Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Battle of Wave Group Conglomerate (formerly Arizona-Utah border, US), 2166

Barry shifted from his place in the trench, resisting the urge to bury his nose in the recently rain-soaked earth and hide from the overwhelming stench surrounding him. The smoke, the blood, the ripped and charred flesh slowly beginning to rot out in the open. How long had they been holding here? Weeks? Months? But he had to push beyond all of it, keep his senses sharp, himself aware. His unit was counting on him, and he was an Alpha, dammit. Even young as he was, form lean and stretched as though his body hadn't quite caught up to his growth spurt, he was better than this: it was why he was Sergeant.

Well…arguably he was a sergeant because they were quickly running out of Alphas to be in charge. Running out of soldiers, period. The numbers in Barry’s platoon may have ballooned drastically since the start of this war-- hell, in this battle alone, just to hold onto this piece of rock-- but he knew better than to think that was because the world had suddenly rallied behind their cause. People were scared-- scared of Vandal Savage's resources and influence. Of the Alpha Council's army-- a Pureblood army, with Alphas that were strong, with a gift for fighting and the government's blind eye when it came to demolishing anyone or anything connected to the resistance.

And yet Barry fought for them. Fought for what he knew they'd lose if they lost this war even as things looked bleak. They were now consolidating what forces remained, pushing hard against Savage and his kind to hold their ground, and truthfully Barry wasn’t even sure he knew many of his troops' names anymore. He felt bad about that: they were his team. If they knew his name, were willing to follow him into this hellhole, he should at the very least know who they were. And as soon as they took back this territory, he would definitely make it a priority to rectify that.

Barry perked his ears, long neck angling as he tried to hear beyond the crackle of random gunfire and the faint moans of the dying for any sign of movement from the troops on the other side. If the enemy breached the barricades, he wasn’t certain there was enough artillery to make for an even fight.

The Alpha found himself vaguely wistful for the old stories his mother and father had read to him when he was a pup. The ones where Alphas would settle things with a trial by combat in wolf form, something with more honor and much less innocent bloodshed. But here and now, it was Alpha and Beta corpses strewn about the uneven terrain: even some Omegas that had foolishly snuck into the ranks by masking their scents to pass as Beta soldiers. Just rivers of wolf blood smeared against the natural colors of the once-majestic rock formation, supernatural shifting long since lost as they all fought to the death. All because some asshole bigots weren’t happy unless everyone was licking their boots.

“Having a good daydream there, Barr?” a voice asked gruffly, and Barry grinned as a petite blonde Beta flopped next to him, gun flush against her chest. “Good to know you aren’t letting little things like artillery fire and imminent death bother you.”

“Is that concern I'm hearing from you, Sara?” Barry's lips quirked, moving his weight on his knees to face the other as he leaned a shoulder against the wall. “Don’t tell me you’re worried.” She was a few years older than him, and much more battle-worn. Like so many Betas, Sara Lance lacked the impressive regeneration aspect that Alphas retained from their ancestors, could share with Omegas in most situations. Although as a Primary, her biology still sat close to his side of the spectrum, with preternatural healing that made her a formidable soldier. Really, there was no doubt in Barry's mind that the scars and calluses that decorated his second-in-command's toned frame told a much more impressive story about her time on the field than Barry's smooth, gangly limbs.

“About us getting bombed, or you losing your mind?” Her eyebrow arched with a playful half-smile, lithe fingers pushing sweat back into her high dirty ponytail, and Barry’s face lit up.

“My mom and dad are up on those lines, Sara—those Purebloods don’t stand a chance,” he told her confidently. While Henry Allen was only a medic, he was the bravest man Barry knew, Beta or otherwise. And Barry had never seen a fighter like his mother Nora—she never said die, and he knew as long as he followed her lead, this fight was as good as theirs. People followed Nora, not because of fear or proven dominance, but because of her courage and strength of compassion-- things that inspired, instead of coerced. It was that courage and strength that made their "mongrel" Alpha son sign onto this war, sneaking in underage and taking a commanding role by the time he hit eighteen. Being on the same field as them now, even though they were nowhere near each other, was probably the only good thing about this hellish situation.

“Just got a call--forces are hitting us hard from the north, sir,” a voice interrupted their banter, and Barry looked over to see a Beta watching him nervously with fearful eyes. He was from Central City too, Barry knew, eyes roving over his dirty face, overgrown dark hair, and stocky build. They had known some of the same people, but on his name, Barry admitted it took a solid minute of pretending to consider his words to recall.

Barry quietly exhaled in relief as it came to him-- after all, how was he any better of a leader than Savage's men if he couldn't remember the names of the soldiers he worked with? And as the tension in his body dissipated, so came a spark of inspiration. “Well, then I guess we’re going to need to hit right back, huh, Sara?” His expression brightening with mischievous determination as he peeked his head over the wall. Sara sighed, knowing that something insane was being concocted in the young man’s mind.

Barry’s eyes swept across the terrain, enhanced senses taking in everything they could until he settled on a target, grinning. “There we go,” he breathed, turning back to the small group. “Alright, Ronnie, call for some backup. We’re going to hit them hard, and then we’re going to pin them down and make them choke on the idea that they could take this territory from us, alright?” He turned back to the woman beside him. “Sara, we’re taking Heywood and clearing a path.” His eyes flashed with lightning—the vestigial remnants of a different time, when Alphas were connected to the supernatural magicks and able to draw power from them. Now only a small percentage of their kind even had it, and it was, at best, good for a little adrenaline boost, a jump to his natural speed; but it gave his troops hope, nicknaming their leader "Flash", and Barry would take it.

The three of them grabbed up their weapons and moved to stand, staying low as they broke into a run over the field. Barry raced out ahead, Sara and Heywood lagging behind as they took shots at the enemy lines, the three sprinting toward the laser cannon Savage’s army had lost control of upon being pushed further back along the canyon walls. The laser cannon Barry was going to take from them and use to control this damn territory.

He stared through the scope, targeting a flight of drones that were flying in formation toward them. He freaking hated drones-- the metal was heartless and overkill in his opinion. Also more than a little stupid-- they'd just as soon shoot twelve rounds at a corpse in the right colors for blowing in the wind as an actual enemy. But they were easy to track, and easy to bring down if you had the proper equipment, which led to Barry holding his breath and pulling the trigger. The beam tore through the metal flesh, throwing the machines off kilter and colliding into each other. Barry straightened proudly, watching with a grin as they melded together into a giant useless ball of flame…that was crashing straight toward them.

“Crap, Sara!” he called out, grabbing at Heywood and dragging him as he raced for cover, the other Beta diving in behind them with a more colorful curse coming from her lips as the ground exploded.

Barry flipped onto his back, propping himself up with his elbows as he watched the metallic bonfire before barking out a breathy laugh and shifting back onto his feet. “Alright,” he panted, shaking his head slightly to clear off the loose dirt and grime clinging to his chestnut shag. “Let’s go find my parents.” He grinned and looked out on the field. “Sara, radio in and tell them that we’re headed north and need backup for—“

“They’re not coming.”

Barry’s face scrunched up quizzically, fingers pawing at his ear as he checked for damage. “What?” he called back, certain he’d heard wrong.

The look that the blonde was fixing on him, however, was anything but indefinite. “Nora’s pack isn’t responding, Barry. The left flank is pinned. They’re saying it’s too hot—they’re saying to lay down arms.”

The Alpha felt his stomach twist as his head whipped back onto the field—to where his mother and father were fighting, somewhere, cut off, without aid. He considered taking off anyways—he was an Alpha, dammit, he could challenge any order given, and he was fast enough-- he could make it. But Sara gripped him just as the field went up in a hailstorm of gunfire, and all Barry could do was stare in unknowing horror.

Chapter Text

Kansas City, Missouri, US, 1868

Barry inhaled as he glanced around the bar, his attempts to keep inconspicuous made a bit more difficult as his lungs filled with hot dust and cigarette smoke that lingered in the air, causing him to choke slightly. Not that anyone really cared. In general, these sorts of places were excellent for less than legal dealings: no security cameras, no guards, and people minding their own business. Throw in the newly emerging railroad and the townfolk of the Old West tended to expect strangers coming and going at any given time. And if you didn’t make yourself obvious, you didn't have to worry about the general human population. While a fairly large amount of the them were aware of the existence of werewolves, only a handful could actually spot one with any accuracy, allowing one (or three) to linger in town unbothered.

A waitress appeared in front of him, taking a drink from her tray and setting it on the table. “On the house, Mr. Allen,” she informed him, and he smiled up at her, one hand lifting the glass in gratitude and bringing the alcohol to his lips, while the other quickly swiped beneath to snatch up the scrap of paper that had been subtly passed into his possession. The woman nodded amiably and left without another word. Barry waited another minute, expression casual as he looked over the other patrons, before his eyes dropped to his lap, unfolding the note and inspecting the scrawl. He glanced across the establishment, catching first Sara’s eye as she played a hand at a nearby table, and then Mick…uselessly guzzling shots in front of the bartender. Barry fought not to roll his eyes as he questioned why he brought the man with him as backup. Even though the burly Beta was easily one of his pack's best fighters, built like a brick wall and all but impossible to keep down, Mick was also one of the laziest and most hot-headed; and getting him to listen to orders was about fifty-fifty unless he saw an immediate benefit for himself. But, as Sara pointed out, their risk of dying at pick-ups had dropped noticeably since taking Mick on, and Barry could admit that he was somewhat soft for those in need of a fresh start. So for some insane reason they trusted the man’s worth to outweigh the potential liabilities, and here they were.

