only breaking eye contact when she had to tip her head back to get the dregs.

“You’re not too old for the Council’s traditional forms of discipline, you know. I co—”

“—Does the Council give F minuses, Raph?” Bruce Wayne cut in, walking into the parlor with the bottle of wine from the kitchen in one of his huge hands, the other flashing a glimmering watch. “I guess they hand out indictments instead. And pink slips. Or is that for layoffs?”

Bruce Wayne shrugged like he didn’t care, winking playfully at Violet. He was wearing a suit with no tie, the shirt unbuttoned unfairly low, and sporting a five o’clock shadow in sharp contrast to Raph, and Violet could barely rip her eyes from the skin of his chest or the edge of his beard. “But accepting bribes to endanger an Omega Prime might be worse, tut tut.”

He said the last two words slowly, enunciating the ts, and each one tingled across Violet’s skin. She was getting an idea now of what Batman’s real game was.

“What are you talking about?” Raph demanded, turning on Bruce. “We have a deal.”

“A loyalty test. Not just anyone gets to be around Omega Primes after all,” Bruce smirked, walking over to her side of the room, “and the Council doesn’t want any weak links. The police mistook my companion a few weeks ago for a Prime, but I can’t expect a regular Alpha’s nose to know the difference, can I?”

He took her glass from her hand and poured more wine into it, carefully not touching her, though he was so close she could practically taste him on her tongue. In contrast to Raph’s mild Beta scent, Bruce Wayne’s was nearly overpowering. It made her want to lick the fine line of his jaw as he casually stood a few steps from her, protective but not in her space. “And then the Council called, but of course I don’t have a secret Prime. Where would I find one of those?”

Raph was slowly losing color in his tan cheeks, and his eyes landed angrily on her. “So where did you find one? Because that’s an Omega Prime right there! Don’t try to fool me, Wayne. Sniffing them out is my job.”

“A little makeup to hide a mating mark and an Alpha Prime willing to keep an eye on his mate from the cameras—” he nodded up to the corner of the room where a little red light watched them—“and we had the perfect test environment. You were lovely, Martina. A+ acting, thank you.” Bruce nodded to her and very deliberately stepped between her and Raph until Violet had a clear path out. “Alfred will take you to your mate.”

Violet’s legs almost refused to move, but Batman’s broad shoulders stepped in to obscure Raph’s furious frame, and it seemed to cut the pungent scent of him enough for her to think. A glance at the entryway showed Alfred politely waiting just over the threshold, and in a moment he was escorting her through the main hall and into the kitchen.

“Would you like a seat, miss?” he offered, pulling out a stool at the island where Bruce Wayne’s shirt still sat. Violet set down her wine glass a little harder than intended as she took it.

“Yes please. Is Raph really being tested?”

“In a manner of speaking. Master Wayne will be providing proof of bribery anonymously to the Omega Prime Council, including an attempt to blackmail him.”

“Blackmail for what?”

“Illegally harboring an Omega Prime.” It took Violet a moment to connect the interrupted raid with her. Commissioner Gordon had scented her that night, and his report had triggered the Omega Prime Council’s inquiry. Now Batman was tricking both them and Raph, the representative. Raph would look corrupt, and Bruce wouldn’t have to provide proof of a Prime. Except she had more questions.

“But the Council didn’t order this loyalty test so—”

“It’s handled,” Bruce interrupted, stepping into the kitchen behind her. Violet took a fortifying sip of wine and turned, literally watching as he dropped the playboy persona for the more severe, real Bruce Wayne. This was Batman, and they weren’t playing games anymore. Standing in the doorway like that in just a white button-up, his shoulders looked massive. “If you would see him out, Alfred.”

“Of course, sir.”

Alfred gave her a polite nod and left, and Bruce Wayne gestured through another door into a smaller, less formal parlor. “Is the wine to your taste?”

“It’s good. I usually drink French,” she admitted, feeling her belly swoop as she stepped into the other room, the scent of him warm and stronger now.

“I’ll correct my oversight next time.”

Bruce produced another glass and poured himself one, taking a sip and letting his shoulders drop a little. Violet trailed her fingers along the back of the sofa of this smaller sitting room, looking away from his stupidly attractive features before it overrode all rational thought. He was taking her in, probably seeing straight through her bravado. She shouldn’t lose her cool. Yes this was Batman, but he’d brought her here for a reason, and he might be able to help her too.

“Did it all go according to plan?” she asked because the silence was killing her.

He tipped his head for a moment, almost like he was flashing his jaw at her. Violet’s mouth started to water at the thought of marking that fine line up, and she had to turn away. “Yes. The Omega Prime Council can be a problem.”

“One you redirected,” Violet pointed out. “Why go through the trouble? Couldn’t you just tell them I wasn’t a Prime?”

“They didn’t believe me. Something about my reputation.” He deliberately stayed on the far side of the room near the kitchen entrance, and when he set down the wine bottle she could see the edge of a bruise where his buttoned shirt began. Something primitive and dark swelled inside her, deeper than lust.

“The crime-fighting alter-ego—oh wait, the other one.”

The white of his teeth at that hint of a smile and the shadow of his jaw as he co*cked his head was almost as strong an uppercut as his words. “Chafing at the bonds yet, Laurie? I imagine that’s why you didn’t bolt like Hank undoubtedly told you to. Or wear the ridiculous outfit he gave you.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, not sure if he’d tapped Hank’s phone or just seen the inside of her car. That didn’t explain the auction though. “How did you know? I had suppressants that night.”

“My nose has evolved to scent you out.”

“I was wearing perfume and suppressants. Was it Len? Something he did or said gave it away?”

“Primes are meant for Primes,” he replied, as though quoting something.

“Looking to fill a Prime-shaped void then?” Violet challenged, but she wanted to take back the words almost immediately. Her gaze flicked to the right hand door, the one not blocked by Batman. Was she being naive, assuming she was safe with Bruce Wayne? One second she felt brave, the next she was terrified. Is this what they meant when Omega Primes were unstable and had “labile moods”?

“I’m not here to trap you like Hank does,” he told her, stepping away from the kitchen doorway and taking a seat on the couch to her left, giving her clear room between either exit, and she felt some of the anxious animal in her mind recede. “You aren’t allowed to do much for fear something will happen to you, are you? Your Alpha is scared of you so he hides you away while you’re trying to figure out this world.”

Violet bit her lip, a little creeped out by how on the nose he was. Bruce Wayne was an incredible detective, but was he watching her? The flush of arousal at the thought was totally inappropriate.

“Are you stalking me, Mr. Wayne?”

He actually cracked a smile for a split second there, and Violet felt dizzy with want for that moment. The ricochet of her emotions was confusing.

“Guesswork. But you confirmed what I didn’t know.” He leaned forward, hunching those huge shoulders and doing nothing to diminish his presence. “That’s not a position anyone should be in—not just an Omega Prime. Pack is important, but you should choose it.”

“You would know,” Violet said with a tinge of bitterness. He was right, and he was only repeating what she’d been thinking. The way Hank treated her wasn’t right, and she was letting him do it. Without all this new dynamic stuff as a convenient excuse, would she have ever let a man treat her that way?

“I would?” Bruce asked, interrupting her thoughts. His eyes were fixed on her and she was suddenly reminded that all those detective skills relied on a very sharp mind.

“Why are you telling me this? That I might trade one Alpha for another?”

Bruce sat back quickly at that, and some of the intensity in his gaze disappeared. “No, I wasn’t proposing that. I think we can help each other though.”

Violet pushed her glass of wine away and considered Bruce Wayne. She knew Batman was a man of integrity and the sleazy billionaire was for show, but the line had to blur somewhere. It was hard to tell exactly which depiction of Batman he was, since every actor and writer had made the Dark Knight their own. Or was he a mix of them all? “What do you want?”

“Information.”

A man who has everything and what does he want? Duh. She shut her eyes for a second. She’d literally watched his life story on a screen and on paper. This was exactly what Hank had specified they should never do, and Violet, though she didn’t think much of Hank right now, agreed with him on that. “I can’t do that.”

“Why?” he genuinely asked, expression open. He even sipped at his wine when she stared at him and his stupidly classic nose. It should be crooked given how many times it had probably been broken, but of course it wasn’t.

“It could fall into the wrong hands. Or I could be wrong, and that could get you killed or worse,” she pointed out. That was Hank’s nightmare; that all those comics he’d poured over as a kid weren’t accurate here, and something he said or did gave Superman the wrong information and ended up with him dead.

“I run those risks every day.”

“Things could change if you knew what would happen before it did.”

“The future’s never certain,” he responded evenly. “And if you’re wrong, then the future would be different anyway. This conversation isn’t planned, I imagine.”

Violet bit her lip, and Bruce’s gaze narrowed on it, eyes darkening. She didn’t notice, caught up in what he’d said. “No, there’s still good reasons. Trying to avoid one future or change it for the better might really make things worse. Or you might learn things you don’t want to know about yourself or others. ‘Be careful what you wish for’ and all that. And again, in the wrong hands it could be devastating.”

She licked her lips, not realizing how her voice dropped on the last word. She was intoxicated by the spread of his legs as he sat back casually and the hint of collarbone visible near the top two undone buttons. It was disquieting how much effect he had on her, and she dug her fingernail into her palm to ground herself. She felt drunker than a glass and a half should have made her.

“Those are fair points, but I would only ask you to tell me what is relevant and necessary, and I’d be willing to risk it.” He took another drink from his glass, and Violet wondered if he could smell what she was thinking as her gaze drifted to his throat when he swallowed. When had necks ever been sexy before now? “Don’t you think your freedom is worth minimal risk to you? Your unregistered status could be corrected easily with an Alpha Prime smoothing the way.”

“A billionaire bribing someone is literally what Raph came here for tonight,” Violet pointed out. Evidence of his wealth and influence were all around them in this mockery of a living room. Her first apartment could have fit in here and probably wouldn’t have cost as much as the china set in one of the cabinets. She knew she’d lost control of the conversation, and yet she couldn’t seem to move farther than a handful of feet from him. Alpha Prime’s had their own gravity, it seemed.

His smile was downright devilish. He definitely didn’t need to pay the Russian ballet to skip their show and stay on his yacht. That smile was enough.

“I can get you the right suppressants and papers you need to be independent, a high-level Omega but not a Prime, which keeps doors open. You can help me sort through some of the criminal issues in Gotham, helping the city and averting disasters. Or even the Planet. Whatever you know. What do you say?”

“Hank will hate it,” Violet said immediately and grimaced. She wasn’t some kid who needed her guardian’s approval, and she didn’t like how much control she was clearly letting Hank have over her.

Bruce didn’t comment on that, perhaps reading her expression that clearly.

“I don’t imagine working with you will keep me free for long.” She closed her eyes and pressed her lips together to keep the groan from slipping out. Why had she said that?

“It shouldn’t feel like chains. My instincts may say to claim you, but clipping your wings would be hurting you, and protecting you is the prime directive of any Alpha.”

She licked her lips. “What’s an Omega’s directive?”

“Nurture,” he answered immediately, and she looked up at him curiously, wondering how he would spin it. She’d read several interpretations and wasn’t sure which she agreed with. “It’s a different way of protecting, in my understanding. A more compassionate one.” He looked away then, chin tilted in a way she recognized as him drawing on his alternate persona. “I wouldn’t claim you anyway. Batman wouldn’t be good for any Omega.”

“It sounds like Batman needs an Omega,” Violet said, breath catching when she realized exactly what she’d said. Shut up, Violet!

Bruce turned to stare at her, and Violet felt certain in that moment that if she made one move toward the couch he’d be kissing her. The temptation was a rush, but she fought down the urge to shudder or even think about how wet she was getting. She’d never been like this around a man before. It was almost unnatural how fast her blood was heating. This must be why unmated Primes weren’t left unsupervised together.

“I didn’t mean—”

“I know,” he cut her off. “You should go before this gets out of hand.” His voice had gotten rougher, strains of Batman’s lower range slipping in.

“Right,” Violet said a bit shakily, even more turned on at the sound. She managed to turn around and drain her glass in one go in the kitchen before saying ‘f*ck it’ to herself and taking the wine bottle and the shirt on her way out. She glanced back as she passed through the foyer, but Bruce was already gone.

She’d forgotten her shoes at the manor and driven halfway home barefoot before she even noticed. The rain slipping in the window that didn’t fully close didn’t phase her as she pulled into the vacant lot to switch cars, not until she opened the door on the deluge.

“sh*t!” Violet cursed, first for destroying the outfit, another time for realizing she’d have to run barefoot across the wet pavement to the other car, and a third time because she hadn’t told Batman a flat ‘no’. If he pressed the point with another meeting in the future, she might do something very stupid. As she’d learned tonight, her self-control around him was easily compromised, and she wasn’t sure she could even blame it on the wine.

“sh*t sh*t sh*t,” she repeated as she dashed to the other car, fumbled with the keys because this was another lemon that didn’t have automatic locks, and then finally yanking the door open to sit huffing in the car soaking wet. The heater spat and blew cold air at her for several minutes before finally the temperature started to rise, while Violet shivered and felt some of the fog leave her mind.

She was screwed on a lot of levels. The first being that she was coming back to the house late, which meant Julie would be asking a zillion condescending questions and tattling to Hank on her. Feeling like a high schooler sneaking home after curfew made Violet angry because she wasn’t one, and points to her for not f*cking Bruce Wayne into his couch. Doubly so because she also hadn’t jerked off in the car yet.

But it got worse from there. He wanted info on the future and criminals that she shouldn’t give, despite a lot of compelling arguments that Violet was going to have to parse through, and he hadn’t gotten a straight no. Dangling suppressants and official papers in front of her made it all the more tempting too, when she considered the bland little cage she was returning to. She’d be betraying the Secret Peace members, the only people from her dimension who understood how insane all this was. Could she enjoy her freedom if she had to keep everything else a secret? Batman had effectively said he’d have minimal contact with her because they were both Primes, so she’d hardly have a friend there.

Violet dropped her head on the steering wheel. Isolation and independence versus friends and a cage.

This wasn’t a problem to be solved tonight, even as her brain refused to give up circling the conversation. Violet started up the car and drove back to the drab house she’d been squirreled away in, glad at least that she’d convinced Julie not to spend a couple hours waiting in this parking lot for her. A few minutes to breathe was what she needed right now, along with a vibrator and possibly a therapist.

Chapter 5: Labour

Chapter Text

“This is New Gotham’s Omega Safe Haven. Thank you for calling. This is Georgia speaking.”

“Hi, uh, Georgia.”

“Hi there, is there something I can help you with? If you don’t feel safe, you’re welcome to treat this call as a chat with a pharmacist, a pizza shop, or just a friend. And if you need to hang up that’s okay. You can call us back anytime.”

“I’m safe. I just… I had some questions.”

“Of course, I’m glad to hear you’re safe. May I ask your name? You’re welcome to use a pseudonym.”

“Uh… Violet. I’m Violet.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Violet. I’m happy to answer any questions you have.”

“If I wanted to, uh, leave my pack, but I don’t have anywhere else to go, do you, um, have…”

“We do have living space. Our building is an Omega-only building for those 18 and older, and we take in Omegas who have no pack ties or are trying to get on their feet again. If you’re younger than that, we have other options too.”

“No, no, I’m an adult.”

“If you are thinking about leaving, I’d be happy to talk to you about that. And whenever you’re ready—now, in a week, in a month, or longer—we can arrange safe transport too if you need it.”

“I… I’m not ready yet, but that’s good to know. Um, what about suppressants? I really need those.”

“We have a pharmacy on site that can dispense them for you. We also have an Omega-specialty doctor who comes by a few times a week and can provide checkups and prenatal care. Violet, may I ask why you’re looking to leave? We have a lot of Omegas here for a lot of reasons. I can also put you in contact with someone who’s been in a similar situation as you.”

“Oh, I don’t think anyone’s been in quite my situation. My— he’s overprotective, to say the least.”

“Okay, but you might be surprised. We have a wonderful, diverse community here, and we try to be supportive of everyone and their situations.”

“I have a few more questions. How long could I stay? Do I have to work or take classes or something?”

“We estimate stays based on situation. Some people stay for just a few days to get settled, others a few weeks, and others months. We do offer work placement help, and we’re not far from New Gotham Community College if you’re interested.”

“Okay, great, what about the rules for uh, other people? I mean, like Alphas?”

“During the day, the gate is open, but everywhere above the first floor requires a keycard to access, and all residential floors are Omega-only. We have special heat-rooms too for both residents and those who don’t have a safe place to nest for their heat, and those are Omega only. After 7pm the gate becomes buzz-in only, and we have security provided for by Gotham PD.”

“Gotham PD…”

“Is your Alpha a police officer?”

“Um, no, but I’ve heard stories, and I’m a little, um, nervous about them.”

“That’s okay, I understand. The police officers don’t patrol inside the building, and we’re happy to work with you if there’s someone in particular you have trouble with. We also have a locked underground garage too with access to the building, and a few cars we share if you don’t have your own. We arrange walk-buddy programs with other Omegas or Betas, and all non-Omega staff are Betas. I hope this is making you feel better.”

“It is, it is. Um, is there a nearby subway station?”

“The Harrison stop is the closest one to us.”

“Okay, thank you, um, Georgia. I appreciate it.”

“Violet, please don’t hesitate to call. If you need an emergency pickup, call this number and order a pizza to your address. We know what that means.”

“Right, thank you.”

“Hank, we need to talk.”

“Not now, Violet,” he said, refusing to look at her and focusing harder on sorting something at the desk in the corner of Ada and Len’s living room. If he were a cat, his back would be arched and fur ruffled.

“Now, Hank.”

He turned, surprised at her tone, and Violet crossed her arms, preparing herself. She’d been waiting for him, refusing to be cooperative on the phone until her stubbornness made him come to Gotham. Now that she had him here, she was going to have this conversation no matter what.

“I don’t think this is a good idea, Violet,” Hank said placatingly. “Julie’s in the garage, Len and Ada just went to the store, and I don’t want to make you or I uncomfortable. I’m not sure that either of us-, I mean, our biology is—”

“Do tell, Hank, because I haven’t had any opportunity to learn about it outside of a book. Or adjust to it. You’ve kept me here like a pet!”

“You’re not a pet, Violet,” he started, puffing up and sounding exasperated with her, like she was a child who didn’t understand why she couldn’t go to the park in the rain. “This is for your protection—“

“Yours or mine? I think you don’t understand your instincts any better than I do.”

Hank frowned, setting down the papers in his hands. “That’s unfair Violet. We’ve all been working hard to make this pack work.”

