by Aiden Bates
"Deal." Oliver shook hands on it. They drew up the necessary documentation and signed off on it, and Oliver got to work right away. He'd spent a week digging into insurance files and public records. He was pathetically grateful to Jake as he took up the analysis. He liked blood spatter analysis. He was good at blood spatter analysis. A man knew where he stood with spatter analysis. The drops either matched the witnesses’ story, in terms of velocity and gravity, or they didn't.
In this case, Oliver didn't take long to figure out that it would have been impossible to have one donor leave blood in that pattern, in that room. He ran another analysis, this time accounting for two different people in the room. Then he ran a DNA analysis on the samples, both from the larger initial pool and from the samples taken from the second spatter cluster. The results, when they finally came through, gave him two different donors just as he'd expected.
More specifically, the donor of the smaller sample was already in CODIS. By the time he was done cleaning up from the DNA analysis, quitting time had long since passed. Oliver just laughed and wrote up the report. He sent a text to Jake as he got ready to leave the lab, and then he hopped onto his bike and rode back to his apartment.
For a moment, he thought about taking advantage of some of the building's amenities. It was late, and he was lonely. A few people were hanging out and watching the game in one of the lounge areas, and he wouldn't mind just being around other people for a while. Right now probably wouldn't be the best time, though. He smelled like the lab, like chemicals and sweat, and no one wanted to be around someone who smelled like a lab. He locked up his bike and trudged up to his own apartment, where he scrubbed himself down and fixed himself a quick bite to eat.
Sometimes he wondered if he shouldn't think about moving. He knew that part of what he was paying for with this place was the "social living" aspect that the developers touted, and he could only rarely take advantage of it. The building did have some amenities that a guy like Oliver, with weird hours, could make use of though, and it was one of the safest living situations a single omega could find for the price.
He'd never thought he'd still be a single omega at his age. He hadn't counted on unrequited, unrequitable, love.
He slipped between his sheets. His bedroom, everything about his apartment, was neat and clean, the way it should be. He'd make a good omega for Nenci. He'd even gone on vacation to Florence with Jake last year for a cooking school holiday experience. They'd sold it to Nenci as Jake's idea, so that Jake could learn the food-ways of his ancestors or some such thing, but in reality Jake had just been indulging Oliver.
It hadn't done him any good. He was still alone. He could probably find another alpha, if he put his mind to it. Most alphas liked them a little bit younger, but Oliver was only twenty-four. He'd give good, intelligent children. He was attractive enough, and he was still a virgin. Most alphas liked that, too.
If the thought of giving himself to an alpha who wasn't Nenci didn't turn his stomach, he'd have to consider putting up a personal ad or something. Maybe someday.
He stretched and tried to get comfortable enough for sleep. The only thing that worked was imagining himself sheltered in the arms of his alpha.
The next morning, he headed downstairs to use the omega-only gym before he showered and got ready for work. Maybe working out more would help him to focus more, and get over Nenci. Then he hopped onto his bike and headed into the office.
Jake thanked him for his spatter analysis efforts with a huge iced mocha, complete with chocolate whipped cream and a chocolate drizzle. "Because you're the sweetest," he declared. "Also, I've found a kind of pattern to the madness with your mayhem people there. The people that are attacking them aren't being at all subtle, are they?"
Oliver shook his head. "With some of them they are, sure. I mean they seem to have made some effort to disguise the plumbing accidents, and as near as I can tell I'm the first one to raise the alarm about the cars crashing into buildings. But for the most part, no. I mean barricading the exits when you torch a place is not considered subtle behavior."
"No." Jake grimaced. "That's something we've got to bring up with my dad, bro. I mean he's got to hear about it."
Oliver froze. "I mean Jake, I'm not sure that your dad has been interested in the case. I haven't heard from him since the case started."
Jake rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Okay, buddy. If this were any other cop, and I mean any, would you stand for that kind of thing? Even for half a second?"
Oliver shrunk in on himself. Then he straightened his back and threw his shoulders back. "Hell no. I'd march right down there to Cold Case and tell him exactly what he needed to know, whether or not he wanted to know it." He picked up the report that Jake had printed out for him.
"Damn straight you would. Now, all of this is stuff that Sam Nenci needs to know. At the end of the day, he's just a detective. Just a man. You just walk down there, like normal, and you give him the report. If he balks, you leave it on his desk. With witnesses, so he can't throw it away." Jake put a hand on Oliver's shoulder. "Our job is to give information. So go give it, tiger."
Oliver marched down the long corridors to Cold Case. Their admin gave him a cordial nod; she was used to seeing him around the place. Langer spotted him and gave him a wave. "Hey, Oliver. I haven't seen you around much."
Oliver swallowed. He hadn't counted on having to be around all of these alphas. There was Robles, and Morris, and Tessaro, too. And of course, there was Nenci. Beautiful, forbidden Nenci. Oliver could feel Nenci's gray eyes burning a hole into his skin.