Fortunately, it didn’t seem like it would matter after all, as the crowd seemed indifferent to the slight man giving a curt nod as he finished his drink, standing and making his way toward the stairwell that led to the rooms. Sara casually folded her hand, tugging at the lapels of her longcoat before reaching down to grab the carpetbag by her feet to follow him, preternatural strength making the feat look easy and normal. And Mick...signaled the barkeep for another round, supposedly keeping an eye on their escape route. Two people heading up to a rented room wouldn’t raise any eyebrows, after all; while a third could potentially garner some interest.

Rather than ascending the staircase, however, a sharp detour at the base led them to a storage space, and Barry grinned in amusement as he knocked carefully along the back panels in the dark until he found a false panel, carefully revealing an anachronistic door of metal and electronic keypad that the chicken scratch allowed him to easily crack.

He breathed in the cool air of the dimly lit space, sharp eyes taking note of the half-dozen crates carefully stacked. He nodded to Sara, who strode over to the closest one, dropping the bag with a heavy clunk as the gold bars rattled in their cramped position. Her dexterous fingers curled at the corner, prying the lid loose from its container for a closer inspection.

The petite blonde stared critically at the product before looking back at Barry and nodding. “It’s good,” she told him, and the younger man stepped closer to check it out. Not that he didn’t trust his partner, but cows, and therefore beef, were all but nonexistent in their time, and it was difficult to resist a peek for himself.

“Nothing like the smell of fresh meat,” he laughed. Considering the time, they weren’t very impressive cuts, and had a heavily salted overtone from preservation, but the pieces would still fetch a good price on the black market in 2171. His good mood faltered slightly, however, when his nose picked up a vaguely acrid scent wafting from the box.

“Something wrong, Barry?” Sara asked, always quick to expect trouble and unfortunately very good at reading his moods. He quickly masked his expression, his chestnut shag boyishly ruffling along the top of his head as it shook.

“No, we’re good. Go ahead and call Mick—tell him we’re going to need the Runner.” Barry pressed down hard on the dislocated lid, jiggering it back into place.

“Rory's not answering his comm.” Sara glanced over at Barry, and the two went silent, ears angled up as they listened outside to the growing clamor of scuffles and yells.

“Argh-- Mick,” Barry groaned, rubbing his hand roughly through his hair. “Grab the Runner and load these up—I’ll go take care of it.”

Sara nodded, and Barry raced back into the main hall, where, sure enough, some roughneck human had decided to push his man’s buttons. Now the flames engulfing the bartop were dancing dangerously close to the liquor bottles, and Mick was roaring with a terrifying fervor as he took on three guys at once.

Barry’s eyes widened, adrenaline shooting through his veins, and the Alpha took off with a snarl as he jumped into the fray.

“Seriously Mick! I said keep an eye on the place, not raze it down!”

“They started it!”

There wasn’t much room to keep up the discussion, as a good chunk of the remaining crowd seemed to take more of an interest now that the Beta wasn’t alone. Barry groaned angrily, using his wolf-enhanced speed and agility to dodge punches and restrain the drunken brawlers as well as he could. Luckily the bar had been specifically scouted as a human establishment—Barry may be an Alpha, but he wasn’t exactly herculean in his prowess, and trying to take on a gang of Alphas, or even Betas, so blindly could have turned the tables against them quickly and hard.

As it was, he was a little preoccupied when he watched the group of men finally seem to get the upperhand on Mick, surrounded him as he went down and one moved to pull a gun. Barry was fighting to move past his own confrontation, but he was never going to get there in time…

A loud crack sounded, and the scruffy man’s dark eyes rolled up in his head as he dropped to his knees, his gun clattering along the wooden planks as he collapsed face first into the floor. Sara had held a stool in hand behind them, a line of blood spackled across the leg that had just splintered over the thug’s head before she swung it upwards at another’s jaw and used her own momentum to send an impressive kick into a third’s gut. “Who’s next?”

Apparently the patrons were either more or less drunk than Barry could figure, because the men seemed to realize they were out of their league and scurried away from their opponents, while the rest were still focused on just hitting anyone within fist's-reach. Sara arched her eyebrows expectantly at the two, and Mick quickly raised himself to his feet, kicking the unconscious man next to him spitefully before grabbing at his futuristic pyro-tech that had gotten away from him in the fight and storming out to the Runner; while Barry looked over to their server as she used a heavy coat to smother the flames still smoking up the counter. He caught her eye and gave a sheepish shrug, holding up a small wad of bills and tucking it into a nearby support column. There weren’t a lot of places that held up through time, and Barry’d rather not burn bridges due to Mick’s inability to hold his trigger finger if possible.

The ride back to the Waverider was more conspicuous than Barry would have liked-- cars in general wouldn’t make it to America for at least three or so decades, and anything like the Runner was more than a century after that. He supposed he should be grateful for the smoke and ruckus happening in the bar after all then, as dust flew up around them and the cloaking disabled, giving the trio a visual of the lowered ramp as they raced up it.

Barry jumped from the ATV, slamming the button closing the hatch and calling out for Thea to get them the hell out of there before gripping the tarp tightly as the craft suddenly inclined and jolted forward, speeding off into the temporal zone.

“We’ve got company!” came a voice over the radio, and he cursed. Places with only vague historical significance and loose security on werewolves tended to draw Time Patrols pretty consistently, and they must have spent a little too much time on the ground if one was crossing paths with them.

“Hard burn to the thrusters—take us through the undertow and lose ‘em!” he yelled back.

“Do you want to fly this thing?” came the snarky retort, but the ship vibrated as it swerved against the currents, looking for an aberration. They weren’t as commonplace as they had been once, before the Alpha Council was originally instated and Time Travel restrictions became heavily monitored, but remnants of potential alternative timelines still existed from travelers that slipped through the cracks, overstepping their bounds in the past and leaving distinctive messes to be fixed by the Feds.

There was a heavy shaking as the Waverider drifted into the tempest, and Barry held his breath when Thea’s voice popped back onto the PA. “Ray-- I'm gonna need you in the engine room. The circuit breaker is taking a beating and if the hydraulics get cut we’ll be dead in the water.”

“On it!” a cheery voice responded, and the Alpha caught Sara’s eye, torn between concern for his ship and amused at the voice's eagerness to tinker. Sara's body was tense as the machine rattled, but Barry stayed confident-- Time Storms made for great hiding places, if you could survive them. No one in their right minds would follow them just for a smuggling rap: especially not a pretentious, by-the-book Time Master. But Thea was the best pilot around, and while things would be easier if Gideon was helping make adjustments, Ray was intuitive and a bona fide genius. If anyone could make certain they survived the rough currents, it was those two, which was exactly why Barry had taken them on in the first place.

The crew held on, and after several minutes the turbulence finally passed, with Thea’s voice coming online, assuring them they were out of danger and the Time Masters’ path. Barry breathed a sigh of relief, and bit back a smirk as Mick slid out of the passenger seat smugly.

“Any loot you walk away with,” the Beta grunted happily as he moved to the load. “I call that a win.”

“You know the only thing that would have made it better?” Barry asked, sidling up beside him. “If you hadn’t lost it back in the bar and drawn all that attention to us in the first place. What the hell happened, Mick?”

The burly man growled, but the captain stood his ground. Barry may not have been the stereotypical-looking Alpha, but his pack knew better than to challenge him, and right now he was demanding answers for one of them putting them all at risk.

“Damned humans started it,” Mick answered grudgingly. “Apparently they aren’t completely ignorant of wolves passing through, and they made some comments about my scars—got up in my face. So I smashed in theirs.”

Barry rolled his eyes, but he felt a wave of protectiveness wash over him for the man. Since the war, a lot of werewolves had taken a second-class role in order to commandeer as many resources for the “pure” Alphas as remained. Betas especially had lost a lot of rights, while humans that had kissed up to the Council had been rewarded with special privileges in the aftermath. So it wasn’t surprising that relations between Betas and others had suffered for it. Not that humans had ever been terribly tolerant of their kind to begin with, but it was easier for Mick’s type traveling through time to take out frustrations on someone from the nineteenth century than present day. And while Mick was hardly insecure about his heavily scarred form, Barry imagined the thugs at the bar only had to say one wrong thing to set the man off. Really, it was probably his own fault for setting the team as he did.

The younger man couldn't think of a proper thing to say, and so he simply huffed as he turned to focus on his newest problem, hoping to drop the merch and slip back out of the present before the dust settled.