“Sure, like reading about a pack is the same thing as being in one. You don’t become a wolf by watching Planet Earth. Hank, I can’t stand being here anymore, and I can’t believe I’ve let it go on as long as I have. I wanted to be helpful. I didn’t want to set anyone off by being this stupid special Omega, but it’s killing me to worry about everyone else’s feelings all the time.” Violet tried to keep the anger at the forefront, but she felt like she was begging and that wasn’t how this was supposed to go. “I may be an Omega dynamically, but I’m also human. I’m not staying here anymore.”

“You can’t,” Hank snapped at her, stepping forward. He was a thin man but taller than Violet, and the scent of his displeasure was like burnt rubber and made her nose itch. “You aren’t registered, and the government certainly can’t know you or any of us are here. Would you ask the Justice League to protect you? You’d just be in a shinier cage.” His voice went up in volume, overpowering her attempt to interject. “I know you don’t feel like you’re independent, but that’s how things are here, and I’d never make you do anything you don’t want to do except this. It’s actually a good deal, I promise. Better than what the Omega Prime Council will do to you.”

By the end of his speech Violet’s hands were in fists, but she took a breath and stood up straighter, determined to win this. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Julie standing in the doorway watching. “No. I refuse to accept that it’s just how things are done and that you’re the best choice I’ve got. And yes, you are making me do things I don’t want to do! You guilt-trip me and gaslight me about Omega instincts and dictate to me through Julie and others. I can’t go anywhere or do anything without your approval, and I know it’s dangerous and the Prime Council is f*cked up but so is this, Hank! I’m sick of sacrificing my entire life and wellbeing so we can all hide from the Justice League. You don’t get to tell me what to do anymore. If I want to take a risk, then it’s my choice.”

She was going to cry. There was so much emotion pent up, and that was the last thing she wanted. Violet dug her nails into her palms hard, sucking in harsh breaths as she watched blotchy rage break out over Hank’s face like a rash.

“The rest of the Secret Peace will be endangered just so you can recklessly go out and get assaulted or worse! You think you’re treated like a pet now? See how it is when the government tags you and sequesters you away until you mate with the right Alpha!” Hank snarled and then jerked back, surprised by his own animal-like reaction. Violet flinched too, but she reared back.

“I’d fight the government then! I wasn’t raised in this Omega Prime sh*t like the others in this world, and the government and the Council and every Alpha I meet is going to remember that. I’m done worrying about making everyone else in this pack happy and trying to fulfill whatever society tells me an Omega is supposed to be.”

“It’s what your instincts are telling you, not what society says,” Julie interjected then, hands on her hips. “I know that’s been hard to adjust to since it’s so different than our world, but please listen to Hank. It’s not just you who is at risk.”

Before Violet could respond to that, Hank cut in, taking a step forward into her space. “You may not like it, but I am your Alpha, and that means something in this world and in this pack. I won’t let you endanger it.”

“You are not my Alpha,” Violet shot back, fists balled up at her sides, refusing to step back or break eye contact with Hank even though angry tears pricked the corners of her eyes. “I know what that means in this world too, and you aren’t a protector, spouse, or much of a friend to me right now, Hank. Your heart is in the right place, but you have got to stop controlling me!” He opened his mouth to protest, and Violet raised her voice, outright shouting now, feeling a horrible tremble starting in her throat. “I thought it was all my dynamic too, but that’s just an excuse! Think about it Hank!”

sh*t, she didn’t want to cry, but emotions were running high, and Violet always ended up in tears when that happened. Hank looked a little deflated as he saw her wet eyes, his face still mottled with red but no longer like he was about to start shouting again. Julie’s lips were pressed firmly together, holding in something patronizing and unhelpful, Violet assumed angrily, brushing at her face.

“Violet, sleep on this. See how you feel in a couple days. This could be a pre-heat sign, or just, you know, a monthly hormonal one. I… I know how hard it has to be to be here all day, and uh, well, I haven’t really been around and an Alpha’s presence is supposed to—“

“Stop. Stop stop stop. Don’t you dare,” Violet choked and furiously wiped at her eyes, beyond insulted. “Don’t you dare blame this on hormones! A heat cycle or period doesn’t negate my feelings! I have been stewing for months, and only stopped myself from saying anything out of a misplaced desire to fit in and be the Omega I thought this pack needed. But I’m done. I’m done.”

Hank was moving towards her, but Violet gave him her back and ran upstairs, grabbing the small duffle bag she’d packed at the top just in case. She stuffed the last few things into her purse and pulled the bag over her shoulder, barely hearing Julie make a soft moaning noise of despair.

“Violet, this is a mistake…”

“Violet, you’re not leaving.” Hank tried to have a firm voice, but when Violet sniffled particularly loudly and ignored him, he seemed to fall apart. “Let me make you something to eat, or, or, get you some ice cream. Or sushi, your favorite. Don’t leave yet. Let’s talk this out.”

She turned to him before the front door, Julie wringing her hands behind him. “No, Hank. That’s what you always did. And I always let you because I thought it was our instincts wanting to make this pack work. Like some kind of broken relationship. We’re not a pack. There’s no bond. We’re a bunch of dysfunctional humans dropped into a world of hormonal dynamics, trying to figure out where one starts and the other ends. I’m not going to be a perfect Omega Prime, and I’ve realized I don’t care. Maybe you should stop trying so hard to be a pack leader and what you think being an Alpha means and just be yourself.”

“You won’t be happy,” Julie jumped in, looking both teary eyed and resentful. Violet couldn’t tell if that was genuinely from Julie or the effect of her own emotions on the other Omega. “You can deny your instincts and the Omega side of you all you like, but it wants a pack and an Alpha. Jake refused the pack too, and look at him. He’s a mess. With us you’ve got that support, and we can understand better than anyone else. We’ll figure out some new outings, maybe see if we can get a routine supplier of suppressants…”

Julie looked at Hank with a sharp, prodding look, and Hank curled his shoulders in like he could make himself smaller. To Violet, it was that messed up, married couple dynamic that seemed to ricochet through their pack in different ways, just another sign of how broken they were. “Violet, think about the Secret Peace, what we stand for. If someone like the Joker or Lex Luther gets you, they’ll do horrible things to you to find out what you know about the superheroes. We know so much, and we can help each other.”

Violet’s hand fisted on the backpack strap. This was the only line of argument she didn’t have a rebuttal for. “Then let’s make sure they don’t find out. I’m not cutting ties, Hank. I’m just leaving your pack to be on my own. I still want to help the Secret Peace, and I don’t want to compromise any of you or the Justice League. I won’t tell anyone about us or what we know.” Violet’s stomach clenched at those words, thinking of Bruce Wayne sitting on his couch, lips a shade darker from red wine.

“Omega Primes don’t go off on their own, Violet,” Julie argued, even as Hank stepped back, head bowed. Hank wasn’t a confrontational man by nature, and Violet was glad to see that being an Alpha didn’t change that.

“I’m not just an Omega Prime, Julie. Stop hiding behind the dynamic and remember you were Julie long before you were an Omega.”

She hadn’t planned this very well since Hank had turned up unexpectedly, but she pulled on Jake’s discarded jacket, the one that he’d bled on and rage-hit Hank in when he’d left their “pack,” and started walking. Ada had stuffed it in a plastic bag to be dry-cleaned, and Violet had stolen it from the laundry because, at the time, she wanted to understand her reaction to Alpha scents.

She didn’t care for Jake’s particular scent too much, all Axe body spray, cheap noodles, and a musk that took her straight back to high school, but the scent stayed surprisingly well long after Ada had forgotten about it. Violet had held on to it just in case an Alpha scent might be needed.

At the time she’d been thinking along the lines of her heats, since they sounded so terrifying. Now, it was protection as she walked to the subway, almost a mile away, hunched over in Jake’s ugly leather jacket.

The only over the counter suppressants available were the lowest possible dose, mostly meant to hold an Omega over until they could get their prescription refilled. Those did absolutely nothing for Violet. She’d tried them all including doubling and tripling the doses. Her first months in this world had mostly involved testing those out.

Julie had been able to get her some prescription ones to try, but the dosages on those also made no difference. It was when Len managed to get a hold of a pack of heat-reversal level suppressants that Violet had felt a glimmer of hope.

These suppressants weren’t meant to be taken everyday because the dosage was sort of a concentrated punch of hormones. It was an emergency suppressant to be taken when heats started in bad places or bad times, pushing them off for a few hours or a day. For Violet one of those pills muted her scent mildly, enough that Hank said he felt more “normal” around her, but he insisted it wasn’t really enough. She wasn’t sure exactly how much could be determined from her scent, but she’d been followed in the grocery store the one time she’d tested it out in public, so it wasn’t a silver bullet. They only lasted for a few hours anyway, and they gave her horrible cramps afterward, so she’d kept the pack in her bedside drawer as a last resort.

She popped two now as she walked, hoping between the pill and Jake’s jacket she could get to the New Gotham Omega Safe Haven safely.

Violet reached Harrison station in downtown Gotham safely, mostly by keeping her eyes to herself, sitting in a corner of the train car, and moving fast. She didn’t think anyone had been following her, but she found New Gotham’s Omega Safe Haven easily, a blue flag with a symbol for Omega safe houses stamped in white on it. As she approached, she saw two cops chatting by a security booth, and they casually looked at her but didn’t stop her from stepping inside.

It was a pretty old building with cinder block walls built ten stories tall and set apart from its neighbors by more brick walls and security fencing. Inside was painted white and light blue with squishy couches and a hodgepodge of art on the walls. The woman at the front desk looked young, maybe early twenties, with a shock of blue hair. She smiled warmly as Violet approached.

“Can I help you?”

“Hi, yeah, I, um, I… I have no where else to go.” The dam that was holding back the tears from the fight with Hank was just about to snap with those words. Violet had never been this desperate before. She’d always had a family to fall back on, a large circle of friends, a career she could take anywhere. She’d been so tense the whole walk over here, with just her duffel bag, backpack, and this gross jacket, hoping no one would mess with her at noon on a Saturday. If this place couldn’t help her she didn’t know where she could go.

“Welcome, I’m Georgia.” The receptionist sprang up and came around the desk, passing through a security door as quickly as possible. “You’re gonna be okay now. We can get you settled in, okay?”

Violet hurriedly wiped away those tears that had escaped. “You’re Georgia? We talked on the phone.”

“What’s your name?”

“Violet.”

“Oh, it’s nice to meet you Violet! I’m glad you’re here. Now, there’s a few steps before we can get you set up, okay? Mostly paperwork.”

Georgia walked her through the basics in a back room with a couch, tv, and mini fridge with snacks and water. Violet tried to fill out what she could but she left so many boxes blank on the forms that she was sure to be questioned about it. She had no proof of citizenship, her driver’s license was fake, she couldn’t put any family information, and she had no other legal paperwork. She didn’t even have a debit card. Georgia didn’t say a word about it, which Violet was grateful for.

It had been about an hour of forms, tissues, and the light chatter of Georgia, who bounced between answering the phone and checking up on Violet, before the cramps started. These weren’t just regular menstrual cramps but deeper, harder, emphasizing a hollowness inside her that made her bowl over and hold her belly, and it was weird and horrible. As soon as Violet started wincing, Georgia asked if she’d like to go to the clinic.

This part was inevitable. Violet couldn’t avoid being outed as a Prime, so best to get it over with. She agreed, and Georgia led her through a few hallways to the clinic in the back, which had two small rooms and a little office for Dr. King, the OBGYN, who checked her over. The doctor paused an awfully long time to palpate Violet’s neck and upper thighs, her lips pursed, and then drew her blood and stepped out.

At least Violet got a heating pad and ibuprofen.

Almost forty-five minutes later Dr. King knocked at the door and stepped inside. “Hi Violet. How are you feeling?”

“These cramps are horrible, but that’s the price,” she replied as she sat up from where she’d curled up on the old exam table, wrapping the heating pad as much as possible around her lower back.

“Yes, the price of the emergency heat suppressants you took. Based on my exam, you don’t look in preheat. Can you tell me why you took them?” The Omega doctor sat down on the rolling stool and gave Violet her kindest, most personal look. Violet knew that one because she’d used it on patients when she was about to remind them of patient-provider confidentiality.

“I took it because it’s the only thing that mutes my scent,” she admitted, “because I’m probably an Omega Prime.”

Dr. King didn’t bat an eye. “You are. I ran the bloodwork three times. Your hormone levels put you firmly in Prime territory. As the doctor treating you, I am bound to confidentiality except in certain cases, and I checked briefly but I’m not sure this has ever really happened before to an adult. What I mean is, if a prepubescent patient is identified as an Omega Prime, I have to make a report to the Council. They’ve got a kind of guardianship system. I’m sure you’re familiar with this.”

Violet didn’t know the particulars, but she nodded anyway.

“That guardianship though, I’m not sure if it applies to a legal adult or how it works for Omega Primes under Council purview but over the age of 18. And I’m also not sure if I’m required to report this.”

“Please don’t,” Violet begged, voice cracking as she held the edges of the heating pad tight. “I’ve never been under the Council’s thumb and I’m not about to be now. I’ve just… I’ve run out of options.”

“I’d like to ask how you’ve managed to get by all this time. Is there a particular drug that worked for you?”

“I… it’s complicated. But no, nothing has. Recently I’ve just been in hiding, and I’ve hit my breaking point.”

“What are your plans moving forward?”

“Find a way to lead an independent life? Surely Omega Primes must have some drug options? And they must do something?”

Dr. King looked curiously at Violet. “I can’t say I’ve ever heard of an Omega Prime doing that, except perhaps the ones sitting on the Council, but none of them are younger than sixty I’d hazard. Some mated Omega Primes model I think,” she added slowly.

“Is it really that hard to understand not wanting to live as some doll, locked up with no options except to be a breeder for some Alpha Prime?” Violet argued forcefully, leaning forward even though the cramps were still squeezing like a vice every few minutes. “Maybe if that’s all they know they can’t imagine otherwise, but I’m not like that. Please Dr. King, this is a place of safety for Omegas. You must have seen some terrible ways they’ve been treated. Help me not join a system that practically encourages that.”

The doctor let out a long breath, her eyes flicking away from Violet’s desperate ones at the many posters on the wall advertising therapy services, contraception, abortion, and abuse survival helplines. “I have to talk to Margaret about this. She’s the director of Safe Haven, and it’s ultimately her call who stays and who goes.”

“Of course, that’s fine. If she says yes though, are you still willing to help me?”

Dr. King sighed, and she rubbed the bridge of her nose where the press of her glasses left little red marks. “My license is already on the line for some of the services we provide here anyway. If it wasn’t Gotham I’d never be medical director of a place like this.”

Violet badly wanted to ask what she meant by that, but she didn’t want to endanger her only chance of getting help.

“I’ll need to review the literature, but there are some very strong suppressant medications that we can try,” Dr. King continued. “They’re not first line, but to get your hormone levels down we can try a few things. They may not work well for birth control though. And again, Margaret needs to approve all of this.”

“I was actually thinking about getting the copper IUD if that’s a possibility. That plus suppressants might work for both scent and contraception.”

“Paragard with adjunctive? Hm, that could work.”

“The copper is non-hormonal but reduces the active pheromone production from the ovarian glands,” Violet pointed out.

“And reversible,” Dr. King added, and Violet ignored her shrewd look. She wasn’t going to correct her assumption Violet would ever want it out or answer the unasked question of how Violet knew so much about these options. She’d been a nurse before, and part of basic medical training was learning to read the literature.

“All I need is something that will keep my scent in normal territory. Something so that I can go to the grocery store, or walk around a park, or take a class and not draw everyone’s eyes. Is that doable?”

“I don’t know,” Dr. King said, lips slightly pursed. “However, there is still the matter of being an Omega Prime. This is not a facility designed for them. I know you’re wary of the Omega Prime Council but they are—“

“Not an option,” Violet cut in. “I read those two autobiographies by Andrea and Dalia, and I’ve tracked the news about them. It’s like they keep Omega Primes in a vault, only to be paraded out when they’re old enough to mate the approved Alpha Primes. It’s a relic of centuries ago when Alpha Primes were warlords and Omegas were literal property. I am not doing that.”

Dr. King nodded, still clearly thinking and not wanting to agitate Violet more. “Let me get Margaret. She has final say on all of this, is that clear?”

“Yes.”

Margaret was a jovial, late 60s Omega who looked as equally likely to butter your toast for you as she was to send you to detention. She bustled into the room with Dr. King, sniffed obviously, and settled her blue eyes on Violet.

“An Omega Prime. I can’t say I ever expected this, but I’m glad you made it here safely.”

“It wasn’t fun,” Violet admitted, and the director snorted.

“No, I can’t imagine it was. Now, Jess has made it clear that you want nothing to do with the Omega Prime Council. Can you tell me why?”

“I’ve been living independently my whole life,” Violet explained. “It’s only recently things have changed, and I’m over thirty. I don’t agree with how the Omega Prime Council treats us.”

Margaret’s eyes were narrowed as she nodded along, hands on her hips. “Thirty? Well, I doubt this situation can be permanent. I’m not sure I’ve ever heard of an Omega Prime remaining unmated, let alone packless.”

Violet groaned. She was starting to get tired of hearing all the things Omega Primes couldn’t or had never done. “Then I’ll be the first. Or not. I don’t know, but I want it on my own terms. Does that sound fair?”

“Your heat will be difficult here. The Ripple Effect could easily overwhelm us. We’re a state-financed facility. We don’t have white scent technology or anything.”

Dr. King made an agreeing noise in her throat, rolling the stool back so she could lean against the table. “If a heat cascade starts, that would definitely be a problem. Only the top floors can be quarantined.”

Margaret nodded. “I can’t imagine how much worse it’ll be among unmated Omegas. And we’d be down staff members too.”

“The Ripple Effect also affects moods,” Violet pointed out, sitting up again. The cramps were starting to abate thankfully, and she’d done her reading on this. “When an Omega Prime gets upset, everyone gets upset.”

“Right, another problem,” Margaret agreed, palms up. She used her hands a lot when she spoke. “This is the kind of thing the Omega Prime Council was literally set up to handle.”

“But it swings the other way, doesn’t it?” Violet pressed, looking at Dr. King for confirmation. “If I’m calm, everyone’s calm. Packless Omegas have stronger, vacillating emotions. I bet you’ve had some trouble with that.”

“Not as much trouble as an Omega Prime out of control would be,” the director said, holding firm.

“A test run then. Put me with the worst of them: the screamers, the mute, the really traumatized ones. A month. If I can help for a month to stabilize their moods, then we can work something out.”

“One week.”

“Three weeks.”

Dr. King rolled her eyes as Margaret’s lit up to barter. Anyone who worked for a state-run medical agency knew how to haggle for every penny. “Two.”

“Two and I get suppressants and the copper IUD.”

“Two, but you go to all group therapy appointments.”

“Group therapy, sure. Drugs and IUD included?”