"Sorry about that. I got pulled off of most of my cases to work on this case with Detective Nenci. I'm still working on your cases, of course, when something comes up." He cleared his throat and turned to face Nenci. "Here's a report on all of the property crimes that took place at Coucher family properties between the 1967 fire and today. The people attacking them aren't just restricting themselves to fire, sir. There've been too many incidents, all with clear-cut signs of sabotage."
Nenci stared at him, unmoving, and Oliver waited for him to explode. "Figured all of this out by yourself, did you?" Nenci finally asked. His voice was dry and almost hoarse.
Oliver narrowed his eyes. "As a matter of fact, yes. I knew what I was looking for, so it wasn't difficult." He snatched the paper report out of Nenci's hands, ignoring the way he jumped in astonishment, and flipped through it. "You see here? Insurance investigators determined this to be a case of decayed pipes, but the pipes were only twenty years old and pipes don't decay in perfectly straight lines. You can see where it was cut, for crying out loud.
"And here." Oliver flipped to another picture. "I have a picture of the damage to the stove that caused the gas leak. That's very clearly been tampered with. You can see the marks left by the wrench, clear as day on the photo. It took a lot of digging, into a lot of insurance records and crime scene reports, to find this information. If we're supposed to be working together, Detective Nenci, it would go much more smoothly if you didn't throw evidence away out of hand because it comes from an omega's lowly hands." He turned on his heel. "And by the way? Your son helped with the final analysis. He printed out the report you just sneered at. So when you sit there and turn up your nose at omegas, it affects all of us." He left the squad room.
Once he was out of sight, and away from all of those alphas, he found the nearest bench to sit down on. His legs wouldn't hold him up any longer. He was shaking too badly to move. He'd just ripped into his alpha. If he'd still had even a snowball's chance in hell with Nenci, it was gone now.
What was worse, there was no way that Nenci wasn't going to file a complaint with HR, or with Nina. Oliver had never been much of a drinker, but maybe he should start.
***
Sam went home a little early after work. He'd been working on the Coucher case during the week too. Part of him kind of resented the unstated implication that he hadn't been, but it was a small part. He hadn't shared his work with
Oliver, or with Oliver's supervisor, or with anyone else who might have passed it on to the guy he was supposed to be working with.
He'd clearly been in the wrong there.
Not that anything else that Sam had been doing was wrong. No, he'd been doing good work and getting solid information on the case. He'd gone back through the original case files. He'd walked around. He'd talked to people—actual police work, the kind he'd been doing for close to thirty years now, thank you very much. He'd learned a lot, too.
For one thing, he'd learned that the Couchers hadn't been the only family to want that building, before it went up in smoke. No, there had been three other real estate groups looking at it. Salem was looking at an economic rebound, and everyone wanted a piece of it. The Couchers had somehow gotten a leg up on the other bidders, even though they'd bid less than three of the four others. Because that wasn't shady.
Looking at the pile of data that Oliver had dumped into his hands, though—all written up clearly and cleanly, in a way that Sam didn't have to try to puzzle out—he could see that there was absolutely a greater pattern to everything. It wasn't just about this property. Someone was absolutely out to get the Couchers.
Maybe, just maybe, Sam could have been walking and talking to dig into that, instead of just digging further into one transaction.
The front door flew open, and Jake came storming in. Sometimes Sam couldn't believe his own nose. There was no way that this kid, with his personality, could possibly be an omega. It just wasn't feasible. He smelled like an omega, but he wasn't one. "Hey, Son." Sam looked up from the report he was still reading. "How's it going?"
Jake's lip curled. "How's it going? Oh, it's going just fine. By the way, my supervisor has declared war on Cold Case, and sent Oliver home early since he wasted a week's worth of work on something you clearly gave no hoots about, but you know what? Life's just peachy, Dad." He stomped into the kitchen.
Sam glowered after Jake. "I don't need that kind of attitude from you. I don't tell you how to run a DNA sample, you don't tell me how to do police work." He stood up and followed Jake into the kitchen. Sure, he'd handled the thing with Oliver poorly, but that didn't give Jake the right to come in here and give Sam attitude about it.
"Actually, Dad, you tell me how to run a DNA sample all the time. That's why Oliver got stuck dealing with you alphas down in Cold Case. He's the only one who doesn't want to punch you all in the throat. Or more to the point, he's the only one who could be trusted not to punch you all in the throat." Jake got himself a glass of water and gave Sam a tight, unpleasant grin. "Of course, you shot yourself in the nuts with that too."
Sam shook his head and waved his hand. "Oliver's a professional. He's not going to go getting his panties in a bunch because of one bad interaction." He frowned. He knew that wasn't true. Oliver might be a professional, and sure he wouldn't be pushed off by one negative interaction, but it hadn't just been one bad day and Sam knew it. "He can't possibly think that I didn't appreciate what he did. What the two of you did," he added, because Oliver had made sure that Sam knew Jake had been involved with this.
Jake almost spat out his water. "You said it in front of witnesses, buddy. One of whom went running down to Burton to apologize, so she wouldn't take Oliver away from Cold Case."
"Langer." Sam clenched his hands into fists. "Langer needs to keep his mouth shut."