Chapter Text

From Sara's perspective, the aftermath of this pickup was worn and played out. Mick was rarely reliable to keep his cool, but Barry would always forgive him, would want to “protect” the members of his pack. He was an Alpha, after all. However, while she had vouched for having the gruff muscle on the crew, there was an underlying current of frustration that, despite being a leader in both name and biology, Barry rarely put his foot down to temper any rough behaviors that could potentially put all of them at risk. Where Sara would have put Mick in his place with a hard smack with her baton, Barry was more prone to coddle and console him with a hug or carding his scalp.

Not that the other would allow that sort of thing. Mick quickly tensed up against any hint of physicality between them, though whether that was due to insecurities over his extensive scarring or merely the serious grudge he held against Alphas, Sara had never found out. It made the men's partnership somewhat odd, though, considering Barry was the captain and therefore the one they took orders from. While Barry rarely demanded the unwavering obedience of the pack at all times, and he was definitely softer than any leader Sara could remember meeting, he was still the one they all yielded to. They followed his decisions, his commands; that was just how things worked. Not that that didn’t mean Barry for the most part wasn’t aware of his team’s needs: now, for instance, instead of curling his fingers to grip Mick's neck soothingly, the younger instead merely sighed and turned his focus toward the goods, displaying that he bore no further frustrations with the setback.

Not to say everyone had the same level of awareness. A steady thrumming of footfalls raced through the door, the owner’s brown eyes wide and sympathetic as they sidled up beside the crook. “Seriously? That’s awful. I’m glad you're okay, Mick.” The blonde barely bit back a grin as she stole a glance toward Barry, whose own face was pointedly staring down to hide his amusement at Ray wrapping his arms around Mick's heavy frame...before promptly backing off when Mick gave a gravelly grumble toward the Omega. Sara didn’t know why he bothered however-- at this point anyone with eyes could see both men were completely gone for each other, regardless of biological and/or sociological norms. Case in point, despite Mick’s irritation, Ray had only just barely moved away from him, simply iterating, “Right-- no touching. But I’m still glad you’re okay.” Mick’s response was a grunt of indifference, but he didn’t increase their distance either, and Sara's facial muscles lost their battle with her mirth at the show before the brunet turned back to the rest of them.

“So we’ve got the stuff?” Ray asked curiously, leaning toward the crates that Barry was now heaving to the displaced floor panels where they hid their goods for transport. “Man, I don’t think I’ve had a decent steak in ages, and I’ve only had beef maybe once in my life.” His brown orbs eyed the crates wistfully.

“Well, don’t get your hopes up, Ray,” Sara told him, following the slender man’s lead. “No one’s sampling any of this stuff unless you’re willing to offer a better price than Julian.”

“I guess I’ll just have to settle for a share of the profits then,” he laughed. “Can I help?”

“No-- I mean, we’re good,” Barry told him quickly, pulling the last two crates off at once and striding toward the stash. Sara watched him curiously-- they'd traveled together for more than enough time to know that Ray wanted to feel like he was as capable as the rest of the team when he asked to help, and Barry was just as aware. While he was obviously vital in the engine room, the man had a weird desperation to prove himself as more than just a stereotypical Omega, refusing to let anyone look after him more than any other wolf on the ship, and usually Barry, being a bit of an oddity himself, was well in tune with that. Sara couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off with the Alpha, even as he added in explanation, “I just want to get this stuff put away—wouldn’t want any tourists tripping over the goods before we make the exchange.”

The mechanic’s expression lit up, any hurt feelings apparently forgotten with the distraction of the news. “We’re taking passengers?”

Barry nodded. “Keep our papers looking on the up and up. Plus it’ll give us a good reason to jump back a few years, find the next job,” he replied.

Mick huffed, but Ray was bouncing on his feet in anticipation. “That sounds great,” he grinned. “It feels like it’s been ages since we’ve had a chance to talk to new people: I’m excited to hear what’s been going on in the world: stories, news…”

“Yeah-- can’t wait to hear what the Time Pigs have decided we can’t do now,” Mick griped, rolling his eyes.

“Oh, you don’t know that-- and it’s not like these people had anything to do with Savage and the Council anyways. The last time we stopped through, there was this new platinum-wired capacitor in development--”

“So I have to listen to you being all cheerful and chatterboxy with a bunch of nerd types?" Mick huffed. "I don’t suppose you could go five minutes without talking now, just to give me a little break beforehand?”

Ray tilted his head quizzically, but Barry just laughed.

“I think if Ray ever stops talking, we’ll know we’ve broken time,” he said, and the Beta let out a long-suffering sigh, grumbling about how he needed a beer as he headed off to the galley.

Sara, however, had kept her critical gaze fixed steady on her captain throughout the scene, and without the jabber of his crew, Barry was now forced to address her.

“You're sure nothing’s wrong with the goods?” she asked, eyebrow arched.

“They’re fine—I just don’t want to get out of present day as soon as possible,” Barry insisted, studiously not looking at her or the panel that was between them and the goods. It drove her crazy sometimes, Barry having that natural advantage. Sara may be a Primary Beta-- she might even be able to kick Barry’s ass in a fair fight-- but she was still at a disadvantage against a real Alpha. She didn't possess the same level of preternatural regenerative abilities; her senses weren’t as acute, especially smell; and she had a much lower likelihood of producing offspring-- and that was just the evolutionary setbacks. So while she could tell Barry was keeping something from her, she was forced to trust him that if there was something to be worried about, he would let her know.

Instead, he simply continued, “Tell Thea to set a course for 2171 Coast City—and call the Queen. Make sure we’re still on schedule for our rendezvous.”

Sara let her gaze linger a moment longer before nodding to Barry and heading back up to the bridge.

***

Jumping out of the temporal zone and back into present day from their pickups was one of Sara’s least favorite things to do: there were papers to drum up, dock security to bribe, and someone always inevitably would suffer from some sort of side effects, no matter how used to traveling they all were. The blonde usually blamed it on the heavy smell of pollution and oppression, personally, but she recognized there was a lack of scientific support backing her.

Coast City, however, wasn’t so bad as options went. There was a lot of foot traffic and a lot of diversity, making it easy to blend in, for one thing, and vendors sold just about everything if you knew how to ask. Plus, the further away from the capitol you got, the less likely you were to find Alphas doing honest blue collar work, and Coast City was pretty damn close to the borders. Instead, present day ports were usually outfitted with human law enforcement to keep up with paperwork, and the less reputable crime syndicates to keep an eye out for anybody potentially drawing attention in their town. After all, no one wanted to deal with the “justice” that usually came from squads of “superior” Pureblood Alphas sticking their nose around.

Besides, even if the Time Masters did bother to patrol the ports this far out, there were too many transports coming and going to pay too much attention to any one given ship. So being spotted after exiting the temporal zone was practically impossible.

She wrinkled her nose in distaste as Mick stumbled off the ship and threw up, letting her eyes adjust to the hazy air hanging around them before stepping carefully around the mess. Her hand rested on her hip holster, gripping it tightly as she waited for the feeling to return to her fingers and toes. Her eyes screwed against the sunlight, keeping an eye out for trouble as she waited for Barry to stride down to ground level, Thea and the Runner hot on his heels. She’d left her gun on board, seeing as owning it was illegal in this time, but she still kept a dagger and her batons strapped to her body whenever her boots hit the dirt.

“You guys get a hold of Queen?” Sara asked with a smirk, and Thea smirked.

“I left a message letting him know we were in,” she responded with a laugh. “I think he’s still in conference.”

“It’ll be fine,” Barry barked, giving them both a look. “He knows we’re on a schedule. Where’s Ray?”

“I’m here!” called the mechanic, practically prancing down to join them, standing still as Barry leaned in close, sniffing him carefully.

“We should probably restock on masks,” he told Thea, who nodded, and Ray’s smile faltered.

“You know; I could be a lot more useful if we got some suppressants--”

“No suppressants,” Barry cut him off, and Sara couldn’t help but roll her eyes as the conversation played out. Barry was hardly the straight-and-narrow kind of guy, but she imagined that he hadn’t lost any sleep over Savage’s ban of the product to unclaimed Omega’s. The research had still been in the early stages with some of the newer hormone suppressants, and there were instances of sterility reported. And, as Sara had said to the older man, for all of Barry’s progressive ideals, he was still an Alpha.

All of which they’d apparently rehashed, because Ray seemed disappointed and Barry semi-irritated. “Look, we’ll talk about this later,” he told the Omega, handing him a small envelope. “Just, for now-- use the masking agents, and put our departure time in three hours. I just want us to get in and out of this time quick. We’ll find another place you can wander around in soon, Ray.”

The other man looked far from pleased, but nodded his head concedingly anyways.

“I guess I’ll be quick then,” Thea spoke up, revving the engine as she attempted to break up the stunted silence. She grinned at Ray, “I’ll be back soon to help you load any passengers you manage to hook while I’m gone.”

“Three hours,” Barry repeated to the Beta firmly, purposely avoiding eye contact with Ray as he turned toward the streets and began making his way into the crowd.