“I don’t want a pregnant Omega Prime here,” Margaret agreed. “But no IUD until we know if this works because I’ll not have the Council up in arms about reversing that. And you’ll be confined to floors three and up until we’re sure. If it fails,” her voice dropped with warning, “you’ll call the Council yourself.”

“Deal.”

Three weeks after settling into the New Gotham Omega Safe Haven, Violet felt strangely like she’d become a college RA, or perhaps a matron in a women’s dorm straight out of the 1930s. She had her own small apartment at the end of the fifth floor, complete with tiny kitchen, closet for a bathroom and shower, bedroom that was mostly swallowed by the full size bed, tea table, chair, and slouchy, decades-old loveseat for a living room. All the Omegas on her floor were recovering from a myriad of situations, many abusive. She didn’t know or particularly want the details, and because of the lack of pack and cumulative trauma they were prone to a lot of emotional upheavals.

So far the decibel of the floor had dropped in three weeks, and drastically within about two days of her arrival. One girl had even come out of her room. She’d been there for over a month and only shuffled out a handful of times, but now Violet saw her in the rec room every few days. She didn’t join in the video games or movie nights, but she also wasn’t having a panic attack every time another Omega started screaming from nightmares, or someone ran up and down the hallway.

Violet didn’t police her floormates, but she drifted around the hallways of the sixth floor and down to the big kitchen on the third floor, or sometimes to the gym on the fourth, and chitchatted with people. Floors nine and ten were all heat rooms, and those were locked so heat-driven Omegas couldn’t leave. Violet hadn’t had a heat yet, but Margaret—now Marge since she’d proven her worth—assured her after week three they’d figure it out. Maybe pad an extra one or clear an entire floor.

“…And I just couldn’t stop, you know? He almost lost his job when his boss saw the mark.” The Omega huffed a self-deprecating laugh, embarrassed and a little proud of the story. “Those were during the good days, when I wanted people to know he was taken.”

“Thank you, James. That is absolutely a theme among Omegas. Just like Betas and Alphas we too mark territory, and it’s important to understand this instinct as much as it is to control it. Raise your hand if you have struggled to either stop from marking a partner or struggled to stop a partner from marking you.”

Small nods and murmurs reverberated around the group as a few people raised their hands. No one proffered stories though, so Rita, the social worker leading their circle, nodded to Violet next. As promised, she joined all the group therapy sessions, and while Marge had said she didn’t have to anymore, only the really difficult ones, Violet still did go to most of them. Knowing so little of Omega physiology and instinct had made these circles really helpful, and it normalized a lot of compulsions she didn’t understand.

“Do you have any impulses you struggle with, Violet?”

“Uh…” she flushed, looking down. There was something still very strange to her about discussing wild sex acts in a clinical setting. In this world it was stunningly normal, what with heat and rut occurring every six months for most Alphas and Omegas, but in her home-world intimate sex talk about what personally turned you on was the stuff of bachelorette parties and tequila.

“Well, I guess…”

“It’s okay to be embarrassed,” Rita encouraged. “I assure you someone in this group or out there has struggled with the very same thing. Instincts are like a drumbeat in your head you have to learn to listen to and tune out, depending on the situation.”

Violet fidgeted in her seat, her mind jumping to one dream she’d kept imagining ever since that charity auction where she’d met Bruce Wayne. “Well… something about jaws. I just… there was this one Alpha I met who had this really sharp jawline. You know, like a model?” Some of the others chuckled and nodded. “Well, I just… when he does that Alpha thing, you know, titling his chin up so you’re kinda looking up at his jaw because he’s so much taller, the urge to just… bite or lick it—it’s almost overwhelming. I’ve never done it randomly but… I can’t stop thinking about it when I see it.”

Violet felt ashamed both for sharing that intimate tidbit and for it being tame compared to many of the tell-alls she’d heard around this same circle before. It was the first time she’d spoken up though.

“That’s really good Violet. We appreciate you sharing that. It’s actually a fairly common urge, particularly with strong Alphas, as a way of confirming their dominance and your interest in them. Has anyone else dealt with this impulse before?”

The Omega next to Violet actually volunteered a story. “My last mate, she… she was really good with makeup and always did that contouring stuff on YouTube before she went out. Whenever she got dressed up like that and her face looked all sharp…” he sighed, “I know exactly what you mean.”

It started with dreams. Wet dreams.

Violet had experienced a few of these before, but never quite like this. She’d never woken up sticky, hand down her underwear while she’d been asleep, confused and writhing when she woke up, halfway there and barely awake as she sought satisfaction. She’d never spent so long working herself up to an org*sm despite being wet and swollen already, and she’d never stumbled out of bed still raring to go but disappointed. She didn’t like it, and she really hated the looks some of her fellow Omegas on the floor had given her even after a shower. Everyone went through heats, but Violet didn’t need the knowing or sympathetic looks.

That had been the first two days. The third she’d been jumpy when she’d woken up, still horny but also restless, and she’d mostly stayed in her room, not feeling sociable at all. She curled up in the corner of her lumpy couch with a blanket and two pillows propping her up and made herself into a burrito. She only unburied herself when the itch between her legs got too strong, and then she’d rebury herself and try not to be dissatisfied with the whole thing. Someone had knocked on her door and she’d felt so paranoid about what they wanted, that by the time she’d actively decided not to answer, they’d given up and walked away.

It was the fourth day was when she was in the middle of turning over sausages on the stove—mini ones, though her mind kept drifting to bigger, meatier ones, like the kind that might fill that bizarre emptiness between her legs right now—that she noticed a slickness in her underwear. Alarmed, Violet turned off the stove and went to the bathroom, finding her underwear had a new stickiness on it that was as heavy as a period, but not blood and not the right consistency. It wasn’t discharge or urine. It was… she was leaking.

It was actually happening then. Violet knew she was overdue, but a tiny part of her had hoped she’d be spared this somehow. Not sure what to do, she called Marge, who told her in no uncertain terms she better haul ass to the tenth floor. That was where the overflow heat rooms were along with storage space, and it was empty right now. On average at any given time there were seven or so Omegas in heat at Safe Haven, a mixture of residents and those in Gotham who wanted a cheap and guaranteed safe place to ride it out alone. Right now six rooms out of ten on the ninth floor were occupied. The tenth floor was empty.

Marge met her up there with a patch taped over her nose to block scents and a shiny upper lip from some kind of balm that she kept idly touching as she explained the facilities to Violet. “I’ll be locking the stairwell on my way out, and the elevator will also be locked out. If there’s an emergency, I’ll call you on the intercom or set off the alarm.”

“Okay, okay.” Violet’s toes were twitching. The rooms up here were so sterile smelling. It was really quiet too, with only the hum of the common area refrigerator.

“I’m going to fill that storage bin,” Marge pointed at the clear bin with Violet’s name written in Sharpie on it that she’d brought up, “with your sheets, blankets, pillows, and whatever clothing you want. Are there any particular scent objects you’d like?”

“Scent objects? Um, no?”

Marge shrugged, fortunately not suspicious that Violet had no idea what that meant. “Alright. Pick any room you like—they’re all empty—and get yourself settled. I know it can be hard to nest here, but do your best. Do you have any knotting equipment?”

“No, I don’t.” Violet guessed Marge meant dild*s, and based off a few google searches, that was pretty standard stuff here. Violet felt more slick escape her and was torn between embarrassment and interest. “I, um, left all that behind.”

“Alright, there’s a few unopened in packaging I’ll get for you. Use whichever you like and keep them, but also get your own.” She emphasized that with a waggling finger. “I know it doesn’t feel like it helps when you’re in the middle of it, but it does make a difference.”

“Right.” Violet wished Marge hadn’t said in the middle of it because a threesome with Violet in the middle sounded amazing right now. She was so thankful Marge had that scent blocker on, otherwise the fresh gush of slick at the image—god, Batman and Superman, there were probably a million p*rnos of that—would have alerted her.

“One more thing: strawberry or raspberry?”

“For, uh, lube?”

Marge barked a laugh. “Violet, you don’t need any lube and you know it. For smoothies. Energy drinks. There are energy bars, dried fruit, and non-perishable snacks in the rooms, but I’ll put a few fresher ones in the fridge out here too. You can’t go five days without any food.”

“Of course,” Violet said, not loving the reminder that her heat was expected to run longer than the average. Three days for regular Omegas, but five was standard for Omega Primes, yet another reason a regular Alpha couldn’t keep up.

“So, strawberry or raspberry?”

“Both.”

“Done.”

The room looked like an unfinished dorm room: beige cinder block walls, cheap wooden bed with a thin mattress wrapped in two plastic covers, sticky window that wouldn’t open. There was a chair with one of those plastic cushion sets that could be wiped down easily with a print that screamed rent-by-the-hour motel room. The snacks were plentiful at least, though the window was covered with a thick white material that let in some light but prevented any kind of view. In fact, the whole floor was done up similarly. Violet almost went looking for hose hookups in case they just power-washed everything after each occupant.

She knew the ninth floor was the main heat floor, and they were still waiting for money to redo this one, but it sucked to be banished here to suffer alone. Her heat scent might trigger stronger, longer, or worse heats for others, so she understood, but she felt so isolated it made her feel a little insane. Standing there in the middle of the empty common area with her storage bin of things, Violet itched to do more. Maybe paint the walls green or blue, replace that hideous white countertop that had been scratched and stained with anything else. She wanted to rip the covers off the windows and then rip up the floorboards for good measure.

This was nesting instinct, she knew, but she was angry and that caught her off guard. She hated this room, hated that Marge had locked her in and taken her phone. There was one TV but it was disconnected, so Violet had to make up the bed in silence, then drag the ugly chair out of the room and swap it with the least offensive one from another room, only to cover it with one of her blankets. Then she curled up on the bed with all her pillows and cried.

By day two of Violet’s heat, she was in absolute misery. The knotting dild*s were useless, no matter what Marge said. She could not achieve a full org*sm, despite everything she tried. Her hands, the vibrators, every piece of furniture in this place, nothing worked. And yet she could barely sleep, waking with that horrible emptiness, legs restless, touching herself everywhere. Her throat was an angry red mess that hurt to touch. The glands in her wrists, at the inside of her thighs, even the ones at the sides of her breasts she didn’t realize she had, were all throbbing and itching. She’d scratched them raw, drawn blood, then watched it mix with all that natural lubricant down the shower drain as she fruitlessly tried to get off under the water.

She wanted someone to hold her, to press her into this mattress and talk to her to remind her she was real. She needed someone to fill her, distract her, take away this burning, itching ache that she couldn’t get rid of. In bad moments, Violet bit her arms until they bled, she kicked the chair over so hard it broke, and there was smoothie all over the kitchen floor because the taste of all the food was like ash. She wasn’t hungry for food. She was hungry for a co*ck, for an Alpha’s blood and hormone in her mouth, and she needed to come properly, but it was like cresting a hill not a mountain, never enough. When she’d exhausted herself crying, beating her pillows, and masturbating, she’d collapse in tears, slide the knotting dild* in, and curl up to keep it in place because she felt so hollow inside.

She even slept with the knotting dild* inside her because it was the only way she could find sleep at all. Her whole body kept screaming it wasn’t right though, and she’d shake with the emptiness. Holding her pillow and rocking herself to sleep when the hornyness subsided for twenty minutes was all she could do. Violet had never felt so lonely, so unloved. No one came to save her; no one cared. She was the smallest speck of life left in the city it felt like, and she was forgotten.

During the daylight hours of day five, Violet finally collapsed, falling into a dead sleep that didn’t break when the knotting dild* fell out and wasn’t touched by the sunset or the noise of gunfire outside. She slept for fourteen hours.

When Violet woke and could finally take stock, she felt haggard. Her whole body was shaking, her muscles were exhausted, and her sex felt raw. She threw the useless knotting dild* to the floor and laid there spreadeagled, sweaty and cold and too tired to move.

Dr. King found her like that some hours later and helped Violet cover up and get into the shower, promising breakfast and the end of the nightmare.

“Please don’t clean up,” Violet told her, already feeling bad that the doctor was wearing one of those scent-blockers and a mask, presumably because Violet’s crazy sex hormones had saturated the whole floor. They couldn’t even open the windows to air it until it got staler out for fear of drawing a bunch of roving Alphas to the building. “I’ll do it, just gimme a minute.”

“It’s okay, heats alone are like this.”

“Are they?” That was some relief. Maybe Violet’s Prime-ness didn’t make this as freakish as she’d thought.

“I’m afraid you have it a bit worse,” Dr. King apologized, and Violet dreaded knowing what the rest of the floor looked like. She’d roamed the whole thing in a feverish haze at the height of her heat, searching for anyone to help her get some relief. “But don’t feel ashamed. This is why we take such precautions, and many Omegas have similar behaviors. I’ve got some better food for you once you’re cleaned up.”

The doctor had set up an old table and two chairs in one of the large storage closets, the kind that was probably meant to be another room but had instead been relegated to holiday decorations and defunct furniture now. Violet hadn’t gone in here while in her heat craze, so it was relatively clear of her scent, and Dr. King even managed to pry a window open a little so they didn’t choke on the dust.

On the table was breakfast from a local diner: pancakes smothered in syrup, bacon and toast with butter and jams, an omelet and fresh orange juice.

“Eat whatever you like,” Dr. King offered. “You didn’t eat much the past few days I suspect.”

“I couldn’t stand it,” Violet admitted. “Like chalk. And I forgot a lot.”

“That’s part of the value of sharing a heat,” the doctor commented, taking the other seat and some of the toast and jam. “Alpha instinct includes feeding their partner through their heat.”

“It was awful,” Violet murmured. The pancakes were so sweet and rich it almost made her stomach turn, but she was so hungry she kept eating.

“I’m sorry you have to suffer through it like this,” Dr. King said gently. “I spoke to Marge and she agrees that if this floor is clear during your heat, you could have an Alpha assist here.”

“I— what?” Violet knew the rules were pretty serious here. Safe Haven was for Omegas. No Alphas were permitted above the third floor, and certainly not on heat floors. If Omegas wanted to share their heat with an Alpha, they could do what the rest of the population did: rent a room at a heat-hotel or stay at someone’s place. Safe Haven’s heat rooms were for Omegas who wanted to ride their heats out in safety alone.

“I know.” Dr. King said. “It’s not at all what the Omega Prime Council advises. There’s a drug that can reduce the take of the mating mark. Meaning, even if a partner bit you, the mark wouldn’t last. No hormone would be exchanged. It’s never been used on a Prime, but the mechanism of action suggests it should work fine, and coupled with your IUD and medications if you wanted to take that chance, I would support that.”

“I… that’s good to know, but…” Thinking of the disaster that was the rest of the floor and her own emotions, Violet couldn’t say she wouldn’t absolutely turn down the opportunity to share the burden of her heat, especially with that guarantee. But the thought also terrified her. She’d have done anything in that state for an org*sm and a few comforting words, agreed to anything, signed away her life, donated an organ if someone had promised he could knot her. The vulnerability made her want to curl up under her bed and never come out. “I thought a regular Alpha wasn’t enough?”

“A regular Alpha couldn’t go the full five days,” Dr. King explained, holding her half-eaten toast elegantly, “but at least the first three would be better. Alpha Primes sometimes use a ‘tap-in-tap-out’ method with multiple partners.”

Violet was already shaking her head. “This is— I was insane. Doctor, I don’t know many Alphas, and none that I would trust or be able to help.”

Bruce Wayne came to mind, as he had throughout this whole heat, but that was a fantasy. Regular Alphas and Omegas could resist the compulsion to mate during heat, but between two Primes? Violet didn’t dare chance that. Not to mention Batman could hardly take a week off to f*ck her like crazy. He had better things to do.

“You have six months before the next one, and you clearly survived it.” Dr. King’s smile softened. “Don’t forget that.”

It was small comfort. Violet felt bile in her mouth at the thought of doing this again in six months.

Chapter 6: Slow Down

Chapter Text

Violet had been at Safe Haven for just shy of three months now and things had been going great except for the horrible week that had been her first heat. She’d settled in. Marge had set her up with a stipend so she had a little spending money, and she’d been making friends with some of the other Omegas and staff. She’d even gotten to check out the local area, and while she hadn’t had any bad run-ins she also wasn’t going out late at night and never stayed out too long, aware that she tended to draw stares and a few curious sniffs.

But tonight was special. It was Ada’s birthday.

Things were slowly warming up again with the Secret Peace. Ada hadn’t wavered from standing by Violet, even as her husband, Len, had leaned toward Hank’s side of things. Violet still hadn’t heard from their “leader,” but she’d let Hank sort out his feelings. Melissa, Amit, and Julie had all passed on hellos through Ada, and Violet had given them her new number just in case, but for the most part she felt comfortable in the life she was carving out. She was still in another type of cage, but at least she could open the cell door this time.

Ada wanted to do drinks and a nice dinner for her birthday, and Violet was more than happy to get a little dressed up and enjoy a special night with her friend. Ada also kept in touch with Jake, who told her he could get her a discount at a nice place since he knew the bartender. Marge discouraged Violet from going out after the gates became buzz-in only, but Violet still could, and so far the suppressants were working pretty well. Dr. King had been clear that Violet still registered on the high end for an Omega. Without a mating bite many Alphas would still be drawn to her and these meds weren’t foolproof. There was also the very real risk of breakthrough scent if she got too emotional, but those were all tradeoffs Violet was happy to make just to be able to sit in a restaurant and lay out a white napkin on her lap with a friend.

Was it her fault she’d never paid attention to some of the details of the Batman universe? Or that Ada didn’t tell Len exactly where they were going? If anyone, Jake should have known better, but maybe he thought it was fine or didn’t realize where his buddy the bartender worked exactly.

“So they really built an iceberg inside, huh?” Violet murmured, looking over the railing at the central pool of water. The dining area ringed a miniature indoor lake, which had a giant iceberg at the center decorated with a few fake penguins. There were small penguins wearing bowties stamped on the napkins too.

“Yup, cool, huh? People said the food is good, and obviously it’s popular. Jake said his buddy is one of the managing bartenders here.” Ada waved her hand around at all the other people as they waited for their co*cktails.

The Iceberg Lounge was indeed crowded, and people on the second floor balcony were as dressed up as the fake penguins. The first floor, where Violet and Ada were, was a bit more casual, but people were still in heels and button-ups with ties. The bar was looking pretty packed too for a Thursday night, running along one far wall with big flashy mirrors and tiny crystalline snowflakes. The rounded ceiling was even painted with stars and the aurora borealis. While the room was chilly courtesy of the actual iceberg in it, heat lamps were dotted around, and their table had a little set of candles flickering on it.

Plus, the Polar Bear and Snowflake Martini’s they’d gotten would warm them right up. When the waiter presented them, both girls gasped. Violet’s martini was bright blue with a cherry pierced through with a stick topped with an iceberg, and Ada’s was clear with a frosted ring of sugar. They clinked their glasses together, smiling, and Ada snapped a picture. This was the right way to celebrate.

