John sat on the fully adjustable (but still somehow managing to be completely uncomfortable), paper-covered, faux leather examination bed for what seemed like an inordinate amount of time. The smell of the exam room, the glint of metal and class canisters containing plasters and cotton tipped applicators only served to remind him of his tumultuous adolescence. Just how many gender specialists had he seen before his parents deemed him unworthy of Formation? How many times had he sat in this same type of room, wondering if that day was the day they would change their mind? How long did it take them to decide their money was better spent on alcohol and cigarettes than their own son?

He supposed it didn't really matter now, and not for the first time, he wondered if this experimental medication (whatever it was) really had the ability to convert him to full Omega. The idea was ephemeral and tempting, much like a lovely dream one tries to catch and hold whilst unwillingly rising to consciousness. When he thought back on all his failed relationships, all his fumbling one night stands, he couldn't help but think that maybe this would have all been different if his parents had just said 'yes.' Hell, he could even be bonded with children by now, and what would that be like?

John took a long moment to think on that. He wasn't entirely sure if that scenario was right for him. After all, he had gone to war, been burnt and shot – would a life of domesticity and child-rearing truly make him happy?

He was chilled suddenly; his threadbare hospital gown was as helpful as tissue paper when it came to retaining body warmth. A low level of arousal pricked his skin…a live undercurrent of preparedness that rolled low in his gut since he'd stepped in the building earlier today.

He felt not unlike James Bond as he reached over and turned on the transmitter hidden inside his iPhone. This was all very spy movie and hush-hush, and for a moment, John fancied himself as reasonable a facsimile of Daniel Craig as one underweight blond Omega could possibly be.

Hmmm…Daniel Craig? Maybe more like Mr. Bean.

He sighed loudly, just as the door to the room squeaked open once again. Dr Wilkes strode inside, greasy smile plastered all over his homely face. John steeled himself internally, calling on his experience in the battlefield to keep a stiff upper lip.

Wilkes hooked one polished shoe into a cracked vinyl stool and scooted it over, sitting down as it rested to a stop in front of the Omega. He pulled a penlight from his crisp Lab coat and clicked it off and on in quick succession.

"So, John, tell me about yourself. I have a bit of your history here but…you know how impersonal paperwork can be."

John didn't actually want to share any more of his personal information with the Beta than he had to. It was bad enough he had to fill out those forms, god knows who would have their grimy paws on his medical history now.

"Erm, right…I'm 35, latent Omega…uh, right you know that of course," John shifted, the paper crinkling loudly under his bottom. He grimaced before inhaling and moving on, "I qualified as a doctor before joining the Army. I was shot in the left shoulder, and barely survived a rather nasty bout of enteric fever while laid up in hospital. I suffered third degree burns on my right hip, as well as embedded shrapnel when my transport blew up, just after I was shot. No complications there though. Um, I'm a Leo, I like a good bath and cup of tea, alcoholism runs in my family, my favourite colour is blue and when I was little I had a pet hedgehog named Brent Spiny."

"A hedgehog named Brent Spiny?" The other man raised his eyebrows, nonplussed.

"Yeah," the blond rubbed at the back of his neck, willing himself to just relax, "I was a big fan of Star Trek: The Next Generation as a kid."

Wilkes burst out a laugh, just one hearty guffaw, and for a minute the smile on his face was genuine.

"Well…I did ask you to tell me about yourself." He replied, chuckling and clicking his penlight repeatedly.

"Ah, that you did," John responded with his own half-smile, just a corner of his mouth quirked up a bit. He'd been told this particular facial expression was boyish and charming and he wasn't above using all the weapons in his arsenal for this situation. This might be his only chance at gaining a position in the study, and if he wasn't admitted, he will have failed everyone. Worst of all, he'd have failed Sherlock – and he simply could not let that happen.

Dr Wilkes cleared his throat and situated himself on his stool, grasping his pen and lifting it to John's navy blue eyes.

"I'll just get started then, shall I?"

This was all too familiar to the Omega, as he had done this a thousand times to others under his care. However, it had been a while since he'd been properly seen by a healthcare provider, and he tried very hard to comply and not feel like a performing monkey. He breathed when asked, lifted his shoulders (the left not being able to go up near as far as the right), lifted his arms…he laid on his back while Wilkes auscultated, palpated, and percussed. The doctor took his vital signs: temperature, blood pressure, respirations, and pulse.

