A/N: oops, i forgot to mention in chapter 1 that for my own nefarious purposes vic's eviction takes place prior to the end of 4x04, which is when this fic begins. i need her to be living at cady's because of important narrative reasons. yes, that is definitely why.
It was Mary F. Lyon's pivotal work on X-inactivation that lead the way to discovering the exact mechanism governing the expression of the Omega phenotype. Subsequent work by Auerbach, Hsu, Volhard, et al., published in 2014, demonstrates definitively that Omega Type X chromosomes are not only inverted, as in Alpha Type, but also heterozygous, with the mutated allele contained on the activated X chromosome. The requirement of a second mutation for the expression of the Omega phenotype accounts for the significantly reduced frequency of its occurrence compared to the Alpha phenotype.
—Dr. Nisreen Waelsch, ABOmination: A Natural History of Lýkos Chromosomal Inversion
. . .
The scent hits him like a blow when he opens the door.
It's rich and heady and it awakens some long-slumbering part of his brain with instant recognition.
Omega in heat.
Walt inhales deeply, nostrils flaring to get more of it into his lungs. It flows luxuriously through his blood like the melody of a siren's song, shutting down his awareness of anything but her. It's consuming, blotting out reason, and screaming at him to drag Vic inside and claim her as his.
She says something that he scarcely hears through the animal roar of his lust. He's got his hands wrapped around her arms without any thought at all, pulling her into him. From up close he watches her eyes roll back in her head and her body crumple. It's only his grip that saves her from hitting the bare wooden floorboards at his feet.
Her sudden collapse shocks him into a heightened state of clarity. All he knows now is that something's wrong and he has to take care of her. He has to help her.
That's what she'd said, he realizes. Help me, Walt.
Carrying her to the Bronco, he finally notices that her hair and clothes are wet. In the yellow interior light the marks all over her skin look like some kind of disease. Some are even crusted with dried blood.
He gets her buckled in and races back to the cabin propelled by a surge of fear. It's hard to think past the impulses warring in his head but he makes sure he's fully dressed despite how constrictive his clothes feel. He grabs the blanket from the couch and at the last minute goes back for his rifle, just in case. He's got to keep her safe.
The drive to Durant Regional is a blur. Vic's scent fills the Bronco and his body is eager to respond. Only the sight of her limp and still underneath the blanket he's laid over her stops him from giving in to the desperate need to touch her.
At the hospital there are too many strangers; they're all trying to take her from him. He cradles her close and won't let them, making wordless sounds of warning any time someone gets too close.
When Doc Weston appears, Walt's filled with relief. The doctor is okay. They can trust him. He leads the way to a small exam room and that's better, quiet, just them. Walt lays Vic gently on the bed and stands between her and the door, wary and alert.
The sting of something sharp piercing the meat of his bicep has him whirling around to find Weston backing away with a syringe in one hand. Enraged at the betrayal, Walt lunges for his attacker. Flimsy things get in his way and he bats them aside, intent on removing this threat. But between one step and the next everything shifts. Like a fog dispersed by a stiff wind, he feels the cloud in his brain dissipate.
"Sheriff, are you with me?" Weston asks.
Walt blinks, taking in his surroundings. He's looming over the doctor, who's backed into a corner. Pieces of medical equipment are littered around the sides of the room. Weston had been trying to protect himself until the drug kicked in, Walt realizes.
Blowing out a slow breath, he lowers himself shakily into a chair. "I was ready to kill you."
"Rut brain," says the doctor conversationally, as if Walt hadn't just admitted to murderous intent. "An omega in heat produces aldehydes that bind to unique receptors in an alpha's brain and shut down higher functions in the frontal lobe. And that's just for starters. The net effect is a total focus on keeping the omega safe until the alpha can breed her, and that means taking out threats when necessary. I've read about it, but I've never seen it up close until now. You make a formidable predator, Sheriff."
Weston's grinning but Walt feels sick with shame. "I'm sorry, Doc."
His apology is dismissed with a wave. "How are you feeling now?"
"Um, better. It's still there but not so... much."