They got about halfway through the meal before all hell broke loose. Violet had been cutting into her fish and listening to Ada talk about how weird romcoms were in this world when someone screamed. Ada knocked her drink off the table in surprise as armed men burst through a back entrance on the far side of the lake, escorting a short, round man in a tuxedo through the dining room and around the bar. Everyone froze to stare, but it was hard to make out any details with the dim lights and the distance. A few diners nearby them started to stand up and murmur questions to each other, but a new cluster of armed men ran back into the room openly displaying weapons, and then someone fired at the ceiling.

The gunshot was so loud Violet covered her ears, and Ada screamed and scrambled under the white tablecloth. The rest of the patrons around them either did the same or stampeded for the doors.

“Everybody out!” Someone roared, and Violet felt the wave of compulsion sweep over her, but she was too rooted to the floor to move. A few people stumbled or abruptly veered direction, and someone nearby struggled out from under the table looking confused. This was Alpha voice, Violet realized, as Ada’s hand yanked on her arm, tugging her down under the table. If Hank had ever tried it on her she’d never noticed, and she felt dazed as she realized she’d easily resisted the compulsion, just like she’d read Primes could do.

Ada’s tight grip on her arm jerked as someone ran by their table, their shoes off and dress flicking about their knees. She didn’t know what was happening, but it sounded chaotic even though no one was shooting anymore. People were shouting and running but no alarms had gone off. When Violet dared to pop her head up to check if the exits were still open, she could see purses left on tables, cell phones crushed under shoes, and coats abandoned. That’s when two more gunshots went off and bits of ceiling drifted down like confetti. Violet ducked back down, heart pounding so hard she could hear it despite the ringing in her ears. “Oh my god, I can’t believe this is happening.”

It didn’t feel real. Despite the few bursts of gunfire there weren’t any bodies on the floor, and the screaming had basically stopped since most people had cleared out of the dining area.

“Do you think Batman will come?” Ada asked anxiously, knees curled into her chest.

“He better,” Violet replied, even as a weird swirl of giddiness and horror hit her with the thought. She hadn’t seen or heard from Bruce Wayne since that fateful meeting with the Omega Prime Council rep, and she wasn’t sure why. That had seemed like a conversation to follow up on, so did he not know she left the Secret Peace? Or maybe he’d been expecting her to say something? Or had he simply rethought it and decided she wasn’t worth the hassle?

None of that mattered now though, she and Ada needed to get out of here. When the people hiding under the table next to them made a dash for the exit, Violet lifted the tablecloth enough to peer out at the commotion across the lake. The thugs with automatic weapons were looking up at the rafters in worry, though it was hard to make out details since the room was darkened for dinner, and all of them were wearing black. Some of the men had weird little painted on bowties on their shirts.

“It’s the Bat!” someone yelled, and guns went off as the men fired blindly. Violet ducked low, covering her ears until the sound of grunts and thumps was all that could be heard.

“Hey, don’t let me stand in your way!” a younger voice called, and Ada gasped.

“It’s Nightwing!” she whispered excitedly, terror forgotten for a moment. “He’s my favorite.”

Violet couldn’t see much of the fight, but with Nightwing around it seemed like a good time to get out. “We should go.” She jerked her head toward the emergency exit. Ada nodded, and Violet slithered out from under the table. Keeping low they began to move back to the flashing exit sign, away from where a circle of fighters had formed. Violet’s feet were killing her, 3-inch heels weren’t meant for crouching.

Ada went flat against the wall first. Two armed guys came barreling out the exit door, yelling about Batman. Ducked behind a table, Violet could now see in the glimmer of the light reflecting off the water a veritable pile of groaning bodies and a black cape whipping around. Batman had joined the fight, and she watched him slug someone so hard they went ass over end over the bar. Nightwing did a fancy backflip and knocked a gun out of someone’s hand.

One of the two thugs that had come through the door moved forward, checking under tables, heading in the direction of the bar, while the other stayed back, blocking their exit.

“Violet,” Ada hissed, eyes huge and anxious. “We’re trapped.” She was sliding slowly down the wall, as low as she could go to avoid being spotted, her face pale and eyes huge. “What if they find us?”

Violet looked around, trying to see if there was another doorway they could go through. Her blood was thrumming, like when they called a code or mass casualty in the ER and everyone had to kick into action. The main entrance was farther away now than where they’d started, and a little ways behind them there was a set of stairs leading up to the second floor. They could wait for Batman and Nightwing to be done fighting, but this door was literally an emergency exit, and Violet would rather get out of this building entirely. It was only a matter of time until someone saw them.

Discarded on the floor a table over was a metal baseball bat, this one also painted with a white bowtie. Going flat on her stomach Violet reached for it and dragged it over to herself. It was light but solid in her grip. She could probably concuss the guy with this.

“What are you doing?” Ada hissed.

“Getting out of here.”

The thug by the exit was watching the fight as Nightwing covered Batman’s back so he could interrogate someone. She couldn’t make out the words, but the gravel in his voice was enough to know he was speaking. A wildly inappropriate heat started between her legs, and she tightened her hold on the bat.

“Let’s just wait,” Ada whispered back, holding the table leg in a white grip. “It’s almost over.”

There was the slam of a door bouncing off a wall from upstairs, and a British, nasal voice yelled from up top, “Get ‘em boys!”

At least five more guys started pointing weapons down at Batman and Nightwing from the second floor, and now Violet was really glad they hadn’t tried the stairs.

“Penguin!” Ada mouthed, looking shocked.

Well, at least the penguin motif everywhere made sense now.

Guys were dropping off the balcony to the floor, and Violet had no idea where Penguin got so much expendable help, but they all went in trying to overwhelm Batman. Nightwing went flipping off the wall in a graceful turn, and kicked two guys in the face, and the fight started anew.

“Hey, you,” the guy guarding the door called, apparently itching to fight. He was pointing at someone Violet couldn’t see. “Gimme your wallet or I’ll rough you and your Omega up.”

He started moving from the door, and Violet felt hot all over as her gaze jumped from the aggressive thug intimidating the couple to Batman and Nightwing still mostly on the other side of the lake. That thug could probably get a few hits in and pocket some change before either hero could interrupt. She knew what she could do, and she knew what she shouldn’t do, but the adrenaline was making it all blur, and when the thug’s head lifted to scent the air Violet went totally still. Every instinct in her lit up and she was as tense as live wire. That thug was an Alpha, and he’d caught a whiff of her scent breaking through. She knew it the way someone knew just before a dog was about to bite.

“We can go!” Ada hissed, sliding as unobtrusively as possible over to the exit door.

“I’m gonna hit him,” Violet told her in a low voice. Her heart was pounding hard, but her mind was nice and clear: she needed to hit the thug as hard as she could in the back of the head or the kidneys, whichever she could reach. Her every instinct told her he would find her if she tried to run. The metal bat was a welcome weight as she stalked him from behind, his nose still up in the air, seeming confused by what he was smelling.

A couple things happened at once when Violet swung the bat: it landed hard against the man’s flank, and he let out a choked yell of surprise and pain, while Violet’s whole body reverberated with the hit. At the same moment Ada pushed the emergency exit door open, turning on the overhead light above it and setting off the alarm. Batman and Nightwing looked up with the rest of the room in time to see Violet raise the bat again and hit the still-standing thug in the kneecap.

There was an audible crack, and Violet immediately felt horrible for almost definitely breaking his knee, but one of the men he’d been menacing scrambled up, looking at her in wide-eyed shock, before darting past her for the exit, holding another trembling man’s hand. Ada was standing motionless in surprise, her jaw slack, holding the door open.

Violet must have frozen or Batman teleported, because she had barely taken a breath before his hand was on the bat, catching it before she could reflexively hit whoever approached.

“What are you doing here?” he growled through the voice modulator, their eyes meeting for a moment before his gaze went past her to Ada, who was watching stunned. “Go,” he ordered, and she was gone in a second, the door shut behind her. There was still some grunting from the far side of the room as Nightwing cleaned up, and a whimper from the guy clutching his knee on the ground.

“It’s Ada’s birthday,” Violet said dumbly, staring up at him. Her brain felt freshly scrambled. This was her first look at the Batman. He looked nothing like Bruce Wayne now, the cowl hiding almost his whole face, his voice almost an octave lower, and the thick, molded suit adding to the general menace and control he exuded. Violet felt sweaty and flushed even though this room was freezing, and her heart was going too fast, and she felt so relieved and also so hot that it couldn’t just be the adrenaline.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“It’s clear, B,” Nightwing said, stopping short when he landed about ten feet away. “Everything okay?”

“f*cking Omega bitch,” the man she’d hit mumbled, and everyone looked down at him.

Batman put a boot on his wrist in warning, and he went still, glaring angrily up at him. There was a tense moment, and then the man turned his head away, neck bared. Then Batman hit his heel on the ground and a little puff of grey smoke escaped his boot, and the man went slack.

That was a dominance display, Violet realized. She’d heard a lot of the Omegas at Safe Haven talk about stuff like that, but it was weird and kind of cool to see it done in front of her. Also, she felt lightheaded.

“Give me the bat.”

Violet pulled it closer instinctively, then, realizing what she was doing, she let go of the grip. Batman tossed it away where it made a suspicious noise like it had hit someone. “I’m taking her home. Nightwing, did you locate Penguin?”

“He’s fled, had a car down the street. I put a tracker on one of his men though.” He was looking curiously at her.

“Send me your location when you’ve found him, and I’ll meet you there.”

“I can get home just fine,” Violet said, her heart racing, and she could feel a tremor in her knees that probably wasn’t good. “I need to make sure Ada is okay.”

“The police are outside. Sure you want to give them a statement?” A bit of that richness from their last conversation slipped into his voice, for a moment almost recognizable as Bruce Wayne.

“Let me call her at least.” Fortunately, Violet had grabbed her purse when the violence started. It had her high-grade suppressants, she was never letting it go. She started to reach for it but Nightwing’s head turned sharply, and she jerked reflexively back. She didn’t see the way Batman’s jaw tightened as he saw that.

“Uh, GCPD’s about to get in here,” Nightwing informed them, looking at the main entrance doors. There were voices coming from behind it.

“Let’s go.”

This time the order made her shaking knees move before Violet could even process the words. She expected Nightwing to grapple up and away, but he followed after her and Batman through the same exit Ada had gone, avoiding the alarm trigger by using the doorknob, and into the now empty alleyway. Batman put a hand up, and she stopped moving immediately, and then he touched the side of his cowl. “Oracle, I need a scent sweeper sent to my location.”

As he walked away from her the strange compulsion melted away, and Violet felt her knees turn back into jelly. She was still all mixed up inside, but now there was an added low burn, something that could shift to anger or arousal with the right spark. She didn’t get to chew on the feeling for more than a second as Nightwing crossed his arms next to her. “So, uh, you know Batman?”

“Oh sorry, I’m Violet. I’m a member of the Secret Peace.” She almost offered her hand to shake before she remembered people didn’t do that here. She also probably shouldn’t be scent-sharing.

“Oh!” Nightwing’s eyes flashed to Bruce who was finishing whatever call he was on with Oracle. “No wonder. You on business here?”

“No, no, it was Ada’s birthday.”

“So you went to the Iceberg Lounge?” Nightwing’s mask really did move with his expressions as his eyes went wide. Violet wondered what it was made from. He was sporting the mainstay black and blue version of his outfit with black boots, and his baton sticks were visible above his shoulders.

“It had good reviews,” she defended, distracted as she tried to remember what his specific weapons were called.

“Are you kidding? I thought you guys were supposed to know all about this stuff. This place is a mob joint.”

“It gets worse,” Batman warned Nightwing, while typing something on the screen attached to his gauntlet. “Your friend is fine, by the way. GCPD logged her as being at the scene and being treated.”

“Worse?” Nightwing repeated.

“Okay, it slipped my mind that the Iceberg Lounge was Penguin’s place,” Violet admitted. She was starting to feel trembly again, and as she sniffed she realized she couldn’t smell either man, despite standing not far from an Alpha Prime and whatever dynamic Nightwing was. The only thing in her nose was the garbage of the alleyway and the metal still left on her hands from the bat.

She really wanted to sit down before her legs gave out, but then her phone rang, and she almost dropped it as she fumbled to pick it up. “Ada? Hey!”

“Oh my god, Violet are you okay? Did you get out?!”

“I’m fine, completely fine. Are you okay?”

“I’m okay, GCPD just went in, but they’ve got the whole place surrounded. Can you get home? They’re sending us all off. I can wait a couple blocks away, but I’m not sure how you can get to a street to find a taxi right now.”

“Don’t worry, I’m with Batman,” Violet reassured.

“Holy sh*t, Batman?”

“Yeah, I’ll let you know when I’m home safe. You do the same, okay?”

Nightwing was gone when Violet ended the call. Batman was looking past her down the alleyway now. “Hold on.”

His arm went around her waist pulling her against him, and then there was the short burst of air as he fired a grapple gun, and the wind whipped around them as they lifted off the ground. Violet grabbed his shoulders to steady herself, eyes squeezed tightly shut until he settled her feet back down on the rooftop.

“Whoa.” The rush of adrenaline left her even more unsteady, and Batman’s arm remained around her a few moments longer before he stepped back. Her knees immediately buckled and he grabbed her arms, basically holding her up until she got a few breaths in, her fingers clenched on the hard, smooth plates of his forearms. He was a huge, steady presence even though she couldn’t get the faintest whiff of him, and that made her throat tight for some reason.

“What were you thinking?” he snapped, suddenly bringing one of her wrists up to his nose. “Your scent is clear through whatever you thought would hide it.”

“It normally works,” Violet argued, the rush of heat through her body completely unfair even as it steadied her knees. Her throat wouldn’t unstick though, and when he let go she had to fight not sway into him.

“You’re not living with Hank anymore,” he said, glancing over the side of the roof. Voices were echoing down it, a couple police officers covering the exit.

“How’d you know?” She raised her wrist to her nose but couldn’t smell him at all. She practically huffed at the skin, but couldn’t get any of that scent. Her cheeks burned when she realized he was staring at her, and she hurriedly dropped her hand.

“You don’t have any Alpha scent on you,” he told her, and then he triggered some hidden latch at his wrist and took his armored glove off, revealing one calloused hand with blunt fingernails.

“I can’t go back to—”

“Wipe it off later,” he ordered, taking her wrist in his still-gloved hand and rubbing his bare one against her pulse point. He did this on both sides, then reattached the glove. This time when Violet lifted her wrist to her nose she could smell him, the dark, thick scent that was Bruce Wayne. With each breath she felt less like she was standing on a moving ship and more on solid ground. Batman watched her, his gaze burning her even though she couldn’t make out his expression.

“Thanks. That helps,” she finally murmured. This rooftop’s view was mostly obscured by higher buildings around it, but directly behind Batman was a clear view of an empty parking garage, and then a strip of lights from shops that ran along the riverfront. It was almost pretty, though Violet’s eyes kept drifting to the way his shoulders just blocked it all out, the shape of Batman just… huge. Distracting. Strong.

“You might not come down without it,” he grunted.

“What?”

“Hysteria.” Indignation jolted her, but she didn’t have time to ask more before he went on. “Have you thought about my offer?”

“I have, and I don’t need your help.” She’d been thinking about it since settling into Safe Haven, and talking it over with Ada this evening had solidified her thoughts. The promise of a real job and her own kind of freedom didn’t seem so far outside the realm of possibility now, and she had a safe source for suppressants. Tonight had shaken some of her confidence that she could manage alone, especially when she realized how much better she felt with even just a little hit of Alpha scent in her nose. Dr. King had ominously warned of a few things, like that Violet could become neurotic if she remained packless, but so far she hadn’t had any real side effects. “But I’m willing to help you,” she added. “I’ll be the judge of what to share though. If you’re stuck or I see some warning signs, I’ll let you know.”

If Bruce were a lesser Alpha he’d be insulted to have an Omega Prime reject him, but he was only amused by her gall. She knew he had no other way to get her information short of interrogating the Secret Peace, and the Justice League all agreed that was a terrible idea. Alphas liked to think they were in charge, though there were plenty of cases where the Omega clearly held the reins, but Bruce wasn’t sure he’d ever heard of an Omega Prime driving the horse quite like this.

Violet had had a feral, electric energy when he’d met her last, and seeing her tonight using violence to defend herself and another had been as infuriating as it was attractive. He should have sent her off with a spray of scent suppressant and washed his hands of her. Instead he’d given her a light scent mark when he’d seen the start of a spiral, and now he was burning time with her tonight with her that should be spent tracking down Penguin.

“Is Hank aware of this offer?”

“No,” she admitted easily. “And I’d appreciate your discretion with him. I’m not sure how much he knows of my whereabouts now, and I’m not about to tell him. I’m at New Gotham’s Omega Safe Haven.”

Something unclenched in Bruce’s chest. Some of the things she’d said, and the way she’d smelled when he’d brought up the Secret Peace leader, had bothered him when they’d last spoken. He knew he was sensitive to her, Prime to Prime, Alpha to Omega, but on a more basic level she’d just been plain unhappy.

“You need to be careful even in there,” he warned her. “One slip is all it takes. Do not repeat what happened tonight.”

“I know.” She shuddered, and Bruce knew it wasn’t just from the cold on this rooftop. He had to turn his nose into the wind lest that lingering frisson of arousal grew larger. And he needed to stop giving her orders.

“I’ll get you home. Then I need to finish things with Penguin.”

The Batmobile was tucked away in an alley a few blocks over. She actually laughed excitedly when he swung them two buildings over to the car using the grapple gun. She fit well against his side, her breath briefly touching his jaw, and her hands locking tight against his armor. He released her in the dark shadows of a building, and she stepped away to touch the Batmobile immediately.

“There’s an underground garage beneath Safe Haven if that’s easier to drop me off at. It’s got cameras, but I’m sure Oracle can manage.”

He nodded, opening the doors, an odd sensation in his chest at how familiar she was with his life. There was no hesitation seeing him in the suit versus out, and she’d chatted with Nightwing and now referenced Oracle with barely a thought. He watched Violet settle into the seat, her hand lightly running along the leather and then the dash. It wasn’t meant to be sensual, but as soon as the driver side door was shut her scent quickly filled the small space, and Bruce became very aware of the unrelenting fit of his armor. He should have just programmed the car to take her itself, but he needed it since Dick had pinged him Penguin’s location, and Safe Haven was on the way.

Meanwhile, Violet was in heaven. The Batmobile was awesome, all black leather and red lights, a million knobs, levers, and buttons, and a deep rumble that went right up her spine. A bit of Bruce’s scent was in here too, and she wasn’t sure if she was just imagining it or maybe he took off the cowl or his gloves in here enough that she could scent it. It didn’t matter, she wasn’t feeling as crazy with adrenaline as before, even though her fingers itch to touch something in the car. Bruce drove it smoothly in total darkness through the streets of Gotham, the engine surprisingly quiet once they got moving.