“Make sure they got the cash upfront, Haircut,” the hired gun instructed gruffly, pushing up against Ray and holding his gaze sternly, before stepping back and adjusting his hold on his heat gun. “If that shit don’t work, I ain’t spending time on the ship with some mutts to sniff around an Omega without getting any cut of it.”

“Mick!” Sara barked out, throwing a reprimanding look, but the other Beta was already over it as he turned and stomped off past her after Barry. Ray was blushing slightly, but bit his lip, tugging at his jacket while his feet clumsily carried him over to the docking station to upload the ship’s data. To be fair, Sara would admit that Mick wasn’t entirely wrong—having an unclaimed Omega in front of a ship could be a great lure for passengers with legitimate papers, and much more credible transports than themselves partook in the practice, but it was also a potentially serious risk without proper security, as it led people to try to force their way into close proximity. Pureblood Alphas found on the outskirts tended to play rougher than their high society counterparts, and dangling someone like Ray in front of them…well, there was more than one reason Barry pushed for masking agents on the Omega, playing him off as an Auxiliary Beta, as well as keeping a guy like Mick around the ship.

The blonde cast a quick look over to Thea, who nodded in assurance, and Sara felt confident that Ray wouldn’t be alone long enough to get into too much trouble. Besides, the sooner they closed this deal, the sooner they could get out of this time, and so she turned and jogged after the other two members of her pack.

Chapter Text

Coast City, Xanadu Gates Corporation, Greater Kingdom, 2171

Present day really wasn’t all the doom and gloom it was sometimes made out to be, despite Barry's tirades. There were certain luxuries that just couldn’t be found anywhere else: exotic cuisine, sensual fabrics, an adjoining bathroom with a jacuzzi tub and a seemingly endless supply of aromatic hot water. Oliver Queen stretched out lazily on the impressive and sweat-soaked mattress, angling his neck to better take in the view out the expansive windows, radiating with bright sun and clean air, high above the hazy smog so many floors below. It was freedom.

Well, the illusion of it, anyways, he was forced to acknowledge as a knee dipped into the bed, body pulling the sheets as it shifted toward him, drawing him from his reverie. His blue eyes turned toward the slender woman hovering over him, a smug smile playing on her features as lithe fingers trailed down his chest. “I still cannot imagine how it must have been for you,” her accented voice cooed softly, manicured nails toying with each scar that decorated his figure. “A well-bred Omega, one of the best of the Queens, lost and alone for so long, with no one to care for you. No protector, no provider, no comfort—” her hips ground against his, throat releasing a low growl of pleasure as he released a soft moan. “I imagine Moira thought you would simply curl up and die of despair.”

There was a surge of heat in his blood as irritation swept over Oliver, but he quickly quelled it, drawing on the ages of evolution that made it second nature for him to soothe away discomfort, despite being positive that Valentina Volstok’s words were more condescension than sympathy. “I never lost faith, lost hope.” His lie came with quiet words and a gentle smile, perfect for pillow talk. “And some of my studies were quite useful for surviving, as it happened.” There was more truth in the statement than he’d ever elaborate to anyone, even Moira or Thea. HIs Omega mentor-- practically a mother to him-- had been so heartbroken to see the damage he’d physically endured in being marooned from civilization; he couldn’t bring himself to imagine explaining what he’d had to become in order to find his way home. Thea was more difficult to avoid, her bratty persistence not nearly so willing to simply brush aside his past and move forward. Fortunately, having just recently reconnected in the past year, the young Beta was willing to take things slow, for now.

There was no need to consider the concern of the woman currently straddling the broad-chested man, however: her laughter was light and carried with his reply. “Ah yes, your ‘studies’. Perhaps Moira could bring that up at the next board meeting as evidence that allowing such frivolous electives for Omegas isn’t a complete waste of government resources,” she teased, carding back his sandy tresses. “After all, I’m sure the Council would find Alphas would much rather be reunited with their old Omegas five years after disappearing into the wilderness, rough and a bit worse for wear, than simply claiming a new one; don’t you, Oliver?”

The man ignored the jab at his age, and his worth, in favor of continuing, “And besides, it wasn’t all desolation. It could really be quite beautiful, sometimes. The stars, undiluted by the light of the city…” He paused, senses traveling back to the quiet times, the calm moments, when things that he saw, smelled, felt, were beyond what he could have imagined as the pampered pretty boy he’d once been. Oliver shook his head lightly as he pulled himself back from the past. “I’m not sure words could describe it.” Shuffling upward against the headboard, he brought himself closer to eye level with the other woman, though still beneath her—respectful, submissive. “I like to believe my time away really made me appreciate the amazing things this world has to offer here and now, more than I might have before.” He let his lips quirk crookedly, eyes playful in their insinuation.

The words earned him an amused chuckle from the Pureblood. “Well, it certainly seems to have made you more interesting,” she told him approvingly.

Oliver strained against the pillow, releasing a throaty moan to signify his pleasure. His tongue lapped eagerly into her, keeping pace as Valentina ground deep against his face. The usually restrained and aloof brunette became much more expressive behind closed doors, apparently; mischievous chuckles escaping between breathy pants as she leaned over to nip and scratch at the wide buffet of muscle spread before her. Oliver’s fingers held her steady, but loosely—he could tell when an Alpha wished to maintain control, to be responsible for their own climax, even without the use of such obvious props and toys that the woman with him liked to bring into play.

Which included himself, he knew. Oliver wasn’t a lover to Valentina: he was a tool, a pet. She reached forward, wrapping her fingers tightly around his cock and tugging as she rotated her hips again, attempting to work him deeper with a seductive offer to remove the ring that held his dick in an unrelenting grip. He angled his face, shifting a hand upward to roll her nipple with his thumb as she began to tense, her own free fingers working her nerves to completion. There was a shiver and a gasp, and Oliver felt the woman spasm against him as she climaxed, sliding down along his face so that the swelling tissue of her knot, ironically preventing her ability to breed a mate, rested comfortably between his warm, swollen lips. Her sated sigh and praise fell flat, however, as Oliver was acutely aware that he could be anyone representing his company’s interest and she would derive the same charge as she drew her pleasure from his body; thrilled in the sounds she extracted from him. No, Oliver hoped for their sake that any fools who still held romantic notions of true compatibility and love matches were born Beta, as choosing their own partner was really the only freedom they still retained in Savage’s world. Meanwhile, Oliver kept up appearances, digging lightly into her skin as his fingers clenched, as if trying to refrain as she toyed with his engorged erection. Her name desperate on his lips when she regained her energy and began working him from a new angle, and his neck stretched out and fully exposed, save the ring of leather he’d brought with him protecting the sensitive patch that naturally seduced her kind.

“And you have an impressive seat in Queen Consolidated, for an unclaimed Omega,” she noted, glancing sideways at the desk where his suit jacket draped haphazardly over the folder with the new proposals and contract agreements rested, and Oliver understood her skepticism. While it wasn’t impossible for an unbonded young male to do so well, without Oliver’s impeccable pedigree, looks, and charm, he couldn’t imagine it happening either. He knew exactly how lucky he was. “Moira seems to think quite highly of you, despite your lack of experience,” Valentina continued as an afterthought, apparently determined to keep him from thinking too highly of himself.

“Recent experience,” he corrected, features still quiet and relaxed, as if this sort of conversation was lulling and warm. “I was raised within QC, after all; groomed to know the inner workings of the business better than most anyone. I’ve been involved in all of the aspects that keep us in the forefront of our field, including analyses that keeps us the most successful match-and-breeding programs in the world.” Oliver had fallen back into pitch-mode, although he genuinely believed that the work they did created the best pair-bonding possible, under the circumstances, which allowed for the best quality of life he could offer for his own kind. And not just them, his mind furthered as he continued aloud, “Not to mention the funding the Council approves gives us opportunities to not only pursue alternative Omega fertility experimentation, but to expand into those of Auxillary Beta prospects as well, which someday could help transition into potential Beta Born Alpha mates to stabilize the country. After all, Queen Consolidated—”

“Yes, yes—everyone within the capitol is well aware of Moira Queen and her Omegas’ belief that sating the population with domesticity will bring the world to heel,” Valentina scoffed, her fingers flicking at his flaccid cock. Oliver didn’t move, hoping she wasn’t working herself up to another round, but more so that she wasn’t reconsidering her bid. If Valentina’s reservations lay within her respect for his business’ politics, their partnership would be short-lived and the contract useless, likely spent tied up in memos and negotiations for its full duration; whereas he had been bred to meet an Alpha’s needs, and could force himself to match her level of arousal again, despite his exhaustion.

She’d turned him over, had him clutching the sheets as he buried his face in the pillow. His body pulsed feverishly as he felt the band at his base loosen, the tight strokes of Valentina’s hand, along with her low urging, quick to bring him to his own release. His body dropped forward, weight braced on his forehead; well aware that he needed to ready himself.
“Are you spent, little Omega?” the brunette cooed in his ear, hot breath causing a shiver along his skin. “But not satisfied, I can tell. I can smell your slick, feel how you ache to be fucked. Is that what you want, Queen?” He pushed back against her, let out a slight whimper, and braced himself.