"That shot won't mask the heat-scent completely, but it will block the receptors of those particular aldehydes enough that you can think clearly for a few hours. As a side effect, some things might not smell quite right. That'll pass."
"Okay."
"Can you tell me what happened to Deputy Moretti?"
"She just showed up at my cabin. I opened the door and that smell..." Walt's eyes are drawn to where Vic lies on the exam bed. "She said, 'Help me,' and then she collapsed. I brought her straight here."
"She drove herself to your place?"
"Yes."
"How did she look when you saw her?" Weston pulls back the blanket covering Vic and begins making notes.
Walt rubs at the center of his forehead, trying to massage his memory into cooperating. "Uh, it's a little fuzzy. She was wet, at least her hair and her clothes were. That's why I got the blanket. And, um, I think maybe her face was flushed. She also had all those marks on her," he says, gesturing. "Did she do that on her own?"
"They appear to be self-inflicted, yes."
"Why would she hurt herself like that?"
Weston looks up and considers him. "Do you want the medical explanation or the short version?" He shakes his head at Walt's raised eyebrow. "Short version it is. Essentially her system is being overwhelmed by the change in her body chemistry and this is her version of trying to chew her leg off to get out of the trap."
Walt feels his face contort in horror.
"It's comparatively mild, Sheriff. The swelling will be gone by tomorrow and the broken skin will heal in a day or two. Self-harm is not uncommon, especially during a first heat. Neither is fainting." Weston pauses and his face gentles into compassion. "I know it seems extreme but it's a fairly normal response to what Deputy Moretti is going through. This isn't going to be easy on either of you, but I promise that she'll be all right."
It takes Walt a moment to speak past the hard knot of fear in his throat. "Okay."
"Did you see her earlier today or yesterday? Did you notice anything different about her?"
"We've been working on an investigation since I came back. I thought I only noticed it because I hadn't seen her for a while, but the way she smells... Not bad, but, uh, different somehow, um, stronger."
"Okay. Have you noticed any changes in yourself, recently? Increasing feelings of aggression or jealousy, sexual arousal?"
Hot prickles shoot up Walt's neck and into his cheeks.
"It's part of a normal biological process, Sheriff. I'm not going to judge you for it."
He scrubs his hands over his face. "Yes. All of it."
"How long?"
"Uh, two days. Maybe three."
"All right." Weston makes a final notation on the chart and sets down the clipboard. "I'll do a physical exam on Deputy Moretti now, take some blood for testing, and we'll see where we are when we get the results."
"Sure."
As the doctor reaches for Vic on the bed, Walt finds himself rising out of his chair unthinkingly. Even now, with the effects of her scent tempered by whatever was in that syringe, there's a growling, pacing part of him that's demanding to be close to her, to touch her, to not let anyone else near. It's snarling at the insult of someone else's hands all over his omega.
"Well I guess that answers the question of whether or not you want to wait outside while I do this."
Embarrassed, Walt sits back down. "Sorry."
His second apology is waved away like the first. "Normal biological process. Although if you start to feel the urge to kill me again, I'd appreciate a heads-up so I can make a run for it."
Walt manages a brief laugh at the doctor's attempt at humor. He watches Weston move around Vic's bed, taking her temperature, pulse, blood pressure, examining her pupils, listening to her breathe. It's a sign of how dulled his brain is that something occurs to him only when the doctor is drawing her blood.
"You already knew," he says.
"About her rare genetic makeup? Yes."
"You should've told me, Doc."
"Should I have told Deputy Moretti about your rare genetic makeup as well? Medical information is confidential unless the safety of my patient is in danger or she gives me explicit permission to divulge it. Which she did not do."
Weston says it in such a dry, pointed way that Walt feels exactly as ridiculous as he should. "Right. Of course."
"You've never been through this before, I take it."
"No."
"Not surprising given its rarity these days."
"Yeah."
"I'll put a rush on the blood work but it'll be a while before I get the results. Try to take it easy. Your endocrine system is going through almost as much as hers is right now. It's going to be rough for a while."
"Thanks, Doc."