All of this was standard fare, of course, and it wasn't until the reproductive assessment that John began to feel a bit uncomfortable. At first, he thought he was imagining things…that perhaps he was just unhappy with the situation and superimposing those feelings onto Dr. Wilkes. After all, this man was a Beta (or smelled like one anyway), and they were not known to be sexually aggressive.

It wasn't anything Wilkes did in particular that suddenly made his face flush hot and heart thud a warning in his chest. The Beta's touch was coldly clinical as he clasped John's penis in his gloved and spray-tanned grip, and he remained quietly detached as he pulled the foreskin back to examine the glans.

But then…John noticed the fine pearls of perspiration on his upper lip; and the faint tremble of his fingers as he slid the pad of his thumb across the tip of his prick, swiping across the spongy tissue with a definite pressure that could in no way be deemed appropriate.

John stared mutely at the cracked foam tiles in the ceiling, his tightly closed lips forming a tortured line across his face.

Dr. Wilkes was not a large man, but you'd never know it by the way his acrid coffee-laced breath subtlety quickened, as if he was recovering from some arduous physical activity. His warm hand gripped John's shaft, which had thickened noticeably, a by-product of manual stimulation and (unfortunately) a perfectly normal reaction to a genital exam. John desperately willed the reaction to go down, feeling more than a little betrayed by his own body (a not altogether unfamiliar feeling).

The blond exhaled silently through painfully clenched teeth, trying to remember his breathing exercises.

Wilkes moved his hand down slowly - a soft, tortuous slide of his fingertips - as he squeezed and prodded at the semi-turgid flesh. He fondled the loosened skin around the base of the Omega's shaft that would have housed testicles, if he had any. The scrotal sack was merely vestigial now, as his ovaries were, of course, housed in his lower abdomen.

"Ah…" The doctor began, wiping his left wrist over the top of his obscenely damp upper lip. He twisted the thin skin gently back and forth between his thumb and index finger. John squeezed his eyes closed and held back a grunt…just because he didn't have testicles didn't mean the area wasn't sensitive. "Have you heard of the new testicular implants they're selling to Omega's these days?"

The fact that the man was trying to make any kind of attempt at conversation was absurd. Couldn't he see how uncomfortable John was? What the hell did he think he was doing?

John choked a bit, swallowing his own sticky, thick saliva before answering the man, "Um, no. No I haven't." His voice sounded weak and uneasy to his own ears - surely the man would notice as well?

"Yeah, got the idea from dogs, they did. You know, after they'd been neutered there wasn't much left, just an empty sack," He continued to caress the loose skin, absently rubbing John's perineum with the meaty thumb of his left hand while he did, "Not really sure if it was just for show but…they found it certainly gave the dog something to lick afterwards."

The emphasis on the word 'lick' left John with a more than vivid understanding of Wilkes' thought process. The itchy, hot flush in his abdomen abruptly ceased, leaving his skin cold and pale.

The smile on the Beta's face bordered on lecherous, his eyes taking on a dull gleam John tried not to recognize…though he'd seen it many times before.

"Not interested," he managed to force his vocal cords into action, pushing air past the spasms in his throat. The room seemed too small now, the walls too constricting. What should he do? What could he do?

"Yes well," Wilkes continued, with continued disregard for John's obvious discomfort, "I'm not much for the idea myself. Of course anyone can do what they want but, I like my Omega's natural, just as they were born."

John wasn't sure what that was supposed to mean, but Dr. Wilkes' long, lingering stare didn't leave much to the imagination.

The blond breathed a sigh of relief as the Beta removed his hands (finally), the waft of cool air as the man moved away was welcome. Then, he heard a packet being opened, and realized this was not over.

Dr. Wilkes grasped the rough bottom of each heel and positioned his feet further to the side to sit in the stirrups that popped up from the end of the table. John complied, but only just; he had to keep reminding himself that innocent Omegas were being murdered. He had to be strong and get through this. As it was, he inhaled shakily and prepared for the worst. He could do this, he thought, he could do this.