Oliver Queen had excellent endurance, for certain, but going from edged to overstimulated in such a short span was uncomfortable, to say the least. But it was hardly the worst type of engagement he’d been through, and being turned as he was, he could allow his mind to drift, to help him withstand his obligations. He could imagine a different form teasing him, a different type of Alpha. Eager, certainly, but protective. A body that could cover him, and yet not overwhelm; with a bright smile that still managed to hold traces of youth in his face. If he concentrated hard enough, Oliver could almost feel the warmth of the sunlight that seemed to radiate from such a man, could feel the traces of electricity in the droplets of sweat that mingled with his own…

“Baaaoh, God.” Shit. He was lucky he had a face full of fabric muffling the fact that the name that almost came pouring from his mouth sounded nothing like the one that belonged to the woman he was with as he jerked erratically. Lucky that Valentina was focused almost entirely on her own pleasure, and had only been brought back to him for the end of his response.

“That’s it, baby,” she urged, two fingers snaking along his ass and abruptly inside his entrance, although he was certainly wet enough now that there was no pain as she worked his sensitive nerves back up, causing his eyes to sting as he slowly hardened again. “Stiffen up, and I’ll fuck you like the perfect bitch you are.” He could feel himself leaking as she praised him, and he made certain to respond appropriately, to make her feel as though his thoughts were only of her, and this moment, since before they'd met.

His pants and pleading seemed to rejuvenate her efforts, and he felt her smile as she breathed hot against his back, licking and sucking at his skin as she added another finger to stroke him from the inside. “I could bring in my man." Her tone took on a sultry tone, tongue swirling at one of his vertebrae. “Have him knot you year round, better than you've ever had: so hard you'd practically split as he fills you up.” One of her fingernails crept along the skin beneath the collar still protecting his neck teasingly. “Fill you with pups. You’d be the best-kept Omega in the country: rivaled even to Vandal's.”

Oliver’s posture was straight and his head high as he emerged from the suite into the cool hallway, his blue gaze straight forward and unnoting of the Alphas flanking him, carrying his belongings. They could stare at him all they liked, eyes darting to his thighs where fluids still clung loosely from his time with their employer; indiscreetly sucking in his scent, muscles clenching as their blood quickened at the smell of sex. Possibly warring against their more primitive nature as they dug their fingers into their palms, restraining from the instinct to simply grab hold of the Omega, drag him through one of the dozens of doors they passed along the eternal corridor, and knot Oliver themselves.

But they wouldn’t—Alphas like Valentina Volstok didn’t get where they were, couldn’t hold Pureblood Alpha security in their organization, without the strength and dominance necessary to preserve what they considered theirs. Even as Oliver strode away from the woman unclaimed-- despite having the woman’s spit, sweat, and juice streaked all over him-- he was still here at her behest, and therefore under her protection. The amount of compensation Valentina would owe to Queen Consolidated if Oliver returned damaged by her pack in any way would be unacceptable for a businesswoman such as herself. And so despite the lusting and tension weighting the air, the naked man confidently ignored those escorting him to his ship.

Not that he wasn’t grateful to finally reach the security checkpoint. His fingers combed lightly at the sandy blonde hairs stuck to his neck as he tilted it away from the Beta at the door, allowing him to scan the implant just behind his ear. The Omega recognized the two short beeps confirming his place in the Government Registry, and stepped inside the room to clean himself up and recover the belongings that the Alphas had handed over.

Beta wolves within the city had far fewer compunctions than their Alpha counterparts when it came to etiquette, Oliver tended to experience on these meetings. Personally, Oliver found their contempt to be short-sighted, since, despite their limitations, they had many advantages over Omegas. For them, there was no Registration, no compulsory-bonding, no conditional rights depending on their mate. It didn’t matter if they were Primary or Auxillary: they were all treated as the same in the eyes of the law. And yet here they stood, scrutinizing his exposed form as he stepped beneath the spray of the open shower, quickly scrubbing himself clean before stepping back onto the dry mat to pat himself down with the proffered towel. It was more difficult ignoring them than the Alphas as he dressed and collected his belongings, breathing deeply to remain calm in the face of their malicious delight at the sight of his physical flaws, eyes glinting cruelly as they obviously took pleasure in the lessening of his desirability as an Omega, his value as a wolf; as if it would somehow increase their own.

Pieces of shit.

Tightening the laces of his shoes with perhaps a little more force than necessary, Oliver finally stood and nodded pointedly at the guard, waiting impatiently as the mechanism to open the sliding doors on the opposite side of the room that connected the building and his Jump Ship triggered. With the familiar hiss of compressed air, he stretched his lips into polite smile of parting before walking as quickly as he could manage without drawing attention.

The warm air of his vessel greeted him, and Oliver breathed it deeply as he made his way to the pilot's seat, sliding in comfortably and strapping himself in. Traveling short range was simplistic enough that he was confident in his ability to navigate away from the building and into the open air before checking the waves on the status of the Waverider. There was no signal yet, and so Oliver simply punched in the coordinates for the nearest vessel park to their rendezvous coordinates and settled back with a sigh.

Skies clear and route set, Oliver closed his eyes, carefully brushing away the looks that swirled in his recent memory—Valentina and her people’s. The condescension and disdain, as if surviving five years, isolated and alone was in fact a tragedy instead of an accomplishment. That his resulting scars and filled out figure now made him a blemish on the Queen Consolidated Index, despite being in as much demand as ever. Frustration washed over him, and Oliver was momentarily overcome with a desire to fly back to the busy corridor and lash out—knock out every stupid wolf in the building.

The foolish fantasy was dismissed with a self-remanding eye roll. He was obviously spending far too much time around Barry's pack if he was indulging himself ridiculous daydreams over such petty grievances. This sort of divisiveness had been around for as long as Oliver could remember: Moira herself had required many of the Omega regulations in her employees long before Vandal Savage’s war had even begun, and was incredibly discriminatory toward Betas, not that they'd ever recognized the advantages they had the further into civilization they came. So many considered their development inferior within their species, it was claimed they may as well be Humans. Oliver felt that sort of opinion was extreme, especially since his return, but it wasn't wrong to conclude the only real changes to how Betas were treated was the fact that the law now supported it. Which arguably created a whole new rift between the types of wolves.

Pushing the complicated and ambivalent thoughts from his mind, Oliver pressed the contact link on the console to send a correspondence to Moira, inserting the drive with the notes from the meeting along with his message. Despite his refusal of her more personal proposition, Oliver was fairly secure in his belief that Svarog Industries was satisfied enough with his presentation to comply with the negotiated terms and sign on to the new contract for their partnership.

Completing the communication and ending the call, Oliver pulled the leather collar from his trouser pocket and investigated the bite marks from where the Alpha had become aggressive and eager during their encounter. Moira had considered Valentina a good match for Oliver, but he’d never had any interest in the woman: the fact that she'd requested him out of Season spoke of her independence and elitism, and his impression since meeting her had only gotten worse. Her scent choked him, instead of embraced; her body crowded him, despite her smaller form; and she felt wrong in his hands—like she didn’t wish to be there at all. Oliver had met wolves like Valentina. They didn’t want a partner: they wanted a will to be broken, a body to dominate. His standing would prevent him from ever being treated badly—corporate executives like Svarog and QC couldn’t afford to have the sort of PR nightmare that any hint of mistreatment toward an Omega would draw. However, he could easily see conquest and status were what drove the Alpha, and maybe he could remain physically aroused with her, but he would never leave the motions of his training; the required responses and efforts drawn from other encounters his mind came up with if he accepted her offer.

Speaking of which… Oliver shook his head hard, as if the rough jostling would somehow erase the stupidity of his actions earlier that day. It was one thing to fantasize during an appointment; it was sometimes necessary for a successful response. But Oliver chastised himself harshly for letting the Waverider’s captain snake his way into his mind so thoroughly. It was frustrating, since Barry couldn’t be a worse point of fixation. He was a Beta-born, a mongrel on the wrong side of the war. He purposely lived outside of the law, and took on misfits from civilized society. Sure, he had a few redeeming qualities, as demonstrated by Oliver's willingness to travel aboard his ship, but his lifestyle would likely get him killed before he’d find a mate willing to give him a chance and the Council even considered his application.

As the Jump ship slowed to a hover at the outskirts of the ports, Oliver was eager to reconnect with the crew. Despite his criticism of Barry and his ship, Oliver would admit he enjoyed having his own quarters, his own schedule and autonomy. He could return to his room for a rest and a shower, to more thoroughly scrub the lingering scent of his activities. Or perhaps he'd stop by the training room to utilize some of the equipment accumulating there. After all, unclaimed Omegas may be banned from owning guns, but there was no rule against enjoying a little target practice with a customized bow and arrow. Or maybe he would join whatever the crew was up to when they returned, enjoy being surrounded by people that liked or loathed him simply as Oliver Queen, regardless of his Omega status. They were small reprieves from his occupational responsibilities that the man took quiet delight in, and as the beacon lit up to signal the ship's appearance, Oliver softly smiled.