Weston leaves the room and Walt forces himself to remain seated and not go over to the bed like he wants to. He's read about the altered mental states induced by heat but never comprehended the sheer enormity of their turmoil. How could he have understood the struggle to retain rational control over the part of himself urging him to lie down with Vic and guard her, curl around her and bury his face at her neck where her scent is strongest, wake her with his mouth and his hands until she's writhing and begging for his knot, give her what she needs, what they both need, take her, make her his?
With a strangled sound, he stands up and walks to the farthest wall, pressing his forehead against it and bracing himself with his hands. The thoughts running through his mind appall him and yet his dick is hard and he's panting with excitement. He has to leave but he can't; he's trapped by competing desires and he knows that at some point his latent instincts will be so powerful they'll obliterate everything else.
There's a small sink in the room, so he splashes some cold water on his face and neck, cups his hands under the faucet to drink. It's too dangerous for him to sit and do nothing, so he paces, watchful and alert, his eyes flicking between Vic and the door. After a time, the rhythm begins to soothe the restless thing inhabiting him, lulling it into a kind of trance.
He still greets Doc Weston's return with relief.
"How is she?"
"Mildly dehydrated but apart from that she's fine. Heat is putting an enormous amount of stress on her body and that's most likely why she collapsed. But she's strong and healthy so I don't see any reason why she can't be released in the morning. I'll put her on a saline drip for a few hours to rehydrate her."
"She can just go home?" Walt asks, incredulous.
"That's up to Deputy Moretti, but there's really nothing we can do for her here." Weston hesitates and seems to be considering something. "Obviously, I'll need to talk to her when she wakes up, and the arrangements will be up to her, but you should know how important it is that she not be left on her own. She's very vulnerable right now and may not be capable of keeping herself safe. Disorientation and even delirium are common in unmated omegas. As you've seen, self-harm is a danger, but she could also injure herself without realizing it. There have been cases of heat fugue where the patient has simply wandered off." He pauses again before adding, "There have also been cases of sexual assault."
Walt's stomach roils at the idea of Vic alone and preyed upon, unable to defend herself. "I'll stay with her. If she wants me to," he amends, because he won't force her into anything, though the animal part of him howls at the thought of being separated.
"If you do, make sure she gets plenty of fluids to keep her hydrated, and aspirin or acetaminophen to reduce her fever. You'll need to encourage her to eat even if she's not hungry because her body is consuming calories at an accelerated rate. I'll give her a prescription for a mild sedative which may help to take the edge off her symptoms but whether she chooses to take it is up to her. It doesn't work for everyone."
"That's all? There's nothing else you can do?"
"Unfortunately there isn't. In cases like these, when the suppression meds fail, the only options are waiting it out or doing what biology demands."
Excitement flares again, tangled up with disgust. "You mean that, uh, we should..."
The doctor looks like he wants to roll his eyes. "Her body has gone into heat. Your body is responding to that. The process has a natural conclusion. It's for the two of you to determine which course is best for you both."
Walt clears his throat and shifts uncomfortably, staring at the floor. "How long will it last?"
"I can't answer that. The period will be shorter if she's mated but even then there's no way to know. In general heats last several days, longer if they're left to resolve on their own. I can tell you that if it goes on for more than a week, she'll be placed into an induced coma until it's over. The prolonged stress on the body can lead to organ failure or stroke."
An image of Vic pale and hooked to machines to stop her body from burning itself up invades Walt's mind, making terror twist in his gut. "If we decided on the, uh, the natural conclusion, would that happen?"
"No."
"But there's the possibility of some kind of, um, chemical attachment?"
"I can't claim to be an expert, Sheriff, but if you're worried about forming a pair bond, I think that horse has already left the barn."
Startled, Walt looks up. "What do you mean?"
"I've treated Deputy Moretti in a number of extreme situations. She's a smart, competent woman who knows how to handle herself under duress." Weston shrugs. "I'm just saying that she didn't drive herself to the hospital. She drove herself to you."
[TBC]
notes: Mary F. Lyons did, indeed, discover x-inactivation in 1961, and it is sometimes referred to as lyonization in her honour. Auerbach, Hsu, and Volhard are the names of real female geneticists. their use is purely for the sake of lending veracity to my fake book about my made up science and is not intended to be representative of them or their work, or in any way factual.