The sleek car looked pretty silly in the harsh fluorescent lights of the parking garage under Safe Haven when Violet got out. All the other cars were little compact ones the Omegas could borrow, and all were dinged up with faded paint, as small as clown cars next to the hulking Batmobile.

It felt even weirder as she paused by the open door. Saying thanks for the ride seemed bizarre after the events of tonight.

“Give me your phone.”

Violet was confused. “Why?”

“My number.”

She felt immediately silly, it wasn’t like she was going to put a Bat Signal on the roof to alert him when she had info. Her hands tightened on the phone. Then, as a thought occurred to her, and just enough of the martini remained in her system, she blurted it out.

“Make me. I mean, make it an order.” Batman just stared at her, and she knew she’d confused him. “Tonight, someone tried to use their voice on me, but it didn’t work. You used it earlier and it did. I want to know what it feels like when it’s not an emergency or something.”

She felt perfectly ridiculous and very sure this was the dumbest idea she’d had, possibly stupider than blindly going to the Iceberg Lounge with Ada, but Bruce didn’t say so.

“Give me your phone.” Her phone was in his hand almost before she could think it. His voice took on a gravity, a range, that was beyond human hearing but seemed to ring in another part of her brain. It was fascinating and scary, and she could barely look at him when she took her phone back. “Satisfied?”

She nodded dimly. “Yeah that’s… scary.” She stepped back before he could say anything, thinking about the Omegas of this world who couldn’t brush off regular Alpha’s orders, and how easily they could be controlled. It was a wonder more Omegas weren’t abused or enslaved.

“You can learn to resist it. Even from me,” he said, and then the wing-style door started to close, and Violet quickly stepped back. She turned her phone over in her hands as she started toward the elevator, thinking about all the things she needed to look up tonight, from Alpha Voice to hysteria to the names of mob-run restaurants. The Batmobile took off, quiet even in the underground garage, and Bruce fixed the rooftop camera on her until she was safely behind the elevator doors.

When he met back up with Nightwing outside Penguin’s latest safe house Dick leaned in and sniffed exaggeratedly.

“The Secret Peace is definitely withholding more than just information. Something wasn’t right there.”

“She’s an Omega Prime.”

“She’s a what? B, that’s—”

“—The end of the conversation.” Batman jumped down on to the roof of the building to find an entrance, and muted the com with Nightwing before he hijacked it to ask more questions. He needed to focus on Penguin and work out some of the extra aggression that came from handling an Omega Prime tonight.

Chapter 7: no body no crime

Chapter Text

Violet was sitting on the lumpy blue couch in the third-floor rec room watching TV when Dr. King found her. She wasn’t actually paying attention to the game show the others were watching. Instead it was the ads. The latest one featured a beautiful, thin man with high cheekbones holding a silky red cloth that he rubbed alluringly against his neck, wrists, and, with a husky laugh, drop it below the waist and camera view. Then it shot to a taller woman with him accepting the cloth and closing her eyes to bask in the scent. It reminded her of perfume ads, but it was for… scenting cloths? Violet couldn’t figure out how they might be different than handkerchiefs and was puzzling over that when she noticed Dr. King beckoning to her from the doorway.

“Violet, I think you may be able to help me with something,” she said as she led the way to the elevator where Marge joined them. Dr. King was in her usual white coat, and Marge was wearing a plaid jacket over a blouse and slacks that made her look vaguely British. Violet felt underdressed in front of her boss wearing sweatpants and a secondhand t-shirt from the consignment shop down the street.

“Help how?”

“Preventing us from having to call for transportation to the hospital,” Marge said, and Violet’s eyebrows went up.

“We’re hoping the calming effect you have on your floor can help with an Omega in crisis,” Dr. King explained.

“Who is it?” Violet asked. She knew all of the regulars by now, though there was a fair bit of turnover.

The elevator doors opened at that moment though, and Dr. King led them quickly through the halls past the exam room Violet had been in before, then down an unfamiliar corridor. The door on the end had a narrow sliding window set in it like a jail cell and a deadbolt.

“Crystal is in there,” Marge said, jutting with her chin at the ominous door. “Her roommate said her Alpha has been calling her, and she went outside to see him. The police at the main entrance said they had to separate them, and she’s been hysterical since.”

Hysterical. That didn’t just mean emotionally out of control in this world. Violet stared at the door, trying to wrap her head around. According to the pamphlets she’d found, defying Alpha commands or significant stress could cause an Omega to “have an emotional breakdown resulting in unstable moods and psychosis.” None of them used plain English to tell her what that really looked like, and the rec room’s two computers were always in high demand. She’d thought about going down at three a.m. to see if she could do a quick search, but it had only been a week since she’d been at the Iceberg Lounge. She hadn’t thought the information might be relevant this quickly.

“This is our low sensory room,” Dr. King explained, stepping in front of the cell-like door. “It’s not as sophisticated as a hospital’s, but I’d like to think it’s less stressful than being moved there. I’m afraid Crystal may need to be sedated if she cannot self-soothe. Marge and I believe you may be able to help her do that.”

“And if I can’t, then we have to sedate her?” The pamphlets had really undersold hysteria, Violet was realizing. As a nurse she had helped sedate patients in the ER before, but that was usually reserved for only the most combative ones. She didn’t want that to happen to Crystal.

Crystal was an Omega in her mid-50s who lived three doors down from Violet and was one of the kindest people on the fifth floor. She was always the first person ready to help, often cleaning up dishes in the communal sink, vacuuming around the couch, or picking up after the others, when she wasn’t on the phone soothing her grandkids with little songs. In group therapy she had talked about her two different, abusive relationships, her fractured connection with her Alpha daughter, and her overwhelming love for her three grandkids. Her second bond wasn’t fully severed yet, and her pack was very dysfunctional, which was why she had an obsessive urge to avoid conflict. That was how she’d ended up on Violet’s floor at Safe Haven.

“Yes, we’ll have to sedate her if she continues to try to hurt herself,” Dr. King said grimly.

“She’s hurting herself?” Violet asked with alarm.

Marge huffed as Dr. King gave Violet one of her inscrutable looks. “When hysterical, many Omegas will hurt themselves, either as an outlet for their overwhelming emotions or to lure their Alpha to them. Pain reverberates particularly strongly through a bond.”

Violet nodded, trying to look like this wasn’t entirely new information. “Okay, how can I help her self-soothe?” She mostly helped the Omegas on her floor or in therapy by just being there and staying calm, relying on that unconscious Ripple Effect, but this sounded more active.

“Do all the usual soothing techniques. You may not be able to reason with her, but try to stop her from hurting herself at least,” Marge said, sounding impatient. “We’re required by law to stabilize her, but if we can’t, we’ll have to sedate her and call for transport. Clock is ticking.”

“Soothe her…” Violet said nervously, not having any idea what techniques Marge was talking about. Other Omegas had alluded to those, but she hadn’t looked into the specifics. Now, she was kicking herself for wondering about television ads and watching the news about superheroes and villains instead of doing any research into her own dynamic.

“If you don’t feel safe, or worry you’re becoming hysterical, please just call out. We have the cameras on you,” Dr. King reassured. “Usually in the hospital they call pack members or trained specialists for this, but we don’t have those options here.”

“Okay, I’ll try.”

Violet didn’t know what to expect, but the low sensory room was somewhere between a meditation room and a padded cell. The walls were painted dark blue and soft to the touch, and the only sources of light were dim string lights on the ceiling. There were half a dozen floor cushions of various sizes and shapes and a small mountain of blankets along with a handful of protein bars and a couple water bottles. Crystal sat miserably in the corner, huddled between the largest pouf and the wall, her graying hair hanging limply in front her face. She sniffed hard when Violet came in, and her head shot up warily.

“Hi, Crystal.”

“Hi,” Crystal said dully, scrunching down even further when Violet approached.

She sat down on the floor a few feet away and leaned against one of the walls, taking in Crystal’s body language. She looked scared and sad, scrunched into as tight a corner as she could with her eyes lowered again to the ground, sniffing every few seconds. There was the beginning of a bruise on her forehead and her lips had been bitten up so badly she was licking away blood. Tear marks painted pale streaks in her usually impeccable makeup, and her scent was iron and salt and a frizzing, almost electric edge that made the hairs on Violet’s arm stand up.

“Dr. King asked me to help you. Will you talk to me?”

Crystal turned her head away. “I thought you weren’t a therapist.”

“I’m not,” Violet admitted. “But I’m a good listener.”

The other Omega put her head in her hands and gripped her head so hard the scalp turned white under her fingertips. “I need to go back to him and explain. If he’ll listen it’ll be okay. I can make it okay.”

“Him?”

“Gerald. Alpha. I can explain to him. I won’t go back to him. I won’t. But it hurts not to, and he’s so— so—” She turned sharply and hit her head against the wall, bouncing off it so hard that Violet gasped.

“Crystal, don’t.” She grabbed Crystal’s shoulder and pulled her away from the wall. There was a brief struggle as the woman resisted, before she suddenly melted to the floor and broke down sobbing. Violet let go of her only to watch Crystal curl into a ball and rock back and forth holding her knees.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I can still hear him in my head! He wants me to go back to him.”

Violet leaned over to hug the rocking woman, draping herself over her like she could somehow shield her somehow from the world. “Hey, it’s going to be okay. You can fight this,” she told her, rocking with her and thinking about what Dr. King had told her about Alpha Voice and her own, brief experience with Batman’s.

“I can’t, I can’t,” Crystal chanted lowly, moaning in anguish and sniffling hard into her folded arms. “He wanted me to stay. My pack needs me; he needs me. The children will be hurt without me.” She looked up at Violet frantically, almost banging into her chin, and her nose was twitching as hard as a rabbit’s. “Who will take care of them? Who will soothe our Alpha after a bad day? I need to go back. I have to! But I— I—”

“Can’t?”

“I don’t want to!” Crystal shuddered and groaned, putting her head in her hands. “I’m a horrible Omega! He’s right to discipline me; I deserve it! What am I doing?!”

Crystal’s voice cracked on the last few words, but Violet could hear the scream, the plea in them to make all of this stop. She felt so helpless as she wrapped her arms around Crystal’s neck, half pulling her into her lap even though Crystal was bigger than her. She didn’t know what her Alpha had ordered her to do or what he’d said to her, but she had to stop this spiral, as Batman had called it. She had trauma training she could draw on.

“Crystal—”

“—I can kneel!” the other woman offered brokenly, voice cracking between sobs. “I’ll kneel, right there, in front of Sarah if I have to! That will please him…” Crystal moaned, and the pitch curved into a whine that Violet felt in the back of her throat. Before she consciously realized it, they were both making this high-pitched sound. It reverberated through Violet’s mouth, squeezing her airway like she couldn’t breathe. Crystal’s whine was a sound of such need it stole her breath. Violet gasped abruptly to make it stop, even as Crystal held the note.

“Stop, Crystal, stop.” Violet put her hand over the Omega’s mouth and she fell silent, staring at her with wide eyes. It was the first time she’d stopped moving since she’d started to breakdown when Violet came in. Had that been an Omega Whine? Violet had heard about it, but she couldn’t focus on that. She finally had Crystal’s full attention as she slowly pulled her hand away. “Crystal, can tell you me one thing you can taste?”

“Taste?” she croaked, voice hoarse.

“Yes. Lick your lips for me. What do you taste?”

“Tears,” she murmured after a moment.

“Now, can you tell me two things you can smell?”

She hesitated and sniffed, but this time it didn’t seem as desperate, just scenting the air. “You. And… detergent.”

“Good, and how about three things you can hear?” She picked up Crystal’s limp hands in her lap and rubbed her thumbs against her palms, trying to ground her.

“Your voice.” She sniffled. “My voice. The, uh, vents.”

“Okay, that’s okay. Four things you can feel?”

“Your hands. The floor. Um…” She glanced around, and Violet squeezed her hands.

“It’s okay if you can’t think of anything.” Maybe a low sensory room was a bad place to be using this grounding technique. “How about five things you can see.”

Crystal was trembling slightly, but she squeezed Violet’s hands back. “I can see you. The purple floor cushion. The cabinet. That d-door.” She stumbled a bit on that one. “And a blanket.”

“Good! Can you describe for me your bedroom? Like, what color is your bedspread?”

“Grey.” Crystal’s hands tightened on hers, and her breath got shaky. “Dark grey. Gerald doesn’t like bright colors.”

“Okay, okay,” Violet murmured, scooting closer until her knees touched Crystal’s. She was sitting cross-legged while Crystal was kneeling. “What color bedspread would you buy for yourself?”

Crystal blinked at her slowly. “Green.”

“Solid color or with a pattern?”

“Flowers, maybe. I… I bought one like that for my older girl when she was little.”

Violet smiled, and a couple tears slipped from the corner of Crystal’s eyes. Still holding one of her hands, Violet reached over to the side for one of the blankets and offered a corner to the other woman. Crystal wiped her red face, smearing mascara everywhere, as Violet cast around for something else to keep this distraction going. She wasn’t sure how to gauge when Crystal was truly calm and no longer in danger of spiraling again.

Her stomach rumbled a little at the thought of sitting here for hours with the other woman. It would be worth it, but it had been lunchtime when Dr. King got her. “What would you make yourself for lunch if you could have anything?”

Crystal seemed to think about it, and she actually pulled her other hand from Violet’s to wipe away more tears. Their knees still touched though. “Pizza, maybe. I hadn’t had pizza in years until I got here. He said it would make me fat. That I’d be unattractive, and it wasn’t good for me.” Her voice got thicker, and Violet felt an instinctive warning that the whining she’d heard earlier wasn’t far away. “In his own way he— he cared. About my health.”

“That doesn’t sound like caring,” Violet murmured.

“He took care of me. At first. He had a good job; his house even had an actual nesting room. I’d never even seen one before.”

Violet hadn’t heard of that before, but she hummed agreement and added it to the list of things she was absolutely going to research the moment a computer was free. “Did you have a job?”

“I was a cashier at the grocery store. That’s how we met. But he made enough I didn’t— he didn’t want me to work. I was a pampered Omega.”

“Is that what you wanted?” Violet had heard that phrasing before: a pampered Omega. She got the sense it was somewhere between winning the lottery and being a trophy wife.

“Everyone wants that.”

“Do they? I think I’d be bored,” Violet admitted.

Crystal cracked a smile for the first time since she walked in, and that warning hum in the back of Violet’s mind edged off a bit. “I was a little until baby Sarah came along.”

“Would you go back to the cashier job? Or, well, if you could do anything, money not an issue, what would you do?”

Crystal blinked big, still slightly wet eyes at Violet. “What?”

“Any job or hobby in the world. You could be President, a lawyer, run a bookshop, be a farmer. What would you do?”

“Omegas can’t be president.”

Violet frowned, but she couldn’t address that right now. Crystal was patting down the blanket in her lap absentmindedly, tucking in the edges around herself. “I guess I mean, what do you want to be when you grow up?”

Crystal half-smiled, but she still looked confused.

“I always wanted to be an astronaut,” Violet finally said. “I went on a school trip to a planetarium and that was it. I was sold. Until I barely passed calculus and physics and found out there would be a lot more math.”

“They didn’t offer calculus on the Omega track when I was a girl,” Crystal replied, and Violet was about to open her mouth to ask more questions about that, but Crystal went on. “I guess if I could do anything, even be president,” she chuckled, “I’d be a singer.”

Violet smiled, and Crystal turned and pulled one of the softer floor cushions over, shifting until she’d settled on it.

“You wanna sing something right now?” Violet asked. She could hold a tune, but she didn’t have the natural voice for it.

“It’s been awhile since I sang something that wasn’t for babies,” Crystal admitted, and she cleared her throat nervously. Such a simple, normal behavior from the other woman felt incredibly reassuring to Violet.

“Here, I’ve got a good one,” Violet said, thinking about songs from Crystal’s era and something appropriate for the moment. “You’ll have to forgive my voice though.” Violet held up a pretend mic: “First I was afraid/I was petrified/Kept thinking I could never live without you by my side…”

She was pretty out of tune, and by the time she handed her fake mic over to Crystal she was shaking her head. “I don’t know that one.”

“Oh,” Violet cut off her rendition of “I Will Survive”, adding yet another thing to check if it still existed in this world when she got a computer. “Well it’s your turn anyway.”

Crystal laughed uncomfortably, but Violet kept holding out the invisible mic. “It’s just you and me in here. Let’s drown him out with a song.” She held her breath, realizing too late she hadn’t meant remind her of Gerald, but Crystal looked down for a moment before she made her own invisible mic.

She started off with a thready voice that fell out of the notes too fast and with a slightly off beat, but as Violet started to hum along Crystal’s voice got stronger. Soon enough she could hear that natural talent slipping through the words of Carole King’s song. “When you’re down and troubled/And you need some lovin’ care/And nothin’, nothin’ is going right/Close your eyes and think of me/And soon I will be there…”

It wasn’t the song she would have picked for the moment, but it was a song to describe Crystal, and she could see how emotional it made her when she closed her eyes at the chorus.

The door opened as they got to the well-known, “I’ll be there, yes I will/You’ve got a friend…”, and Dr. King hummed along too, smiling as Crystal trailed off the song.

“That’s a great song by an excellent Omega singer. How are you feeling Crystal?”

“Better,” she admitted, voice sounding tight suddenly as Dr. King stepped away from the door and left it pointedly open. “Done with embarrassing myself down here.”

Dr. King smiled, and she sat down on the floor with them, her white coat settling around her like a cape. “Please don’t be embarrassed. Hysteria can happen to any of us. We’re just glad you’ve come back to yourself now.”

“I’m sorry I broke down,” she said, not looking at Violet or the doctor. “I shouldn’t have gone to him. All that therapy and for what? One promise and I’m out there.” She laughed darkly to herself, but Dr. King tutted kindly.

“When you’re bonded to someone it’s much harder to defy an order, but you did that. You got away from him and back into the building. You stood up for yourself, and then you asked for help. Those are things strong and brave people do. And in this safe room it’s okay to express your needs, your wants, and your fears. You’re still connected to him right now, but you’re safe here.”

Marge helped Crystal up to her room after that, and though the stout administrator wasn’t the warmest woman, Violet caught her rubbing Crystal’s arm as the elevator doors shut.

“It doesn’t seem fair that Alphas get that Voice,” Violet murmured as she and Dr. King went to her office just next door.

Dr. King went around her desk to pick up her coffee mug, looking at Violet over the rim. “Whining is technically a compulsion when pitched correctly. Omegas can learn to do it voluntarily, just like Alphas Voice.”

“Wait, what do you mean?”