Chapter Text

Julian Albert was a human, which really was enough of a reason for Mick Rory to want to fry him. The fact that he was a cocky, over-gelled, soft-handed weasel just made it that much easier for the Beta’s trigger finger to twitch the second they stepped onto the guy’s turf.

He wasn’t stupid though. As a fellow criminal, Mick would give him that. While wolves like Red and Blondie had been out risking their necks pointlessly on some noble cause, the Brit prick had kept his own interests in the forefront, building up a pretty impressive network in Coast City, sticking his fingers in what seemed to be every pie worth having. Smart enough to surround himself with lackeys, too-- gutter-rat Gammas, obviously, since no real wolf would sell his self-respect for these kind of conditions. But Mick figured these thick-necked morons probably couldn’t get work anywhere else, which made Julian’s offer all the more tempting.

That said, the burly man still hated the jerkwad, and his favorite part of weaving through the crowded masses of Coast City was weighing how much the coming interaction was going to piss off the captain-- was this time finally going to grate the Alpha’s last nerve? While Mick seemed to have gotten a pass for sitting out the war-- either on account of being a different breed of crook or because Red needed him on the ship now, who knew-- the string bean of a wolf held a serious grudge against the profiteering that had happened during the scrap he’d fought in. And since Albert had slithered into this life by doing just that, working with the human now forced the Alpha to keep a tight leash on himself. In Mick’s mind, it was a good reminder for the soft kid that there were always going to be those kind of guys in their line of work, and he was just going to have to grit his teeth and get over it. Even more so, it reinforced for Mick why you shouldn’t make friends you weren’t willing to burn. Loyalty wasn’t worth shit in this business, and trust was for suckers: he had already learned the hard way that Alphas were only good as far as the money that made it to your hands.

That said, watching the annoyingly optimistic man get this close to losing it was always a good time, and Mick never forgot to pack his heat gun, because he fucking hated humans in general, and if Red was going to finally lose it during a drop, it was going to be with this pissant. And when that day came, the last time they played nice about jumping through Albert’s shitty hoops, Mick wanted to watch the flames lick up that pasty white flesh and bubble over while he screamed.

The building that Julian operated out of must have once been a museum, or maybe a laboratory, Mick guessed. From the outside it was a giant cylinder, and the inside a labyrinth of dirty metal walls with shit strewn everywhere, giving the impression of chaos and disarray. The wrong assumption, which of course they counted on, with an impressive ever watchful security network and reinforcements stashed in every corner and crevice to ambush the unwelcome.

And bleach. Everywhere fucking bleach. Mick figured they must wipe down rooms between meetings to keep things “confidential”, which meant the human piece of shit, though without any supernatural advantages himself, was well aware of how to use any supernatural associate’s against them. The air made his dark eyes burn and throat tighten, forcing him to duck his head to keep from letting the smell completely overtake him. To lose his focus as he rushed a little too quickly to push through the door the lackeys opened up for them, anxious to get away from the chemicals.

The new scent hit Mick like a semi-truck, fierce and brutal. How the hell did an Omega make that sort of stench in the middle of summer? He could feel his blood boiling, skin chafing as something crawled just beneath the surface-- something that made his chest too tight and his stomach churn uncomfortably.

Shifting his mind onto anything else, Mick glanced in his periphery and caught sight of Sara. The blonde was frozen in place as she took short, forced breaths, her terse expression careful not to give any satisfaction to the bastards. But Red…

The Alpha’s grip was so tight on his holster that Mick’s eyes couldn’t help but curiously watch the impressive mixture of red skin contrasting against painfully white knuckles. As impressive as the sudden blackened color of his normal green eyes, wide and wild as his Alpha instincts worked him over. Mick’s preternatural hearing picked up on the quickening pulse, the smell of adrenaline coursing through his veins double time while Barry bit so hard into his bottom lip that the Beta wondered if he’d draw blood from the full-on assault to his system.

The human’s expression was smug enough for Mick to come back to himself to ignore the tension boring through him. This asshole was completely aware of the effect the woman was causing to the captain, to all of them, was getting off on it. His pasty fingers traced languidly along her jawline, down her neck as he grazed her curves with an air of boredom in his “inspection”. “We’ll see how quick she takes,” he finally decided, giving a pointed look to the completely unaffected Gamma-- which made sense, since they didn't go into season. They were barely fertile enough to have a one-in-a-million chance of producing even a Beta pup, people said. “Some of these new stims are just a concentration of pheromones-- all pop and no results. I’m not investing without assurances.”

With that he turned his back on the half-dressed girl, his smirk fixing on Red as he slowly composed himself in the suddenly claustrophobic room. “One spot of trouble in regards to Time Travel, so I’ve heard,” he remarked glibly, eyebrows arching in amusement before he flicked his hand in gesture for the pathetic, lapdogs behind him to sidle up on either side of the Omega and escort her by the arm out a side exit. Mick breathed in deep as the door allowed a much needed fresh breeze to clear the air, and their heads, slightly. “Spins the cycles all out of sorts. In fact, I’ve heard curious cases where some Alphas going into a rut the second they touch ground. Complete messes-- their crew has to lock them up while they hump all of the furniture; ends up stranding the lot for weeks.”

The piece of shit looked like he was barely able to restrain himself from cackling at his own joke, and while Mick could see the rigid posture of the Alpha was slowly easing, he personally was starting to get more worked up. He’d never seen the captain in a rut, but purposely trying to provoke one in a small space was like suicide from all sides, and Mick didn’t appreciate anyone putting his life at risk but him.

Unlike the Beta, however, the slimeball’s continued rambling seemed to give the captain the time he needed to regain his composure to a more normal level of business dealing. “Nope. We’re all about professionalism,” Barry replied, tone short but even. “The only hold-ups we ran into was getting in this place. You might want to check up on your order of operations.” Mick breathed easy at Barry’s level mindset. Good. He didn’t want to trade six boxes of good beef for a freaking Omega so the man could get laid. There was a whore on the ship for that sort of shit.

“I’ll be sure to take that under consideration.” Apparently finished with his freaky sex mindgames, Julian’s gaze wandered, seemingly no longer as interested in their presence at his own goddamn meeting as he sauntered back toward his desk. “Anyways, whatever the reason, you are late, Allen. I've got a schedule to keep.” Running his hand over the piles of papers, hologram disks, tablets, all as if to confirm his busy schedule.

The brunet shag shifted across his forehead as Barry’s expression narrowed, “And you’re playing games.” His tone was impatient, and Mick’s body tingled with excitement. He wondered how thick the metal walls around them were: how quickly they would curl when the heat hit.

The other two men took no notice of him, however, and Red continued, “We’re here, with the goods and plenty of time, and you’re sitting pretty, putting out pheromones and accusations to try to put us on edge. Nothing went wrong on our side, so I’ve got to wonder what’s going on with yours, Julian.”

The slimy Brit pursed his lip, slowly nodding as he combed his fingers through his over-gelled hair before reaching along his desk for a flask and taking a drink. Mick swallowed-- he could use a drink after all of this hassle. Not that he’d take anything but cash from the dick before him, but it was good to know where some of his cut would be going.

After taking his damned sweet time, the human tipped his shoulders concedingly. “Fair enough: you’re just later than I’d prefer, then,” he amended, reaching into a drawer and brandished a holodisk pointedly. Mick fucking hated dramatics and huffed. “If you’d gotten here a little earlier, you might have beaten the BOLO for an aught-class Time Ship that left the nineteenth-century with known present-day contraband.”

Barry shrugged. “They didn’t ID us: it shouldn’t mean anything to you.”

Julian’s eyes narrowed. “Well, it wouldn’t-- except it’s incredibly tricky to sell government-marked beef to Alpha clients, isn’t it Allen?” Barry’s face froze in its mask; and Sara’s flinched slightly in surprise, but Mick’s twisted into a livid snarl-- they’d stolen scented goods? Not that they wouldn’t sell, but goddammit, now they’d have to haggle, and there went a chunk of Mick’s cut. Now he really wanted to burn something.

The blond man apparently was well aware of their responses. “Oh-- didn’t think I’d notice that bit? Figured since my human nose wouldn’t pick up on it, you could leave me twisting with tainted product?”

“We didn’t pick the job,” the Alpha pointed out.

“And I didn’t flip the bird to the Time Masters by burning down a bloody western bar with futuristic tech,” Julian shot back. “Riding off in a Time Ship? When do you think they go looking to track down that kind of thing? The goods aren’t worth the hassle—no deal.”

“That’s bullshit.” Sara clenched her fists, eyes down to slits as she stared down the man.

“That’s business, little bitch.”

“How about I show you the business end of my gun and we compare?” Mick growled, his heat gun humming to life as his finger itched the trigger. He wanted to burn this bastard since the day he’d met him, and now he was just begging to smolder. But Barry flashed him a warning look-- as though the flunkies that barely had a wolf gene in their blood suddenly appearing from nowhere to surround them were something Mick should find concerning-- and stared him down commandingly, forcing the Beta to grudgingly lower his weapon.