John closed his eyes, all his senses on alert and pounding into his brain in painful clarity. He felt the too-hot radiation from the man's hands as he stroked the underside of his thighs firmly, gripping and making his way down to his entrance. John only hoped it was quick, he didn't know how much more of this he could take.

The Beta placed a thick, lubricated finger to John's opening, pushing in lightly with a purposeful rocking motion that John knew for certain was not standard practice. John gulped in a heady rush of air, not realising he had been holding in his breath.

Gloved or not, the man's finger felt rough and intrusive. The pressure increased by volumes as the man hubbed his third knuckle against John's body, giving his now completely enveloped finger a little wiggle, as if testing the clench of the Omega's internal muscles. The movement was crude and profane, and John couldn't help the tension of his muscles as his body quite literally flinched halfway off the table.

"What the hell –"

A sharp knock at the door interrupted John's stunned exclamation. Dr. Wilkes immediately removed his offending digit and tore off his gloves, clearing his throat in a vaguely guilty and off-putting manner.

"Yes, c-come in." The Beta was now sweating profusely, mopping at his brow with the already dampened sleeve of his lab coat. John took this moment to sit up on the table, scrambling to pull his gown down over his nether regions and glaring at the other man with a look that could only be described as intently murderous.

A fresh-faced young woman poked her head in, opening the door just a crack, seemingly trying to keep everyone's privacy intact. She seemed unaware of the oppressive tension between the two men.

"Dr. Wilkes, we've a few more applicants lined up outside and I thought I'd help move things along. I figured I can finish up with Mr. Watson while you start on the next?" She held a weathered clipboard close to her body, the metal clip at the top barely keeping the multitude of papers adequately clamped.

The Beta brightened suddenly, clenching his soiled gloves tightly in his hands. After a silent moment, he stuffed them in the pocket of his lab coat and slapped John loudly on the back, as if he hadn't just completely abused his trust and position as a healthcare provider.

"Right so…exam's all done John, Trudi here will draw your blood for some tests and then Dr. Adler will see you in a bit. Enjoy the rest of your day."

He fled the room in such a hurry that even the young woman clicked her teeth. She made an unhappy noise as he shut the door, a rush of stale air blowing back to ruffle John's fringe. A hint of vaguely floral essence wafted towards John and he took in the other woman fully; she seemed to be a Beta as well.

"He works too hard, that one. I've tried telling him to go on holiday but he doesn't listen to me."

She prattled on, gathering tubes, needles, and other supplies while John only half-listened. He wasn't interested in learning more about that monster, and he fully planned on pressing charges once the case was over. It wouldn't be surprising to him at all if he wasn't the first Omega Dr. Wilkes had done this to; but if John could help it, he would certainly be one of the last. Even if he had nothing to do with the deaths (which was doubtful), John would see him prosecuted to the full extent of the law.

He blinked vacantly at Trudi when she lifted a hand, touching his arm lightly, "Hello? You there?"

"Sorry," John flushed, coming back to himself and abandoning his vivid fantasy of the Doctor wasting away behind bars for the rest of his perverted life, "just a little tired, is all. What were you saying?"

She sat on the vinyl stool and motioned for John's arm, wrapping a bright orange tourniquet around his bicep when it was offered. John didn't have much in the way of fat (or muscle for that matter) right now, and his veins popped up instantly under the pressure. Lurid bluish streaks lined his arms, looking bizarre and strangely inhuman under the fluorescent light.

"I asked if you'd got your 'flu jab yet?" She repeated, disinfecting the crook of his arm as she prepared the needle and tubes for the blood draw.

"Uh no…I-I thought there was a shortage…" John blanched only slightly (he noted with a hint of pride) as she inserted the needle and filled tube after tube with gentle, smooth motions. She really was very good; John hoped she was only an innocent employee and not involved in the deaths of the young men.

Trudi untied the tourniquet and held pressure at the puncture site, making sure he didn't bleed out all over the table, while simultaneously flipping through the papers on the clipboard, "I thought so too, but we got a fresh shipment in just yesterday. Not sure how they pulled that one, but, because of your…because you…" She tripped over her words; clearly she was finding it difficult to state openly that John was homeless.

"Yes?" He bent his arm, holding his own pressure over the site now, pushing down the plaster with probably more force than necessary.