“Ever heard a fifteen-year old Alpha try to Voice his Beta friends or Omega schoolmates? We aren’t born with the ability to use it at will. It has to be learned. Only in times of crisis can we use it instinctively. Omega Whines are the same. You did it with Crystal just now.”

“I didn’t mean to do it then,” Violet admitted, imagining a shadow of that echo in her throat. Bruce had been able to use his Voice at her request, but then again, he was Batman.

“You were mirroring her, yes, but you got it under control, and it’s interesting that you were able to cut her’s off.” Dr. King took a sip of her coffee, but Violet wasn’t sure what to say to that. Dr. King already suspected something major was up with her. After a moment where neither said anything, Dr. King shrugged. “Well, as the saying goes, ‘When Alphas Voice Omegas jump; when Omegas Whine Alphas fly.’”

Violet chewed on that saying all through dinner that night. She thought about it as she listened to Crystal get on the phone with her grandkids to wish them goodnight, singing them a little of Carole King’s song, and then circled the thought some more as she got ready for bed herself. Maybe Omegas weren’t as defenseless and helpless as everyone made it sound. Maybe she needed to add “Omega superheroes” to her list of things to internet search.

The rec room had two computers, and for two days after helping Crystal, Violet saw people sitting at them every time she got a free moment to stop by. Smart phones were still relatively new and expensive in this dimension, so everyone was still sharing the computers for internet access except a lucky few. Violet vowed to hold off on buying more birthday decorations for Room 6 and to shop more conscientiously at the grocery stores so she could put her next few paychecks directly into a smart phone.

She finally got lucky on the third day around 11 p.m., spotting one of the Omegas who liked to game on the computer in the evening heading into her room. Violet quickly pulled on shoes and rushed down to the rec room, breathing out a sigh of relief as she set her notebook down and opened up a search engine.

Almost two hours later she was back up in her room with several pages of notes on hysteria, Whining, Voicing, glands, Gloria Gaynor, nesting rooms—which made up 90% of Pinterest in this world—and the Omega Prince Council. She’d found a million forums discussing which members of the Justice League might be Omegas, but since many were aliens no one was even sure they had a dynamic. Violet found herself quite jealous of that late into the night scratching at the gland in her throat as she pulled on her pajamas, the itch of the cotton shirt irritating her neck for just the moment it touched it. She’d also taken notes on the complicated interplay of neurotransmitters and Alpha/Omeag brain anatomy that basically made Omegas and Alphas what they were, which had been fascinating and alarming. Had she really grown an entire new structure in her brain and ten new hormone glands in the blink between dimensions?

Violet settled into bed and shoved the notes in the nightstand drawer, but her brain wouldn’t stop churning. It was too bad nursing classes at the community college probably wouldn’t work for her. She still tended to draw extra sniffs when she got too close to Alphas sometimes. She’d had to stop going to the local park’s farmer’s market because one of the young Alphas that worked there had taken to asking her questions and rubbing her change in his fingers so the bills smelled like him before he handed them to her. Sitting in class for an hour or more each day might be pushing her luck.

She eventually fell asleep dreaming about zinging serotonin and Omegatonin, teeth in her neck, and Batman taking off his gloves on that rooftop, before she stirred awake to a tapping at her window.

The tapping turned out not to be just a weird dream. Violet’s half-awake mind struggled to interpret what was happening as it all unfolded: an upside down, red and black shape was hanging outside her window and then opening it from the outside. With a grunt someone was falling into her apartment.

She practically fell out of bed herself, jerking up at the loud thump and bang. A large shape groaned on the floor. “Violet Rogers? Secret Peace?”

“What? Uh, yes, that’s me. Who are— why are you—what’s going on?”

“Got a— light?” She could hear the mystery person breathing hard, and Violet tried not to step on them as she fumbled for the light switch on the wall. When she flicked it on, she could finally see a young man in a red outfit with pants and sleeves so dark green they were almost black laying on her floor. This version of the uniform had a crisscrossing yellow chest harness and utility belt that matched the yellow underside of a cape.

It barely took a second for her sleepy brain to wake up and recognize who was on her floor. “Red Robin? Are you okay? What are you doing here? Did something happen?” Her heart started to pound faster. What on Earth was a Robin doing in her apartment? Did something happen to Batman?

“You’re working— with Batman— right? ” he asked, taking a hard breath every few words. “Need to rest— a minute.”

“You aren’t breathing well. Are you hurt?” He started to get up and she quickly tried to help, getting under the leanly muscled arm of Red Robin, but he didn’t really need her to hold him up. She mostly just guided him to the living room couch where he sank in, letting go of his staff so it bumped the wall.

“That’s better.” He sniffed deliberately this time, and Violet tensed. “Never smelled—Omega Prime before. You should— work on your— security.”

“You should work on your breathing,” she retorted, trying to pretend like she wasn’t freaked out. Violet didn’t see any blood or obvious injury, but the closer she looked the more she could see his chest rise unevenly with each breath. “What happened?”

She was squinting at his chest to count the breaths when his head thumped back like a petulant teenager. “Can I just sleep— on your couch? I’ll be fine. Just need to lay— down for a minute. I’ll be out — before dawn.”

Violet put her hands on her hips. Superhero or not, he was human, and breathing was important. “I’m a nurse, and I know a medical problem when I see one.”

“I’m fine.”

“Tim Drake, you’re three word dyspneic.” His head snapped up at his name, startled. “How do you call an emergency pick up? Why didn’t you?”

“Dropped my— communicator.”

“Dropped it where?”

“Alley.”

Violet got up and went back to the bedroom window. It was still wide open, and she looked down five stories into the dirty alleyway beside her building. If the communicator was down there, it was either smashed to bits or inaccessible. That alley had a locked gate; Alphas had been known to try to scale the building to reach an Omega in the past. It would take too long to explain herself to the cops outside Safe Haven, even if she could make them believe she’d dropped something important out her window at one in the morning. Which reminded her…

She went back to Tim, whose color was still good somehow, despite the breathing issue. “How did you know this was my window? And that I live here?” He didn’t resist when she reached for his wrist and tried to get a pulse, but his gloves were too bulky. She was able to feel his carotid though, and that one was regular. “Tim? Did one of you follow me?”

“Can’t—talk—much.”

“Sure, and you didn’t build half the security system in the Watchtower.”

Violet was amused to see his eyes go a little wide, just like Nightwing’s had last week. “You know— a lot.”

“I know you need medical attention. If you don’t have your communicator, I’m gonna call Batman.”

“You have his—number?”

“I thought you couldn’t talk? Or would you rather give me the number to one of your brothers so they can pick you up?” Tim shook his head. “Isn’t someone out patrolling with you?”

“I wasn’t—on patrol.”

“Then why…?”

“Party. Argument. Went home— early. Bane thug. Grapple to— roof but—” He shrugged, waving a hand over his chest.

Violet pulled out her flip phone and dialed Bruce Wayne, shaking her head at the pride of teenage boys. Unfortunately, the phone just rang and rang and then clicked off. The billionaire vigilante didn’t have voicemail set up. “Do you know Wayne Manor’s number?”

Tim grimaced and rubbed at his chest. “Thought you’d know— everything.”

“Not the little stuff. What about any of your brother’s numbers?”

“I just need—sleep.”

“You need an x-ray,” Violet argued, coming closer and putting both her hands on his ribs, watching and feeling one side go up a moment before the other. “You might have a punctured lung, rib fracture, or pneumothorax for starters. If you die on my couch, Batman and the Secret Peace will kill me.” Violet didn’t pretend to understand how the human superheroes of this world managed to not end up in casts or the hospital all the time. She wished she had a stethoscope right now, but she had a feeling if she left him alone to get one he’d disappear out the window.

“Batcave has—an x-ray.”

“But we have no way to get you to the Batcave. You don’t have a backup communicator? Some other way to reach someone?”

“Phone?” She offered him her flip phone and he grimaced and shook his head. “Backup—costume. You have computer?”

“They’re downstairs, public use. And they run Windows 98.”

Tim winced. “Faster to drive—than to—configure encrypted—message to Oracle.”

“You don’t even have a Bat Signal flashlight?” Tim laughed, and then he started wheezing as whatever lung damage he’d done was exacerbated. Violet winced at the sound and the way he hunched over. She was running out of options, and Red Robin had, for some crazy reason, come to her.

“Okay, fine. Do you know the way to Wayne Manor?” He nodded. “We’re gonna have to sneak down to the garage.”

Thirty minutes later, still in her pajama shirt (“Napping is my superpower”) and sweats, Violet was driving down a dark road in the rolling hills outside the islands of Gotham. It was pitch black compared to the perpetual lights of the city, with clouds covering the sliver of the moon, and the tiny car had low headlights that barely lit the bushes on either side. Her hands were white-knuckling the steering wheel as Tim breathed shallowly beside her, leaning forward to get more air in as he gave directions.

“It’s got a… big gate.”

Violet’s hands flexed on the wheel, barely able to make out hedges let alone driveways in the darkness. “I remember. I’ve been here before.” Last time, she’d printed out MapQuest directions. She hadn’t realized until they got into the car that Tim was only dimly aware of how to get to the Manor, as he didn’t usually drive back so much as flew or used one of their underground access ways. Technically, Violet wasn’t even supposed to take the Safe Haven cars out of the city.

She glanced over at him, still in the mask that covered his eyes. She wasn’t sure which version of Tim Drake he was most like, but he was definitely one of the older ones, probably college-aged. She couldn’t see if his lips were turning blue or tight, but his breathing wasn’t improving, though it hadn’t gotten markedly worse either. She reached out to touch his cheek without thinking. He caught her wrist a moment before she could touch him. “Sorry. I just want to feel if you’re cold.”

“I’m fine.”

He let go of her wrist, and her hand touched his cheek. He was still warm there, which was comforting. His nose brushed her wrist just as she pulled away.

“Strong. Can I— analyze later?”

“My scent? I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

He nodded. “Right. Fix your— security first.”

She was about to comment on that when the blackness of the roadside hedges abruptly gave way on one side to a shadowed drive, and Violet slowed the car down. Tim pulled out a flashlight and shined it down the drive, lighting up a carefully wrought “W” in the center of the gate. “That’s it.”

She turned the wheel and they bumped over the gravel to the gate. It didn’t automatically open, and Violet couldn’t remember what number she’d used before.

“298– 19,” Tim instructed.

Violet had to open the car door to reach the pad, jamming in the numbers quickly. The gate opened soundlessly, and the little car rumbled through on to the loose stone drive. Tim hissed in pain as the car bounced along.

“Just keep breathing, shallowly as you need to,” Violet instructed, feeling like this driveway was a mile long as she tried to keep the car as steady as possible, fingers digging grooves into the steering wheel. The old stone mansion of Wayne Manor finally loomed into view behind the tall trees, a few windows still lit on the third floor. The front circle around a massive fountain became illuminated at the motion of the car as Violet drew up and turned it off. She hurriedly jumped out and ran around to the passenger door. “Let me help you up.”

“I’m okay.”

“Is there a shortcut to the cave from here?”

Tim’s teeth were gritted together, and he shook his head as he started to sit up. Changing position was the hardest thing for him right now. “Not from here— I know of.”

Frustrated, Violet ran up to the front door and knocked, looking for a doorbell. On a whim, she tried the knob and the door swung open.

She ran back to Tim and ducked under his side until he had to sling an arm over her shoulders. “You should work on your security,” she joked, and he hissed a little laugh. If he actually started to fall, she’d probably go down with him, but if he needed a breather he could rest some of his weight on her. He and Violet had just gotten up the front steps when Alfred appeared in the entryway in pajamas and a dressing gown.

“Oh dear, come inside.”

Alfred got under Tim’s other arm and together they got him inside the Manor. The scent of Bruce Wayne immediately hit her nose, and Violet started to breathe almost as shallowly as Tim, as though that would make a difference. The Alpha Prime just smelled good, and her whole body filled with a yearning and a deeply inappropriate lust. She was just lacking exposure to Alphas, she rationalized as they approached the main stairs, and this was a Prime. She needed to focus on other scents. Violet turned her head into Tim’s side for a moment, but he smelled only of metal polish and whatever material his suit was made out of. She could barely make Alfred out over Bruce’s scent, but she suspected he was a Beta based on how faint it was.

She turned back forward, just as a haughty young voice called down. “It was foolish of you to get hurt, Drake.”

A dark-haired young boy was standing on the stairs in his pajamas when Violet looked up.

“Thanks — demon spawn,” Tim called.

He had to be Damian Wayne, Violet realized, the youngest Robin, no older than thirteen. He had a sharper nose than Bruce and darker skin, but his eyes and hair were all his father. Those eyes locked on Violet with suspicion. “And who is this?”

“I’m Violet from the Secret Peace. You’re Damian Wayne.”

“How do you know my name?” Damian demanded.

“The Secret Peace are dimension travelers, Master Damian,” Alfred explained, helping Tim to lean on the banister of the stairs. He nodded politely at her as she stepped back from the former Robin. “We can take him from here, miss. Thank you for bringing him.”

“I’m a nurse. If you need extra hands, I can help. I suspect he needs an x-ray or a chest tube.”

“Just sleep,” Tim corrected. Alfred’s eyes flicked critically over him, and Violet could tell he saw what she had.

“Let’s check you out to be safe, sir.” Alfred stepped away, and she heard the click of a mechanism as the secret entryway was opened. For a moment giddiness filled her until Damian and Tim’s arguing interrupted the moment.

“Clearly not if you can’t walk on your own,” Damian was saying with his nose in the air as he came down the stairs. “You should have called for backup.”

“Like you ever do,” Tim snorted.

“Who were you fighting that you lost so badly?”

“10 Bane thugs,” Tim lied. “And I didn’t lose.”

Damian sniffed, clearly sensing the lie, and then his eyes shot to hers. “Is it wise for an unfamiliar, unmated Omega to be in this house, Alfred?” he demanded. He sniffed again more dramatically, eyes narrowing on her. “Are you in preheat, Omega?”

Tim choked, and Alfred reappeared with a small frown on his face. “Manners, Damian,” he corrected, tone sharp, and Damian’s mouth snapped shut. “I just received a message from Master Bruce that your presence and assistance is welcome, Miss Violet, and he will be here as soon as he can. If you would follow me. Damian, please help Tim to the elevator.”

“Hell no,” Tim coughed out.

They bickered as Damian followed Tim to the elevator, Tim noticeably trying to breathe and walk more normally. Violet glanced nervously at the group as the doors shut, realizing they would all be trapped in this elevator with her scent, and while she was on suppressants, both Robins had immediately been able to recognize her scent as more.

“There is negative airway pressure and scent particulate filter design built into the cave,” Alfred reassured, “and an extensive medical suite. I will prep everything if you can assist Master Tim there. Damian, please alert the others that more Bane thugs may be out tonight.”

Damian nodded sharply and took off the moment the elevator opened. Alfred wasn’t far behind him, but heading in the other direction. Violet slipped under Tim’s arm again and he directed her over to the left side of the cave.

It was hard to watch her step and gawk at the same time as the Batcave unfolded in front of her. Much of the original shape of the cave was preserved, though a number of metal walkways led to alcoves with equipment, gadgets, cabinets, and what looked like a hall to some training rooms. Damian was already sitting at a large computer setup on a higher level and talking into a mic. The distant sound of a waterfall echoed around the huge chamber, and as they moved along one side, Violet could see the Batmobile parked on a slab of rock below.

The medical suite Alfred was in was set up with two cots and shelves and cabinets of medical supplies kitted out like a full ER. Violet helped Tim to sit on a gurney and strip out of the top of his suit as Alfred rolled an x-ray machine over. The weight of his harness alone almost made her drop it when he handed it to her.

“Belt’s — not so bad,” he said apologetically as he handed that to her too. She put them both down on a side table. As she helped the boy to pull the suit over his head she took a breath and could smell him.

Violet wasn’t even remotely discreet about it, but in two lungfuls she knew that Tim Drake was an Omega. There was some tinge of Bruce in his scent, though she couldn’t name how she knew that. She stepped back when she had the uniform top, making awkward eye contact with Tim. “Sorry.”

He shrugged, not bothered in the least.

Alfred took a quick image of Tim’s chest as Violet and he went behind the lead-paneled wall. As Alfred inspected the x-ray, Violet tried to focus on it, but all she could think was that Tim Drake was a superhero and an Omega, and she’d never have guessed. He seemed comfortable in his skin, which was comforting to her too. Not every Omega was as damaged as Safe Haven could lead one to believe.

“Pneumothorax, small, apex, left lobe, and one rib fracture,” Alfred declared.

“Chest tube?” Violet offered, and Alfred nodded. He gathered the supplies, and Violet prepped the sight, feeling for the right rib space by touch.

By the time Batman arrived, the tube was in, and Tim’s breathing was much better. Already, Alfred was looking at a repeat chest x-ray to determine if the tube even needed to stay, and Damian had wandered off after all the excitement. Violet peeled off her gloves and was washing her hands when she glanced over to see Batman leaning over Red Robin and murmuring something to him.

As she dried her hands he approached her, voice a bit gruff. “Thank you for getting him here and taking care of him.” Bruce was still in the Batman outfit, but the cowl was off, and he looked tired. It was nearing 3 a.m. now, and she had no idea what he’d been up to all night. She couldn’t really scent him still, which was a blessing as the medical suite wasn’t very big, and she was still pondering Tim.

“I’m glad I could help.”

“I’ll add Wayne Manor’s number and Alfred’s into your phone,” he continued. “And we’ll work on some tech for emergency pickups that don’t require a communicator.” Bruce looked back at Tim pointedly. Tim had already acquired a laptop from somewhere and was typing furiously on it as Alfred cleaned up.

“Hey, stop beating up on the injured guy here,” he said without looking up.

“10 Bane thugs, was it?” Bruce asked, and despite the Batman suit, he sounded like nothing more than a tired dad. Violet felt her stomach swooping low with his voice. “Weren’t you going to a party tonight with friends from school?”

“Yeah well, got into an argument.” Tim trailed off, head down, and Violet felt a bit like an intruder on this family moment.

“An argument?”

“It’s fine. I left before it could escalate. I’ll talk to him tomorrow. Don’t worry about it, B.”

Bruce didn’t physically react, but Tim seemed to know him because he gave him a small smile, and the tension eased. Bruce turned back to her. “I’ll show you out. Do you know how to get home from here?”

“Uh, maybe?” Bruce led the way out of the medical suite and into the Batcave proper. She didn’t see anyone else in the family around, but the Batcomputer had a clock that clearly displayed 3:30 a.m. It was still dark outside then, and Violet wasn’t sure she knew which exit off the highway was the right one for Safe Haven.