“We both know you’ve got the means to move this meat and barely lose a sniff off the top in terms of profit.” Barry’s voice was low as he stepped closer to Julian, rolling his shoulders into the red leather of his jacket. “So I’m guessing there’s something more on your mind here?” Yeah-- the ass apparently had a death wish. One that Mick was all too happy to oblige, if the Alpha would just let him.

Instead, Julian cocked his head in challenge. “What were you—a sergeant? Back in that epic war of dog on dog that you fought? That you lost? Yeah, Sergeant Bartholomew Allen, son of Beta Commander Nora Thompson. The Flash. Impressive fighters, impressive legacy. A man of honor.” Julian leaned against the desk, and Barry held his breath, body stiff. Maybe Mick would get to shoot someone after all. “Then fighting’s over, time goes on, and now you’re a captain of a Time Ship. Except…you’ve still got that look. That Alpha air—the one where you think you’re still something honorable-- heroic. Superior. Except you see, mongrel,” Julian stepped forward as the slur dripped off his tongue, eyes mere inches from where Barry’s emerald gaze stared unseeing, “in this port? In this city? I run things—I’m the Alpha around here. Your crummy ship and pack aren’t worth a piss in this time and place.”

Mick let out a low growl, and Sara shook her head sharply at him. Apparently they were just going to stick with this talking plan.

“Well, maybe I’m not fancy enough to pull off a Windsor knot,” Barry finally responded, his voice level and his gaze steady on the other, causing Mick to snort as Julian glanced down at his tie tucked beneath a ridiculous waistcoat. “But I’ve got your product. And we’re here for business.”

“Take it somewhere else,” Julian dismissed them. “Maybe they’re desperate closer to the Treaty. Or dump it; doesn’t matter to me. But if you stick around, I have no doubt that the Council will catch up with you.”

For a split second, the air was thick as the two men stared each other down, and Mick was sure it would come to blows. He really wanted it to come to blows. He wanted to fucking rip this place apart. However, after far too short of a space, Barry was the one who blinked, his features going soft. His long leg slid backward with a glare, head jerking at his pack as he gestured toward the exit.

“Time wants to happen, Julian,” he called over his shoulder as he followed Mick’s fuming form.

“Only if you’re outside the blind spots,” came the unphased response.

Chapter Text

Coast City wasn’t a beach. There were no stretches of beaches within 100 miles, Ray imagined: if you walked around in bare feet you were likely to get hepatitis, or worse. The waves crashing on the pillars beneath the docks were a muddy brownish-black instead of a clear perfect blue, and they smelled like rot and oil. And it was tough to take two steps without running into someone if you left your designated dock.

Mick would sometimes tell Ray about real beaches, when they were just sitting around the ship at night: about places like Aruba, where the sun still shone bright and yellow directly onto the smooth sand, with no hazy smog clogging the effect; where you could stretch out on a blanket and have gulls’ cries be the only noise interrupting the rise and fall of the water; where you could be completely free of the bureaucratic bullshit that dictated their lives in the present. It was always part of his plan, Mick said, once he got sick of working for Barry and being on the ship, to take off and just retire out there, alone and comfortable.

Well, maybe not completely alone, Ray liked to think. After all, Ray understood how unfair things were too, and getting away from it all sounded kind of nice. He liked to think if Mick ever did get serious about leaving, he’d be okay if Ray asked to come visit him; that the only reason he hadn’t suggested it already was because the Omega was obviously so devoted to the Waverider.

But for now, the closest to a beach Ray was getting was this dirty port, at the edge of the ship’s loading bay. The only clear blues and pristine yellows were on the materials the vendors were peddling, along with other goods of every shape and size. The only birds were the ones cooking on outdoor grills, their cries replaced with loud voices haggling and sniping along the wind as vendors and tourists all stacked up on top one another. Sea air replaced by fuzzy smoke and oil and sweat as people pushed past each other, eyes on the path in front of them. It wasn’t anything like what Mick described, but Ray enjoyed it anyways as he folded his jacket over the rail behind him and stepped closer to the pier to take it all in. He loved to observe and feel the energy of the city around him. It was so different than the small town where he’d lived as a pup, or even the compound where he and Anna had settled together. And he could be part of all of it, up close and personal to the action—all from the safety of the docking bay.

Barry always said Ray had a good eye too: that was why he was put in charge of negotiating passengers. He was friendly, and fairly good-looking (if he did say so himself), and was perceptive about little things. Of course, Mick would say he was so busy looking at the little things he missed what was right in front of him, but that was just the Beta being grumpy. Although the younger man would admit that perhaps he was maybe a little too inexperienced to go exploring on his own past the safety of the ship. He’d consider it, every now and then: after all, Oliver did that sort of thing all of the time. Maybe if he was a little more confident with strangers, or was able to suppress his natural scent with something more potent than a mask, he might be safe enough to venture further into the streets and take in the sights up close like any other person. Or even just do something pragmatic for the ship, like supply runs with Thea.

But Barry had nixed the idea before it had even fully formed on Ray’s tongue years ago, and no one on the ship was inclined to challenge the Alpha on his decision since. As Mick loved to remind him, Ray was an Omega—technically an unclaimed, undocumented one at that—and would be nothing but trouble in this sort of place. The mechanic may have gotten a pass a few years ago for a little while, when the Alpha Council likely expected him not to survive his loss, but after that there had been no uncertain terms that he was expected to fulfill his duty to his country: to be poked and prodded and chipped and added to the Registry for a new Alpha on the Draft.

But that wasn’t Ray. Even when he was young, as sensitive and devoted (some might say clingy) as he’d been, he’d wanted to be more than just someone’s mate. Meeting Anna had been a dream come true: she’d always encouraged his desire to do more, had lovingly supported his plans for them to go and see the world together, to change it. She'd been his partner and best friend, and he was going to fulfill that dream for her, whether she was here for it or not. He wasn’t going to let some random raffle of Vandal Savage and the Council allow some Alpha to claim him and end his life before he could begin it.

His plan for escape and adventure had really only gotten him as far as the Waverider; to the small pack of wolves stranded in the middle of nowhere in 2168 looking for a mechanic to work a ship with no AI to get them back in the air. When he’d discovered it was a Time Ship, Ray could barely contain his excitement, and he had no regrets leaving Ivy Town and his family to take up with the rough crew that Barry was running. The Alpha may have demanded the respect and obedience as a captain, but even as protective as he was of Ray, the older man never felt crowded by him. In fact, he sometimes felt as though Barry made an effort to give Ray a wide berth for both their comfort: they’d been the only Alpha and Omega on board for so many years, and Barry had seemed intent on proving that he hadn’t taken the other on just to trick him into bonding. Which was a great comfort to Ray, since, as much as he liked Barry, he hadn’t even wanted to consider trying to find a new mate.

Not that Barry couldn’t still be bossy, of course, as evidence by Ray stuck at their dock now, unable to explore more of Coast City besides the row of ships and people in his direct line of sight. The competition wasn’t that impressive today, he noticed. There were a few Time Ships nearby, some bigger than the Waverider, but Ray could tell they lacked proper maintenance. The one closest to him, for instance, was clearly pushing the capacitor past its limits for long jumps, and it was going to cause the ship to crash if they didn’t get it replaced. And another had some damage to its front that looked like its shields were in need of repair, which gave off the impression that they weren’t completely on the level. Of course, the Waverider had its own issues in that regard, with Barry eager to do the same overexertion on the Time Drive, as well as risky ventures against bounty hunters—maybe it was just an Alpha thing. Either way, Ray was sure he could get some customers for their trip.

Like maybe the bright-eyed brunette sauntering into view just then, pulling along a small trolley bag and slowing as she took in each sight before her along the pier. Her neck angling somewhat as she took in the ships, her gaze never even crossed the data screens, and Ray found himself intrigued by her assertive consideration.

“Hey, Sweetheart.” He'd been so caught up in his own thoughts and trying not to look like he was staring at the tiny tourist, lips now pursed as she investigated a puny but well-shined Trans-U, he hadn’t even noticed the two Betas that had been watching him. A male and female, with quite the height discrepancy between them, but both arguably looking quite capable of overpowering him if they felt so inclined. Ray was aware that though he was larger, with broad shoulders and an impressive tone, he wasn’t much of a fighter. “You lost?”

“Um, no, thank you,” he answered politely, straightening in what he hoped was a confident posture as he snuck a glance beyond the pair. It was a fruitless effort, of course—Barry, Sara, and Mick wouldn’t even be close to finishing negotiations on the other side of the square, and he had no idea where Thea was. And since he hadn’t attracted any passenger’s interest yet, he was currently on his own. Still, he kept his words as assertive as he could manage. “I’m actually part of the Waverider here,” he told them, gesturing behind him towards the ship. “We’ll be making a jump to 2169 in just a bit, if you’re interested.”

