Chapter Text
“The 141 needs a pack omega Price. I can’t help you keep avoiding it for much longer. It’s starting to look like an issue of discrimination,” Laswell was up on the screen looking a bit more strained than usual.
“It’s not!” Price was irritable for multiple reasons, one of which is the problem Laswell had been helping him avoid so far. He’s always appreciated Laswell, and perhaps it wasn’t fair for him to ask her to help him put this off for so long.
“I know that, but the higher ups don’t. Just look over the list of candidates I’ve sent, okay? Watcher-1 out.”
The screen went dark.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want an omega in the 141. He did. They needed it.
Ghost was snapping at recruits, especially new pups trying to prove themselves by challenging him. Gaz would growl at both of them especially after missions when adrenaline was high.
Sure, they could scent each other. It wasn’t out of the question. As the head alpha Price would often fill that role, but it doesn’t do anything to solidify their bonds.
From the outside they looked like a cohesive and efficient unit, but on the inside they were fractured. The three higher ranking alphas of the unit would share meals together less and less, getting to where they’d only communicate during briefings.
The glue that was kind of holding them together for the moment was their one beta in the upper ranks within the 141. But betas can only do so much.
Price would often have to argue the point that it’s not an issue of bound or unbound omegas. Medical science, especially in the military, has advanced as far as breaking bonds. Those surgeries are not ideal, but omegas aren’t as much of a liability as they were in the past, not that Price ever viewed omegas as a liability.
The problem is that role of an omega in the military— especially the 141– is a large gap to fill, and not just any omega can fill the job.
They have to be able to stand off against other alphas, so being a dominant omega was an unspoken requirement. They had to be able to physically keep up with the workload. And they also had to be tough enough to handle themselves on solo missions. A fearless rabbit that can stroll into a wolf’s den and stake their claim in the pack.
Regardless of his opinions though, the empty hole could not continue long term. Price knew that better than anyone. He’s just seen one too many rabbits that got too big for their breeches get eaten alive.
Laswell dug deep for this batch of personnel files because even she doesn’t want someone to be voluntold to fill this position being a dominant omega herself who had to fight her way into her place in the military.
She fought harder than anyone which is why she is so well respected. One of the first omegas to make it to her position. It’s also why Price trusts her judgment on the files. His diamond in the rough, his bad ass rabbit, was somewhere in this stack.
Price sighed as he looked over the files getting increasingly frustrated….
“The lads would eat this one alive... This one doesn’t seem like a fit... Too inexperienced…”
…Until he ran across a file that caught his attention. A Scottish omega described as headstrong, loud, insubordinate, but has the highest marks in demo and sniping.
It was unusual for a military omega to score high in skills needed for combat. They were more there to keep the lads from going red, losing control, snapping at their own teammates, shedding pack blood post combat.
Another archaic view of the role, but is the unfortunate reality. Laswell being the exception, not the rule.
Too many omegas have been eaten alive by adrenaline driven alphas or multiple alphas hitting rut at the same time. Too many COs that would rather cover up assault as opposed to dealing with the audits and removal of personnel.
As he continued to look over the file, Price was also struck by the fact that he’s a pretty omega, even in the black and white pictures they put in files. He felt guilty that this crossed his mind, but it’s not like this omega can’t back up that pretty face. As a matter of fact he far exceeds the expectations Price has.
Price called Laswell immediately.
“Price?” Laswell asked. It was unusual for him to call her back this quickly.
“I have a candidate, and I want him here as soon as possible,” Price indicated the file.
“I was hoping you’d pick him,” Laswell signed off so she could push the paperwork. This omega desperately needed to be moved, but he was way too talented to just be put anywhere.
Plus, he was going to need a new CO with a lot of patience and understanding. Laswell knew that better than anyone else in their ranks would ever be able to fathom.
Soap was pacing around the obstacle course again, scratching at the damn scent patches he had to wear constantly.
His unit had a successful mission. He did his best job, by the book, so why does his CO insist on tormenting him?
He stopped following orders he didn’t agree with once he realized he’d never make the man happy. Soap was never really one to go along with something he didn’t agree with. Not usually, but he wanted at least a shred of praise.
It especially hurt when his CO would hype up his alpha comrades, to the point that it felt intentional sometimes. Just once, with how brilliantly he did on this last mission… just once even if it was just a “good job, Soap,” he wanted some semblance of praise.
It never came. He didn’t know if it was his inner omega itching for approval or if it was the fact that he was a bit of an overachiever, but it stings.
Of course, he can’t mention it, otherwise he gets brushed off. “The emotional omega wants attention again. Boohoo…” it was bullshit. All of it. But he did his best to accept it because to him this was all normal.
He was pacing outside at the obstacle course instead of in the safety of his room because his CO sent the lads in rowdy, drowning his own scent out of his room. He stopped nesting because everyone seems to want to not just disturb it but tear it apart, taking his things. Likely because it had omega scent and some of these alphas were desperate for it.
As much as his skin crawled, as anxious as it made him, Soap just forced himself not to. What would be the point? Nothing is sacred, not even the privacy of his own room, his own nest. He did his best to make something that the alphas would respect or praise him for, but again none of it mattered.
He could also smell the rut on a couple of them when they raided his room for the umpteenth time. If it weren’t for their deployment those ones would have been benched. But sometimes that’s not possible and Soap did not want to be a victim of another incident. So he left his space hoping his room would be empty by the time he walked back.
He was tired… bone tired, but he was even more tired of being used and abused. Still… this was somehow better than his home situation growing up.
Soap swallowed a cry of frustration. If he stayed there any longer he was going to go crazy. He hated how his inner omega cried out, he’d often ask it, “Why do you even still get upset this isn’t anything new…”
As to whether or not it was normal, again, Soap had no clue. He didn’t exactly have any omega role models. His alpha father forbade his omega mother to have “the talk.” The man didn’t want to acknowledge that his only male child presented as an omega.
The schools didn’t do any better because the attitude was the parents were responsible for explaining things. So as far as he knew this was all normal alpha behavior, so it almost seemed silly to be hurt by it. He thought he was the abnormal one.
One of the recruits trotted up to him, “Captain wants to see you in the conference room.”
Great… what did he do this time…
He knocked on the door, entering. “Sir?”
“Pack your shit MacTavish. You’re being transferred,” the ‘finally’ the captain said under his breath didn’t go unnoticed and he had to swallow another wounded sound.
Yeah, Soap was going to go crazy there, but what if he’s going from bad to worse. It also didn’t feel very good that his CO was happy to get rid of him. Why did he even care though?
Soap sighed as he entered his room. It was trashed for the most part. He panicked a little rushing to his closet. He pulled out a loose board in the floor. Good, it was still there… It was the very first thing that went into his bag.
He just let out another breath and set to cleaning and packing. Even though he didn’t trash the place, he didn’t want another mark on his record for something he didn’t even do.
The only things he had to pack, aside from the one thing that was most important to him, were the clothes he enlisted in, some of his personal blankets, and his journals. Not one shred of his other items that could soak up his scent was left outside of that.
He bit back tears. They were both of sadness and relief and fear… hoping his new unit wouldn’t be worse.