Bruce turned for another area suddenly, cape whipping silently behind him and almost snapping at Violet’s ankles. She followed, sniffing as quietly as she could behind him. For just a moment, she thought maybe she could smell him, that rich scent straight from the skin. If Bruce noticed, he didn’t say anything, leading her over to one of the many tech alcoves and opening a drawer to pull out a phone. It looked like a more modern iPhone than this era had, and he turned it on and typed rapidly on it for a moment. “Here, plug in this cord and it’ll sync your phone to this one. This has GPS navigation on it, among other programs.”

“Oh that’s— I was going to buy my own,” she tried to say, but Bruce was already putting it in her hand.

“Don’t bother. Tim will just end up hacking it to track you anyway.”

Her eyes shot up to his to see if he was joking, but he clearly wasn’t. He looked too tired for even a quirk of the lips.

“So, this one already has Big Brother installed?” she quipped.

“It’s encrypted for privacy. It has location tracking that can be remotely activated in emergencies, and if you hit the side button three times it’ll send a distress call to the cave.” His gloved hand very lightly touched hers as he indicated the button. Violet held the phone gingerly, aware she now had Batman on speed dial.

She looked up at Bruce and swallowed around her dry throat, her eyes drifting to the edge of his jaw, just visible thanks to the suit. His eyes definitely weren’t on hers either.

“Well, thank you,” she said, after a beat too long. “I should get home, and we should all get some rest. Don’t let Tim overdo it.”

“Do I need to be worried about Bane-enhanced thugs?” he asked, ignoring what she’d just said.

Violet opened her mouth, thought about it, and closed it. Her instinct had been to say no, but seeing Red Robin breathing like that, she re-thought it. “I need more context.”

“What kind?” She hadn’t realized his eyes had been half-lidded until his gaze sharpened on her. She could feel heat in her chest, and the alcove seemed far too intimate suddenly.

“Well, um,” she cast her mind back to any of the Bane stories she’d read, “where Bane is for starters. What he’s been up to. If this is part of a bigger thing then I might know something helpful, but if it’s just run-of-the-mill experiments, maybe not.”

She couldn’t look away from Bruce’s dark blue eyes, the color brighter for the dark kohl that was just starting to smudge. “I’ll put together a packet for you.”

“Hey, uh, V, thanks again.” Tim stopped by the archway to this room, now in an old t-shirt with Brentwood Academy in faded letters. His eyes shot between the two of them, curious and very interested.

“No problem.”

Bruce crossed his arms. “I’ll get you a surgical kit too,” he added ruefully. “Just in case.”

Chapter 8: Late Night Talking

Chapter Text

Bruce’s diamond and gold watch had a tiny purple light blinking three times in a regular pattern when he casually glanced down at his glass of champagne. The banquet he was at tonight was for the Wayne Foundation, and the Alpha next to him was so self-absorbed he hadn’t noticed Bruce’s wandering attention.

“…It’s not unlike what they’re doing to Lord Adrian out in their enclave in Vermont. Apparently he went to see the Omega he’s courting, and she’d seen another Alpha Prime that morning! The Omega even still had a bit of the scent on her! The games the OPC are playing are…”

Bruce made the appropriate noises, fully aware of the Omega Prime Council’s typical machinations. He was more interested in why one of the Robins was in proximity to Violet’s phone. He’d programmed it so he’d get an alert if one of the Robins dropped in on her just to avoid a repeat scenario like last week.

“…And the whole marijuana scandal with laced brownies. How that got through the security is beyond me, but my Prime said…”

“How is Michelle?” Bruce interrupted, though he didn’t particularly care. The man next to him switched topics smoothly as Bruce tapped a small button on the side of the watch and the blinking violet light changed to a green one. Tim was in proximity to her.

Bruce lightly shook his wrist as he twirled his glass to clear the alerts, mind turning over rapidly as the chair of the foundation tapped her glass to get everyone’s attention, and the murmuring conversations simmered down. Tim was the only Omega in the Wayne Pack, which was manageable as the only Alphas were him and Jason, though technically Jason might count as a satellite member. Bruce knew Tim managed the pack harmony as well as he could, though his heats did tend to make everyone prickly. They were at least guaranteed to reel Jason in for a few days, so he could stalk the perimeter like a guard dog.

Tim had never connected with other Omegas at school or among his brothers motley friends and fellow vigilantes.

Bruce guessed it was in part because of the pressure and isolation of being a Robin, as Tim was otherwise gregarious and probably one of the better children when he forced them into social situations. However, connections with other Omegas were helpful and reinforced pack bonding. Did Violet, as a Prime, have a particular effect on adolescent Tim? Had she felt she could ask him for help over Bruce? Or was his son really just beefing up her security, as Bruce well knew he’d told his brothers about.

The considerations stewed in the back of Bruce’s mind as he refocused on the dinner, smiling vapidly at the polite applause directed his way. Then he made his own short, slightly ditzy speech ending on a final request for donations. Then right on time, as the bar opened again and the guests were encouraged to stand up and chat, Alfred called with a personal issue Bruce absolutely had to step away to handle.

He was in the car almost before Alfred had come to a full stop, and was halfway out of his tuxedo when the car’s computer flashed another set of lights at him: violet, green, and now yellow. Damian was also at Safe Haven? He knew the boys could be discreet, but too much activity there would draw notice.

Bruce slipped an earpiece in and turned on the family lines as he unlaced his shoes.

“—So, since that alleyway is closed, we could put spikes at the bottom,” came Tim’s voice jokingly over Patrol Two line.

Violet’s voice was fainter as she wasn’t miked. “We are not putting some Indiana Jones sh*t in the alley next to my building.”

There was the faint sound of a screw going in and metal clicking. “Fine, what about lasers?”

“What about when you need to get in?”

“I can get past the lasers. Any of us who can’t don’t deserve to get in.” Tim sounded offended.

“If you can get past it, then how does that help my security?”

“It’s just one of many deterrents. Spikes would really help.”

“Why not skip that for sharks?” Violet asked, and then Barbara jumped into the line.

“You know this frequency is for patrol, right?”

“Spikes or sharks?” Tim asked, possibly both Barbara and Violet.

“Seriously, Red Robin?” Barbara said, and Bruce could imagine well the jut of her jaw with that tone. Violet, who couldn’t hear Tim’s side conversation, answered, “Can’t you just fix the chain on the door?”

“Anyone can kick in a chain on the door,” a gruffer, angrier voice joined in. “I thought you were improving her security.” There was the clear sound of gun safety being clicked off, so Bruce knew Jason was aware he was on the line too.

“She can’t hear you, Hood,” Barbara cut in again. “Red Robin, I’m muting your line until you’re back on patrol.”

That was just as a knock sounded on the door in the background, and everyone held their breath for a second.

Then Violet’s voice was the only one they could hear, distant and politely confused. “Hello? Oh, wait, where did you—”

“I am here to inspect the security situation, as I was informed it was suboptimal.”

“Dam— sorry, Robin. Did you just walk into my building?”

“This hallway window access is practically the same thing.” Damian’s slightly higher but no less snooty voice echoed through both Tim’s mic and his own.

“Since you’re here, gremlin, you wanna test the laser grid?” Tim asked, and Bruce had had enough.

He snapped on his gloves, the last piece of the suit, as he looked at the readout on the backseat screen. “There is an active robbery at Unity’s second branch, a car chase over the Trigate Bridge, and two islands that are supposed to be patrolled,” Bruce ground out across the line, his annoyance clear in his voice. The comm lines were for pertinent communications only. “Red Hood—”

“Mall shooting. I’m out.” Jason’s mic went dead.

“Fine. I will handle the bank,” Damian announced. “That should give Red Robin enough time to put this security apparatus together if he isn’t distracted.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Tim squawked as Damian’s yellow proximity light blipped out.

“Red Robin, car chase or—” Oracle started, but Bruce cut her off.

“I’ll take the Batmobile. Since you’re already in Old Gotham, Red, patrol.” It wasn’t an order, Bruce would never do that over comms, but he knew Tim would get the message.

“On it.” And Tim’s mic muted.

Violet did not expect that helping Tim once would be the equivalent of putting up her own Bat Signal. She did know Tim was going to come back. She just didn’t realize he’d meant only three days later carrying a toolbox. He kitted out her windows and doors so that only members of the family could get in, all while arguing with her until Damian popped in and out. Then he sheepishly said he’d come back the next night to finish the job.

She had assumed it might just be Tim dropping by since he seemed comfortable as an Omega and familiar with her, but then Nightwing literally climbed into her window asking if she had pliers. He’d stepped on a nail and couldn’t get it out of his boot, so he’d decided to come to her.

Violet spent the whole interaction wondering what Nightwing’s angle was. She didn’t have pliers, but she did hold the boot while he yanked on the nail after modifying some piece of gear enough to grip the nail. He joked about how he was making a clicking noise so he couldn’t sneak around, and he’d wanted to test Tim’s security system out. Violet didn’t get to ask whether it pierced him or if the security system was even working before he was sliding the boot back on, snapping a few straps in place, and then hopping up and down on her tiled bathroom door, his hair flopping a little with the movement.

“Perfect, thanks for the assist!” Then he was gone out of the window and vanishing over the edge of the rooftop.

After that, her window might as well have been a revolving door: Oracle called her phone apologetically to ask if she’d seen Red Hood; Tim showed up again with more equipment and a grim determination to ensnare at least one of his brothers with one of his traps; and Dick used up all her paper towels as they tried to remove some kind of sap from Poison Ivy. She even put some of her makeup skills to the test to help cover up a bruise on Tim just before his final exams early one morning while he explained that usually he’d ask Barb or Alfred, but Alfred was helping Bruce and Barb was on vacation with her father. As he put it, there were only so many sports injuries before the nurse started asking questions about abuse. It had been barely two months since she’d helped Red Robin to the Batcave, and she was wondering if she should take one of the Safe Haven art classes and make a sign for the “Batapartment”.

Now she was already turning her head at the telltale sound of her bedroom window sliding up. “Yes, come in please. Mi casa es su casa.”

“¿Hablas español?”

“Um, no?” Violet turned from her late night snack of ice cream straight from the pint—she was having a day—to see Robin standing soaking wet in her bedroom doorway.

This was only the second time she’d seen Robin in costume, and Violet had to resist making any comment. It was like the most intense Halloween or cosplay on a prepubescent boy she’d ever seen, and it was cute until Damian opened his mouth or flashed a real blade. She didn’t get to have more than that passing thought before the sight of four fingers at completely wrong angles stopped her cold.

“Alfred states you have excellent medical training, and I understand you are running a clinic here for us.”

“What happened?” She was already standing up, ice cream abandoned on the counter.

He held his hands up. “They’re broken. Are you able to set them, or is even that meager medical therapy beyond your skills?”

“They’re dislocated and maybe broken. I can set them, but you really should have an X-ray taken before and after—”

“Your clinic is hardly impressive,” he sneered, pulling his hand away before she could actually inspect the damage.

“This is my apartment, not a clinic. I just have a big bag of supplies. Look—”

“I will endeavor to get you a miniature X-ray machine if you can successfully assist me. Otherwise I am wasting my time.”

Damian was moving thought processes so fast Violet was barely keeping up, and he was still dripping on her floor. It wasn’t raining outside. She had no idea why he was soaking wet, and he didn’t look like he was going to explain. “Okay, wait. Hold on. One: you dislocated your fingers. Two: I can set them, but X-rays will tell me if they’re set correctly and if they’re broken. And three: if you don’t want my help, you can leave.” She paused as Damian’s nose went a millimeter higher in the air while he thought. “Also, four: why are you wet?”

His eyes narrowed. “You are not deferential like the other Omega Prime I met. However, your terms are acceptable.”

Violet held her hand out, and Damian reached for her wrist, lifting it to his nose with his undamaged fingers. Violet had meant for him to give her his hands to inspect, not what was this world’s equivalent of a handshake, but she let him sniff delicately for a moment. “I see now why I mistook you for being in pre-heat. You do not have a pack, and your scent is particularly strong. Shouldn’t you be on suppressants?”

If it was an apology it was a poor one, but Violet didn’t particularly care. “I already am. Can I see your hands please? Will you tell me what happened?”

Damian reluctantly put his hands out. His index and middle fingers of both hands were all swollen and dislocated at the first or second joint. It had to be painful, but Robin showed no sign of it.

“It is none of your business. I could set them myself if I wanted. This is a test for you.”

Violet wasn’t sure she believed that. Damian might be ambidextrous, but setting fingers with just his ring, pinky, and thumb fingers to grip them would be very difficult. “This is going to hurt,” she warned.

“I was raised by the League of Assassins. I do not feel pain.”

Violet gripped the right index first and quickly pulled down and out at the same time, sliding the joint into place. Damian’s lips tightly pressed together, hiding a grimace. Violet made sure they made eye contact before she spoke. “Pain is an important warning sign from the body. There is an actual medical condition where—” she reduced the middle finger on the right hand, pretending to ignore the shudder of his hand as the bones set back into position—“a person is incapable of feeling physical pain. It’s actually incredibly dangerous. They don’t know when they stubbed their toe or if their appendix is about to burst. Pain can be useful.”

“This is minimal pain,” Damian informed her, but he didn’t sound as haughty as before, and he just barely hesitated before he offered her the left hand. As she took the left index finger into her hands he asked, “Does this not bother you? I have been taught that Omegas try to avoid causing pain as it instinctively hurts them.”

“It’s not my favorite thing to do, but I see it as a necessary, temporary pain to fix a bigger problem,” Violet said, and pulled the index finger back into position. “It feels better already, doesn’t it?”

He flexed the right hand before avoiding the question. “You have not fixed all the damage.”

“Were you practicing something or beating someone up when this happened?” She felt along the bones of the left middle finger with a practiced touch. Then, as he opened his mouth to answer, she pulled and straightened the finger until she felt the click of bone back in the socket. Damian only sucked in a sharp breath and then pulled his hand out of her grip, inspecting. The joints were swollen, and Violet grimaced for him as he flexed all his fingers, but he could move them, which already meant they were likely in the right place.

“I don’t feel an X-ray is necessary at this time,” he said, which Violet took to be acknowledgment of just that. She knew from the comics Damian wasn’t familiar with giving or receiving praise, so this might be the closest he got.

“I’d still like you to get one. Just for my peace of mind. I’m an Omega; I’ll worry.”

Damian’s chest puffed up, at odds with his grudging tone. “Fine, I will have Alfred take one at the end of patrol.”

“Thank you.”

He started back for the window, and halfway out of it turned back to her. “I am only doing this for your health as a packless Omega. Father has been clear an Alpha’s role is to protect Omegas, and packless ones are particularly vulnerable to strong emotions and manipulation.”

“Wow, thanks,” she said sarcastically, but he fired a grapple hook at the lip of the next building over without waiting to hear her. Violet grumbled about obnoxious preteens, even as she picked up her spoon to finish her ice cream. Today had been rough on her floor, even with Violet trying to keep the peaceful emotions going. Marge had flat-out asked her if something was wrong, but, other than just feeling off, Violet couldn’t pinpoint anything. She didn’t need Damian’s commentary on emotional stability right now. It wasn’t her fault one of the newer girls had regressed to pulling out her hair, or was it?

The unraveling was slow and subtle. Violet didn’t notice it at first, from the eyelid twitch that kept popping up, to the constant shifting of her weight in group therapy, to the complaints of poorer sleep on her floor. She blamed any bad days on her new duties on the building event committee, or the scheduling conflicts with Ada, or bad sleep from late night interruptions from the Robins.

Over the course of a month, she’d seen more of Dick, Tim, and Damian. She’d even met Oracle by phone after Tim showed up and hadn’t realized his comm was on the fritz. While Red Robin fixed it at Violet’s kitchen table, she and Oracle chatted on the phone about the Great British Bake Off. Oracle was in a bracket with a few other superhero girls with a winning prize of desserts from everyone, and Violet had been happy to give her a hint about who the winner would be.

She really didn’t mind the visits, but the timing was usually in the middle of dinner, or at the height of a show climax, or she was in the shower or about to fall asleep, and it just added to the overall tension she was finally starting to notice. Violet felt all wound up inside, and it never seemed to go away or get better. She couldn’t pinpoint any one cause. Some days were better than others, but it was a little harder to sleep, to relax, and to be patient with some of the more difficult personalities on her floor, and she was getting jumpier with sudden noises. She thought it was under control until one night at 4am, unable to sleep any longer after tossing and turning for hours, she got up to make something for her grumbling stomach. Not two minutes after she’d poured out the cereal and milk, Robin slid open her window and hopped into her apartment.

She didn’t even hear him, so when she turned with her bowl and saw him standing right there by the kitchen window, Violet startled badly. She jumped and the bowl slammed into the counter, snapping into three pieces, spilling milk and Cheerios all over her hands, feet, and the floor.

For one heartbeat, they both stared at the mess, and then Violet was shaking with rage. “Can’t you knock?” she demanded, dropping to the floor to grab the bigger pieces before anyone stepped on them, not sure if she wanted to hurt something or cry.

“You should pay better attention to your surroundings,” Damian said coldly.

“You should have some respect for another’s space,” she snapped back.

Damian didn’t recoil, but he did narrow his eyes and deliberately sniff. Then he turned around and was gone. Right then, she didn’t care if she offended him, not when she was covered in cold milk and part of her wanted to smash the bowl into even smaller pieces while the rest wanted to sit down and cry. She needed to get the hell off her floor and out of this funk before she really lost it.

Damian was on the roof when she got up there, cape whipping in the wind. Even just the exertion of climbing the five flights up had helped her feel less angry at the world, and she was actually a bit relieved to see him there.

“I’m sorry, Damian. I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

He turned, and she could see that both his hands were behind his back, a pose more suited to someone Alfred’s age than a preteen. He tilted his chin up, probably still able to smell some of the milk she’d hurriedly washed off. “You are forgiven. I understand that you are a hormonal, unmated Omega and can be prone to such fits.”

He looked like such a brat in that moment, and every word was so offensive it almost made her laugh. How was this her life? Being told by Robin on a rooftop in Gotham that she was an unmated Omega, half the words wouldn’t have made sense to her six months ago.

“I think I need an apology from you now.”

“I am only speaking the truth.”

“In lieu of an apology, I’ll accept a hug or the chance to—” He grappled away before she could finish her threat, and Violet laughed to herself. She tilted her head back and closed her eyes, breathing in the scents of city life, early morning air, the light smoke of Gotham, and smiled. This was an upswing. She knew it, but she’d savor it.

Unfortunately that peace hadn’t lasted, and finally Rita, the social worker, addressed Violet’s sour mood in group therapy two days later.

“I think my heat might be coming,” she muttered, looking down at the ground and apologizing to the universe for using that dumb excuse. Maybe this was reverse culture shock kicking in. Or she was sick or depressed.

“Perhaps,” Rita said calmly, “or is the Omega in you reaching out?”