"Well, because of your situation, you're considered 'at risk.' Would you like one? It'll only take a moment, no charge. You don't have any allergies do you?"

She stood, gripping her now labelled blood tubes in one hand, the clipboard in another.

"Yes, alright I'll take one and no, no allergies. Thank you Trudi."

Her smile was tight as she left silently through the door; she wasn't unable to completely hide her own embarrassment at the situation. The Omega shook his head and began to dress, pulling on his vest and denims, but keeping his ragged jumper to the side.

The only good thing about this situation, he supposed, was the cash he would receive if he was accepted. There was no way in God's green earth he was going to ingest any kind of medication given to him, so he wasn't worried about any ill-effects. Maybe he could even save it up a bit and slowly crawl his way back to normalcy…well, maybe.

Trudi came back within five minutes, embarrassment resolved, and gripping a small multi-dose vial of clear liquid. It was only the work of a moment to receive the jab, and afterwards she squeezed his hand, green eyes full of warmth and caring.

"Go ahead and finish getting dressed, you can go and see Dr. Adler now. She's just down the hall, third door on the right."

And with that, she was gone.

The blond rubbed at his right deltoid lightly, wondering if this would be as bad as the tetanus jabs he remembered as a kid. Oh sure, they felt fine at first, but nothing compared to the soreness that developed the next day. He kneaded the muscle gently, trying to disperse the one millilitre of liquid as much as possible; he didn't need a sore arm on top of everything else that had already happened today.

John pulled on his jumper, unable to shake a certain sense of foreboding. His mind flew back to the iPhone lying on the bed next to him. He was suddenly very, very thankful that the mobile could only record sound; though, thoughts of what that abhorrent man said flew through his mind with unease. There would be questions, and John would not lie.

With a sigh born of someone who's prepared for the worst, he swept up his mobile and left the exam room. The Omega counted the doors till he found the correct one (why was nothing ever labelled in this place?), and knocked softly.

"Come in Dr. Watson." A melodious female voice floated out from behind the door, low and suspended in the air. It was smooth and varying in pitch, well-calculated and controlled.

He turned the brassy doorknob and let himself inside. The space was dark and cool, with plush carpeting that he had yet to see in any other room on this floor. Heavy brocade curtains blocked the light, and in the corner sat an elegant woman behind yet another large desk.

She was effortlessly beautiful; the kind of person one saw not in modern-day magazines, but in black and white celluloids from the thirties, ethereal and poised, the line of her lipstick so perfectly blood red one would swear it could cut glass.

She swept a heavy-lidded gaze over the diminutive Omega and smiled, brushing a hand to smooth over the glossy chignon secured at her neck.

"Excellent…so lovely to meet you," in one graceful motion, she stood, making her way noiselessly across the room. She swept one arm towards an overstuffed fainting couch nestled near the far wall, "Please, have a seat. We have so much to discuss, you and I."

Dr. Wilkes and Dr. Adler could not be more different. Dr Wilkes was a grotesque, bumbling excuse for a man, and Dr. Adler was a creature of the silver screen. How could these two have possibly begun working together?

John lowered himself down onto the no doubt ridiculously overpriced piece of furniture. He wasn't a timid man by nature, but something about the woman's presence struck him so forcefully, he found himself at a loss for words. She took a seat next to him, impervious to this premature familiarity, and crossed one satiny leg over another. The hem of her snowy white dress lifted up an inch or so, and John found himself averting his eyes before he looked somewhere he oughtn't.

And then it hit him, squarely in-between the eyes, a scent absolutely overwhelming in its intensity. It was chocolate, vanilla, patchouli, sandalwood, and every other exotic spice he had ever scented in those far-away Afghani markets. She was an Omega, and she was perfection.

"So, I hope you don't mind if I call you John. I like to be on a first name basis with all of my patients," a ghost of a smile tugged at her carmine lips, "you can call me Irene, if you like. Or you can stick with Dr. Adler, depending on your preference. Do you…have a preference, John?"

He couldn't help but think that was a loaded question.

His jaw dropped, lips parting as he stared into her eyes, swirling and blue like liquid pools of sea-glass, "J-John is fine – Irene is fine."

"Good. I just need to go over a few things first. Simple really, just some background information."

"Alright."

"Let's start with your family."

"My…family?"

This was going to take a while.