"No. No, he does not. Oliver Wesson deserves better than that. We all do, frankly, and that's why we won't work with you jerks anymore, but Oliver especially deserves better than that. You do get that we're not living in the Middle Ages anymore, and that omegas don't have to just bow their heads and get treated like crap because of how our genes express? There are laws about it and everything."
Sam pushed away from the counter. This wasn't about omega rights. This was about policing, and detective work. "Don't give me that crap, Jake. Your father certainly never had a reason to complain. I treat you fine, I treat every omega I come across just fine. You're just bitter that you're still single. This isn't about how I treat omegas, this is about getting the job done."
Jake laughed out loud. "It's got everything to do with the way that you treat omegas. And I'm not still single. If I wanted an alpha, I'd have one. You do know that I've had three offer to claim me, right?"
Sam turned to face him. "What? Then why haven't you taken them up on it?" He shouldn't get distracted, but the fact that Jake had been keeping this kind of secret from him threw him for a loop.
"Because I'm not willing to be treated the way you treat omegas. Don't get distracted. It's entirely about the way you treat omegas. The entire case is going to ride on physical evidence. You were ordered to work with Oliver on this, you already practically broke his heart when you lashed out in that meeting, and now you're mocking the work that he did in front of witnesses."
Sam scowled. "Well it's not like he's exactly innocent there. No one asked him to look into any of that. I'm supposed to be the lead investigator. He should have waited for my authority, not done it on his own initiative. Who the hell ever heard of a lab guy just going off on his own to investigate something?" Damn it, why was he getting defensive here? He'd been in the wrong; he'd misspoken himself, why couldn't he just keep his mouth shut?
"Probably the people who decided that he would be the one working the case." Jake's voice was absolutely flat. "My God, you're willing to let a serial fatal arsonist walk because you think that an omega acted out of turn."
"It's got nothing to do with him being an omega." Sam crossed his arms over his chest. He knew why he was getting upset now. He couldn't make himself justify his behavior to his son. He was the father; he had to maintain his authority here.
"Show me one instance when you've lashed out at an alpha or at a beta who showed initiative like this." Jake shook his head and walked toward the hallway.
Sam followed him. "Show me one instance where an alpha or a beta has been in the same position, to step out of line like that."
Jake snapped his fingers. "The Vecchio murder. Tessaro independently investigated a tangent related to your case."
"That's different." Sam tried to fight back his irritation. "He's part of the team."
"So even though your boss, and his boss, put Oliver on your team, that doesn't count."
"No, it doesn't."
"Why not?"
"Because he's not!" Sam exploded. "He's not, because he works in a lab. Which is a perfectly good place for an omega, so long as they don't stick their noses into real police work. I'd honestly thought better of Oliver. He doesn't belong doing this kind of thing; it's stupid of him to even try it. And yeah, I'm angry that he didn't wait to be told to do it."
Jake stepped into Sam's space. "Omegas aren't pets, you dinosaur. We don't sit around and wait to be told to act. He was pulled off every other job so that he could work on this. With you, not for you. Not as your coffee boy, but as your partner. He's got a goddamn master's degree and lots of experience, so maybe you could lose the attitude and treat him like an actual professional person instead of like an infant?"
Jake walked away, and Sam grabbed his arm. "Don't you walk away from me. I am your father and your alpha until you find one of your own. You will treat me with respect while you live under my roof."
Jake broke out of his hold easily, a look of utter contempt on his handsome face. "There's an opening in Oliver's building. I'm putting a deposit down right now."
"The hell you are. Omegas can't live on their own. It isn't right." Sam scoffed. "It isn't safe, either. You're staying right here where your father can watch over you."
"An attempt to keep me here would constitute kidnapping." Jake met his eyes. "I make enough money, and I've saved enough money, to live on my own. I've been staying here for you. I'm not anymore. Call me when you get your head out of your ass." He disappeared into his bedroom.
All Sam could do was to watch in stunned silence as Jake emerged from his bedroom with a suitcase. He stood rooted to the floor as
he watched Jake walk out the door, and still didn't move as he heard the car start up. This was it. He was leaving, forever. Sam had already lost one son to his own temper and ideals. Now he'd lost another.
He forced down a wave of panic. This wasn't twenty years ago. Many omegas lived safely alone. Pretty Boy, Robles' omega, had lived on his own just fine for a long time before Robles came along. Of course, Pretty Boy had guns and lots of them. Morris' omega, Pete, had lived on his own as a civilian, and he'd done fine too. Well, until he'd wound up on the wrong side of a bank robbery, but living at home with his mother wouldn't have stopped that.
Lots of omegas lived alone. None of them were his son.
What should he do? Should he go chasing after Jake? Should he call the uniform guys and say that he'd been acting erratically? No. It was tempting, but no.
He picked up the phone. He'd gotten Oliver's number when they'd been assigned the case together, but he'd never used it. He didn't trust himself, and he'd been right. Right now, though, he couldn't think about that stuff. He hit "dial" and waited for Oliver to pick up.