Violet looked up sharply at that. Rita’s version of Pavlov’s hierarchy included the Omega needs, like touch, praise, and a pack. Violet didn’t think she was really lacking for those, not between the thanks from the Robins, her motley group of friends and coworkers, and, well, maybe she was touch deprived? That couldn’t explain it all.

“I… I think I’m just on edge. Maybe need a vacation,” she finally said, and a few chuckles went around the room.

“I wish the beach could fix me,” one guy joked.

“Sometimes being on edge is a sign a need isn’t being met or a boundary is being crossed. Maybe it’s as simple as a shower. Or food. Or to turn off the news and take a walk. Or maybe it’s time to reach out for a little alpha influence.” Rita’s gentle, knowing look made Violet feel vaguely nauseous. She didn’t know what she meant by that. Before she had to come up with an answer though, Rita was turning to the group. “How does it make you feel when your alpha is gone for a while or you’re away from your pack?”

“Itchy,” one older man volunteered immediately. “My alpha liked when I sat by his feet and he lightly scratched my head. My scalp would itch like crazy when he was gone awhile.”

Some people murmured agreement around the group, and Violet felt even more queasy at how her stomach swooped at the thought of sitting on the floor at someone’s feet. She could imagine it: her back against the couch with her legs curled up and a hand in her hair. It didn’t feel strange; it felt comforting. That was an Omega thing?

“I want to peel my skin off,” Monique offered, and the beads in her hair clicked together. “The shakes. My mom had them too.”

Rita was nodding as a few murmurs echoed among the members. “Some omegas certainly have more physical symptoms. How about emotional or mental ones?”

“Definitely crying,” someone said.

“Missing them big time,” another voice chimed in.

“Pacing,” one of the quieter women added.

“I’m a sniffer. Sniff shirts, sheets, underwear, you name it,” the same man who quipped about the beach offered with an unrepentant grin. “Probably look like a junky sniffing old scent scarves.”

Practically everyone nodded, and Violet felt her stomach turn over completely. Of course someone would miss a partner for a while, maybe wear their sweatshirt around or something. This sounded like pathologizing normal things, but then, when Rita had talked about Omega needs, they hadn’t sounded crazy either. Except for the submission and alpha pheromones, things like touch, pack, stability, love… Didn’t most people need those sorts of things too?

But, the way Violet had been feeling had been unlike her. The stories that others were sharing now were both similar and different to how her last few weeks had been.

The session moved on from there, but Violet hung back to talk to Rita, gathering her thoughts as things wound down. As the two of them put the spare folding chairs back against the walls of the small lounge, Rita nodded to her. “I think irritable might be your tell.”

“How do you know?” Violet asked immediately. “I don’t have an alpha, never have. And my pack was, uh, dysfunctional. How can I be missing one?”

“It’s not always specific to one pack or person. It’s that your needs aren’t being met. We’re all social creatures; we don’t function well in a single-dynamic bubble. When you live here, you don’t get any exposure to an Alpha. I know you haven’t done the pottery classes or any of the outside events we co-sponsor. Maybe you should join one. Many are open to the community or led by an Alpha, and even that small interaction could help.”

Safe Haven hosted classes on the first floor for any omega to join with a pack member, and the organization also subsidized sports and other events outside the building for its members. Violet had nearly joined one or two of the outings until she’d found out they were open to the public. She’d been followed in the grocery store, catcalled at the park, and had gotten a bit paranoid about being around too many Alphas for too long. She couldn’t be sure they registered her as anything more than a regular Omega since she was always on suppressants, but she begrudgingly saw why Omega Primes were so carefully guarded.

She could also see what Rita was talking about. She’d gone too long without the right kind of social contact, like seeing only coworkers for weeks on end, not real friends. She needed ten minutes around an Alpha to fill up that empty meter and get back to her life.

“I guess I’ll try.”

That evening Violet put her name down for the rollerblading group along the river the next day and took her bag of salty snacks back up to her room to mope and think. She hadn’t gotten more than a few Cheetos into her mouth and her door unlocked before she jumped almost a foot in the air.

“I’m filtering your scent,” Red Hood said, standing in her kitchen, shutting the door to her fridge.

Violet wanted to be annoyed at another member of Batman’s family in her home, but this was the first time she was meeting Red Hood. She grumbled halfheartedly, “I need to start locking that window.”

“You won’t,” Jason Todd said confidently as he cracked open a can. How he was going to drink it in that mask she had no idea. “Omegas like to be needed. And I can scratch that itch.”

Violet hated that the pressure on her chest she’d been feeling for weeks eased with those words. Did he have to echo the therapy session she’d just left?

“Are you hurt?”

“Hell no. I got a question. What’s this?”

He held up a picture, and Violet had to take a few steps closer to see what it was. Red Hood didn’t exactly wear a suit, but whatever blocker technology was in Batman’s suit he also had because she couldn’t scent him at all. If Jason Todd wasn’t an Alpha though, Violet would eat her shirt.

“It’s some containers?” It was a grainy photo of what looked like a few large, cylindrical, steel water heaters set amidst a lot of wooden boxes.

“Yeah, with glowing stuff in them. That’s not normal. What’s in them?”

Violet raised an eyebrow at him. “Didn’t you test it?”

“Let’s just say I had to get out before I could grab some, and they cleaned up that operation. But these are coming into port, so if you know anything, tell me.”

It wasn’t an order, but Violet felt a compulsion to answer anyway, which was just foreign enough that she took a step back. Rita was right. Even a little Alpha presence was clearing her head, which was something she was going to have to think about later. For now, she’d agreed to help Batman occasionally, but that had nothing to do with Red Hood, who she knew toed—and then gleefully crossed—a few lines. Violet also felt very sure, possibly recklessly, that he wouldn’t hurt her, but should she help him? She licked a Cheeto-dust-covered finger as she thought, as Red Hood turned around to hide his face and raised the can up to drink.

“I know who you are, you know,” she said without thinking.

“Yeah? You sure about that?” he asked, as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His voice was younger without the mask modulating it.

“Jason Todd. Second Robin, killed then resurrected, now Red Hood, and you’ve got brown hair with that white tuft at the front.”

Jason turned around, mask down, and even though he and Damian weren’t related by blood, she had a strong suspicion Damian had inherited that particular stare from Jason. “It’s not a tuft.”

Petulant was not how she expected Jason Todd to sound. Her eyes took in the infamous red mask, the leather jacket, and the faded red Bat sigil on his chest. She could see at least three holstered guns, which meant there were probably half a dozen more, and—

“Hey, are you drinking my beer?” Red Hood looked at the beer in his hand as Violet put her hands on her hips. “Do you know how hard it is to buy that? This is a dry building. I have to literally smuggle it in.”

“Heh, thought you’d be a wine girl anyway.”

“I prefer whiskey, but you clearly didn’t look hard enough for the good stuff.” That was a lie. She didn’t have any good whiskey, but Jason definitely gave her apartment a fresh look over.

“This is some crap beer anyway,” he said flatly.

“Feel free to leave gifts of better beer.” This time, she was getting a very different stare from Jason, and Violet suddenly felt self conscious. She crossed her arms. “What?”

“You really aren’t from this world.” He pulled the picture back up and waved it in her face. “Look, what the hell is in this stuff? Bruce is about to blow it up, and I got a feeling that’ll go badly.”

Violet grabbed the picture and took a good look, but there wasn’t much to go on. “I’d have to see the liquid to know, and I may not be right,” she hedged.

“You saying you don’t know?”

“I’m saying I’m not sure yet.” Jason abruptly chugged the beer in front of her then burped. “I wasn’t going to ask for that back anyway,” she told him, and Violet could feel him roll his eyes.

“How about this: you come with me to the Batcave, and I show you what else I’ve got on this. If you’ve got something useful, then I’ll get you a glass of a very nice whiskey from B’s collection upstairs.”

Violet bit her lip. The Batcave was cool, but this felt like crossing a line. She did want to be helpful, but she had meant from this apartment and more like hints since she hadn’t exactly been a Batman superfan. It also made her feel uncomfortable to go to the Batcave when she wasn’t explicitly invited by Bruce or having an emergency.

“I’ve got the Batmobile.”

“You stole the Batmobile?”

“Only way Batman won’t find out is if it’s back in the Batcave. You don’t want me to get in trouble, do you?”

Violet blinked up at him, confused. “Why would I care about that?”

Jason shook his head and crunched the can in one fist before tossing it in the recycling behind him without looking. “You really have no idea how this world works, do you?”

They stared at each other, eyes to mask. “Explain it to me. And why do you want me at the Batcave so badly?”

Jason reached for the fridge door again, and Violet put her hand on it to keep it shut. Even with the mask, Violet tried to hold his stare, fully aware that there was no way in hell she could keep Red Hood out of her fridge if he wanted in. Her eyes started to water though, and the immense pressure to look down quickly overwhelmed her.

“You don’t know how this world works, but you submit like you do.”

“Hey!” Violet yelped automatically, but Jason just shrugged, and it took her a moment to realize that wasn’t an insult. She’d heard a thousand times about Omegas dropping their gaze to show submission. She just didn’t realize how visceral it would be.

“Fine, I’ll spell it out for you. Omegas like pack harmony and all that sh*t. Bruce finds out I took the Batmobile, and he’ll get all pissed and bite everyone’s heads off even more than he already has been.”

“I’m all for pack harmony, but you did this to yourself,” Violet pointed out. “And he probably already knows. Why do you want me at the Batcave?”

“Like I said, Bruce is biting off everyone’s heads.” Jason crossed his arms and leaned back against the tiny kitchen island as Violet digested that. Was Bruce also suffering from lack of Omega exposure? That didn’t seem right; he had Tim. Or had Batman been busy doing something that kept him away? How long did it take to “miss” the other dynamic?

“And those containers?” Violet nodded at the picture still in his hand, thinking hard.

“Legit. If you know anything, it’ll help him.”

Violet could already tell she’d lost. Rita’s words about a little Alpha influence were ringing in her head, and she didn’t want to disappoint Jason or not help if Batman needed it. Plus, a nice shot of whiskey might make her feel less dumb for the choice she was about to make.

“Okay fine.”

“It’s based on Bane’s venom,” Violet was explaining to Jason in front of the Batcomputer when there was a whirring noise and a loose gadget on the table started to rattle. She turned just in time to see a small black plane with the Bat sigil hover over a landing point and lower down in total silence. Damian jumped out first and stomped up the steps, not reacting to her at all, and then Batman was sweeping out of the other side.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, voice modulator still on as he started to remove his cowl. Violet felt herself break out into a cold sweat at the thought that she’d been right. She wasn’t supposed to be here.

“Helpin’ me, old man,” Jason said, crossing his arms and leaning back casually. He’d taken the red mask off when they’d gotten into the Batcave. Violet privately still thought the white patch of hair was a tuft. “I’m not too proud to ask for help.”

“That is a blatant lie!” Damian shouted as the elevator doors opened.

Bruce pulled off the cowl and started up the stairs, shaking his head. His steps seemed heavier than usual, and as he approached, Violet could see a thick line of blood down the side of his face, and the fear that she was trespassing vanished. She was moving before she could even think.

“You’re hurt.”

“It’s nothing,” Bruce said, but he let her stand a few steps above him and lightly touch his brow where the cut was, then down his cheek, searching for more cuts. There weren’t any others, just the usual bleeding of a scalp wound, but he did have slight bags under his eyes. His eyes fluttered shut for the briefest moment at her touch, and then opened and met her’s, before flicking to Jason.

Bruce’s scent filled her noise, heavy with iron taint from the dried blood. Despite the blood, it was that familiar, heady smell of Bruce and clean sweat, no anger or annoyance souring it. The last twist of tension in her chest that Jason’s Alpha presence hadn’t been able to scare away finally faded.

“It’s gaping. Let me at least close it,” Violet offered.

“And I’m outta here,” Jason said, and he clicked back on the red mask.

Bruce stepped around Violet, hand hovering over her for a moment, as though he wanted to touch than thought better of it before he continued toward the computer and Jason. “You shouldn’t tackle that alone,” he said, gesturing at the blown up images on the screen of more containers on a cargo ship.

“Pft. You might die if you don’t get that tiny cut cleaned up.” Jason was clearly smirking as he jumped over the railing and landed cat-like on the level below, disappearing into the darkness.

Violet could hear the exhale through Bruce’s nose. That was downright civil compared to some of what she’d read in the comics. “If you want to go after him, then I can glue it really fast.”

“No, that won’t be necessary. Tell me what you told him.”

“Only if you let me clean that and close it.”

“Fine.” Bruce hit a few keys on the Batcomputer, and the screen turned into a few surveillance cameras. “Any updates, Oracle?” he asked, pitching his voice a little lower than when he’d been addressing Violet. She felt a small, not unpleasant shiver go up her spine.

“Not yet. I’ll alert you when they’re on the move.”

“Thanks.” Bruce turned away from the computer and motioned for Violet to follow him to the infirmary.

“Something happen tonight?”

“Nothing to be concerned about, but I have to go back out as soon as I replace the mask.”

“You look tired,” she told him as Bruce unsnapped the cape and hung it by the entry to the infirmary like it was a coat.

“Penguin has teamed up with Mr. Freeze. They’re… redecorating the lower floors of the Iceberg Lounge.”

“Ah, that doesn’t sound good.” Violet started to rummage for what she needed, gathering gauze, sterile water, and other tools, while Bruce went toward the cot.

“Related to what you were explaining to Jason?”

“Penguin and Mr. Freeze? No, I don’t think so.”

Bruce grunted.

“Yeah, I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing,” she continued. “What’s worse? One big problem or two medium problems?”

She was just getting the last few things together when Alfred came in with a tray of cookies and a glass of water. “For your efforts, miss.”

“Oh, thank you Alfred.” She hesitated suddenly, holding the stick of medical glue. “I hope I’m not overstepping.”

“Nonsense, I certainly have plenty of other tasks to attend to, and Master Wayne may be more willing to sit still for you.”

“That’ll be all, Alfred,” Bruce said smoothly. Alfred’s expression didn’t twitch a muscle as he turned to leave, but Violet sensed his amusem*nt. She may have to drop her eyes if she held an Alpha’s for too long, but Alphas would bend over backwards for her too. It was easy to forget that until she heard that grumble in Bruce’s voice.

The thought of Jason and the glass of water waiting for her suddenly reminded her of something. “Can you send a message to Jason for me when you have time? He owes me a glass of whiskey.”

“Does he?” Bruce asked as he laid down on the medical table so the glue wouldn’t drip into his eyes.

“It was part of his bribe to get me to come here.”

“Hm.” Bruce made a knowing noise, and his lips were quirked up in the slightest smile when she glanced over. He didn’t look so tired now, and his scent was stronger in the confines of this room. Violet firmly quashed the inappropriate warmth in her belly.

With her tools assembled, she quickly washed her hands and pulled on some gloves, then rolled the tray table over so she could stand over Bruce, eyeballing just how she wanted to do this. She tried to stay professionally focused instead of letting her gaze wander over the planes of the Batsuit, the fine armored curve of his thick fingers, or worse, the parts left uncovered. Batman was just so much, from the bulk of his suit, to his build, to his stubbornly fine jawline. It took an effort to not take deeper lungfuls of his still faint, but distracting scent.

“How did you even manage this? Doesn’t the cowl protect you here?” she asked as she started to rinse out the cut on his forehead, wiping away dried blood so she could see the full shape of it.

“It broke.”

“Shouldn’t it not break?”

“What were you helping Jason with?” he asked, hands folded neatly over the ridged planes of the abdomen built into the suit. Violet was trying very hard not to look farther south than his nose as she finished cleaning the area around the main cut. It went straight through his eyebrow, so any scar would be noticeable.

“Containers of glowing, green liquid. I’m pretty sure it’s a version of Venom. If it’s Titan, that’s a bigger problem.”

“A bigger problem how?”

“More juiced up Bane thugs,” she said, tongue poking out the slightest bit as she manipulated the cut and the hair around it. Stitches would be better, but she honestly wasn’t sure it would matter. Last month, Jason had broken his leg in two places according to Damian, who was dropping off the promised handheld X-ray, but he was walking a week later and kicking people in the head in two. Tim’s pneumothorax would have probably warranted at least an overnight hospital stay in Violet’s world, but he’d been right as rain in an hour and back on patrol the next day.

Something about this world let people heal much faster than normal. Violet halved the normal healing time for all of the family’s injuries and threw out all the long term side effects of the traumas because it never seemed to manifest. It was a miracle Bruce didn’t have memory problems or chronic pain by now, and she knew he’d broken his nose before. Her eyes drifted to it and then his lips, confirming he didn’t have so much as a bump.

“I can have Alfred do this in a minute,” he finally commented, the slight tilt of the right side of his lips giving away that he’d caught her looking.

“I’m trying to avoid a really obvious scar,” she quickly explained, trying not to look flustered by using a q-tip to poke the skin back into position. Then she carefully picked up the glue. “You’re supposed to look pretty.”

“You think I’m pretty?”

“I think you’re going to head-butt the next thug you see and ruin all my hard work.” Violet dabbed carefully along the line of the cut, holding the edges together so the skin would heal as seamlessly as possible. Even so, he’d probably have a scar—or not, with how well everyone healed here. She didn’t understand the rules anymore.

She made the final pass of the glue and as soon as the quick-dry was in place, Violet stepped back as Bruce sat up. The room immediately felt smaller. The infirmary in the Batcave had only two beds and was in a fairly tight corner so all the supplies could be reached easily.

Before Bruce could think better of it, he was brushing his armored hand against her soft cheek to tuck a stray hair away. It wouldn’t leave a scentmark, and he shouldn’t, but it didn’t make it any easier to deny the urge. No Omega had a hold on him like this, and he wanted to tell himself it was just because she was a Prime, but Bruce had enough self-discipline to know it wasn’t just that.

“Thank you.” His voice came out all grave and serious, and Violet felt warmth flow down her spine just at his brief touch. He pulled away before she could lean in or figure out how to respond. “That’s for you by the way.” He nodded at a white case on the table Violet hadn’t noticed earlier. “A replacement.”

She cleared her throat, and looked over. “Replacement?” She got up and opened it, glancing back at him for confirmation. Inside was a neat arrangement of sutures, needles, IV catheters, syringes, a lot of gauze pads and wraps, and even a bag of saline along with other supplies.

“I’ve told them to stop abusing your access.”

“I don’t mind,” Violet protested softly, closing the case. “Keeps life interesting and the people protecting Gotham healthy.”

“Maybe you do have some Omega nurturing in you after all.”

Violet snorted to hide the blush those words gave her. “Would you like a tetanus shot to go with that cut?”

She slept soundly that night and went rollerblading through the park the next afternoon with the group from Safe Haven. Violet had more fun than she expected, her whole body lighter than it had been in weeks. She even winked at a cute Alpha as she skated by, laughing at the nudges from some of the others. It felt good to be needed.