The oily-haired man glanced at his blonde partner and stepped forward, and Ray fought to keep from flinching as he leaned into him and sniffed. “An Omega, on a Time Ship?” he remarked skeptically, eliciting a laugh from the woman. Well, crap. Ray was definitely going to push Barry harder on the whole suppressant issue after they got paid for this job, banned or not. These masks were useless.

“The Captain is an Alpha, of course.” The response came immediately, and Ray regretted not elaborating his answer—not saying that Barry was his, instead of just an Alpha. The two Betas had a devious glint in their eyes, regarding him like he was some sort of toy, and Ray couldn’t help but fidget, his hands pinching the fabric of his pants. “However, it is a paying transport, and if you don’t have the proper papers for this sort of travel, I completely understand, and will just—” Barry would understand if he camped out in the cargo hold until Thea got back, Ray knew. Would probably prefer it. He would come out if someone looked serious about traveling, he promised himself.

Small fingers reached out and snatched his wrist to block his retreat and anchor him in place. Ray’s brown orbs went wide, even as he vaguely wondered how he hadn’t noticed her closing the space between them, before quickly flitting to his things where Barry had left him with some money, “just in case”, and Mick had tucked away some protection for the same reason. He’d been so certain he wouldn’t need it.

“Are you chipped, Breeder?” the woman asked, nails prodding Ray’s wrist curiously as her eyebrow quirked in line with her uniform bangs. “You wouldn’t be one of those naughty Draft Dodgers, would you?”

The man behind her barked out a laugh, and Ray wondered if he would stroke his beard like some sort of cartoon villain, with how cliché the scene was becoming. If it wasn’t him in this position, he might find the cheesiness funny. Instead, the laugh and following shoulder squeeze toward his partner as he let his eyes roam over Ray was deeply unsettling.

“Let go of me,” he demanded with as much force as he could muster. He needed to get away, but he couldn’t make a scene—he had too much to lose if he drew the wrong kind of attention. A fact that these Betas seemed well aware of, as the man's lip curled in further amusement.

“I’ve heard that they like to hide away on ships just like these ones—duck in and out of the Timeline in order to avoid being force-bonded. Is that you, Breeder? Are you trying to avoid the Bite?”

“Oh, this one’s already been bit, Sam,” the girl observed as she snuck a glance behind him, causing Ray to instinctively hunch his shoulders up as he tried to jerk away again. For such a small creature, though, she had an impressive grip, and with her partner stabilizing her, Ray was stuck. “Maybe a bit aged though,” she continued in wicked consideration. “Are you a Runner then, Breeder?”

“Oooh, Runner’s worse,” the other—Sam—piped up, his eyes widening in delight. “Running’s a federal penalty from the Council and your mate, isn’t it Rosa? I’ve heard some Alpha’s can get pretty creative with their punishments when it comes to their Omegas disrespecting them.”

“Hmm,” the tiny blonde hummed in agreement. “You know, I’m sure there’s a Fed around here somewhere that would be more than happy to return a lost little pup to his Mommy or Daddy.” Her green eyes sparked maliciously, and Ray’s body tensed, his mouth turning dry.

“Money,” he sputtered desperately, jerking again toward where his jacket still rested on the rail. “I have money—just let me go, and I’ll—please—”

The two companions expressions turned smug, and the girl released him immediately, causing Ray to stumble backwards a few steps. As he regained his balance and moved toward his belongings, he was furious to realize he'd been snagged in one of these traps—being just as likely to have to bribe some observant crooks as a guard on the docks to leave him alone. That this was what Barry had given him the money for. It was a terrible feeling, and all because of what? The fact that he was an Omega?

His hands shook angrily as he fumbled with the pocket of his jacket, feeling for the leather of his wallet. Feeling the cold, unfamiliar metal teasing the back of his hand as he did…Ray paused.

“You better hurry up, Breeder, or we might not let you off so easy,” Sam called to his back, and Ray’s eyes narrowed.

“Or maybe you better leave while I’m willing to let you both walk away still breathing.” Ray’s hands trembled slightly, but the gun was pointing straight, and the voice sounded much braver than anything he’d produced in the entire encounter thus far.

The two crooks stared at him incredulously, and his mind raced as he tried to remember what Mick had taught him about shooting. It had all been hypothetical, honestly, but Ray had traveled too far down this path to back off now. He shifted his thumb to turn off the safety. “Go on. Get,” he demanded, jerking his head down the pier.

Rosa’s green gaze flitted to her partner before resting back on him. “You really thinking you’re wolf enough to shoot both of us, Breeder?” she sneered, but she stayed back, wary of what he might do. It made Ray feel empowered, braver.

“You want to try me?”

The three of them remained in their silent standoff for what felt like an eternity, and Ray was terrified that they would call his bluff—that he would actually have to shoot someone. Or at least try. He wasn’t ready for that.

Fortunately, it was the Betas who backed down, shooting a hard glare before withdrawing into the crowd. Ray kept his eyes fixed on their forms as long as he could, frozen in shock.

“You okay?”

The yelp that escaped Ray was the polar opposite of the confident growl in his earlier tone, his surprise emphasized by the jerky movement of his body as he whirled to face the voice, gun still aimed straight ahead of him… into the wide eyes of the young brunette he’d been watching earlier. Her hands went up in surrender, fingers splayed wide. “Whoa, there—"

But Ray was already blushing bright red, stammering out multiple apologies as he let the barrel fall toward the ground and fumbled with the safety. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” he repeated himself, trying to figure out what to do with the weapon that would make the situation less awkward. It wasn’t as if he had a holster, after all. “I was just—”

“No—please. You were protecting yourself. It was my fault for sneaking up on you,” she assured him with a wary, but still friendly smile. Her eyes still flickered to the gun, but she slowly lowered her hands and relaxed. “I just saw you with those guys, and I wanted to make sure you were okay—”

“Oh. Yeah,” Ray muttered, feeling the heat further inflame his cheeks as he gave a weak smile, forcing his pulse to steady. “Thank you; I’m fine. Thugs like that are always hanging around places like these. You just have to show them you aren’t some newbie pushover.”

“Or at least not an Omega that abides by gun-bans,” she pointed out playfully, her smile more amused as Ray continued to fidget with the weapon in his hands. “Have you ever even used that before?”

“Me? Of course,” Ray sputtered, stilling his hands. “I mean, traveling on a transport ship, what kind of Alpha wouldn’t want his pack to be able to fight? And you know—Barry and me—because how else would I get a gun, right? So it’s not actually illegal or anything, and I am completely proficient with—”

The girl was all but outright laughing at this point, and Ray closed his mouth, realizing he’d completely failed at selling his cover. However, despite her Alpha-heavy scent, she seemed quite at ease with him. "I know what you mean," she told him with a knowing look.

Ray smiled gratefully. She didn't seem at all concerned by his rule-breaking, now that he wasn't brandishing the weapon, which made him a little more confident as he stepped toward her. “You know, you should come with us.”

“Excuse me?”

Her laughter had quieted, his statement having caught her off guard, but Ray pressed on, “I just meant that I saw you earlier, and you don’t seem to be looking at the destinations so much as the ships themselves, and mine’s the best.”

Her eyebrow quirked beyond him with a scrutinizing gaze. “You sure about that? She looks pretty rough.”

“Well, she’s got some miles on her—and some time.” Ray grinned again, completely at ease with the Beta and the topic at hand. He loved the Waverider and Time Travel. “Have you ever jumped before?”

Her shoulders shrugged slightly to accompany the sheepish smile. “Not really,” she admitted. “I’ve heard some pretty funny stories about side effects, though.”

His brown hair shifted along his head as he bobbed in concession. He had more than a few personal experiences with side effects when he’d first started time traveling, although now it was second nature to him, for the most part. “Are you a student?” he asked, trying to gauge her age through her confident nature.

The Beta smiled. “I’m writing a thesis with some references to the post-war efforts. But so far it’s all been books. I thought maybe I’d stick my head out of the Stacks; walk around a little.”

Ray took in her words, as well as a closer look at her appearance. Her black pants were ripped, but stylistically, not from wear or rough living, considering the brightness of the color. Her green vest was faded, but not frayed, and a clean heather sweatshirt was tied neatly around her waist. Taking it all together, the older man was willing to bet she could easily come from money. He’d heard of primary Betas, born in Pureblood households, that had been raised properly but out of the way; given a stipend in exchange for dropping their surnames and homes upon reaching adulthood. It seemed cruel to Ray, but compared to other stories he’d heard, he supposed that was better than the prospect being abandoned completely.

Ray closed the remaining space between them, extending his hand and beaming as he decided he liked the girl quite a lot. “I’m Ray,” he introduced himself, “and this is the Waverider—smoothest ride to 2169 for anyone that can pay.”

Her own smile widened in kind, seemingly equally pleased to have made a new friend, and she took his hand in hers. “Jesse Quick,” she answered. “It’s nice to meet you, Ray.”

Chapter Text

A slender male gracefully wove his way through the bar, hips rolling rhythmically as he navigated tables and patrons leaning back in their chairs. He held a tray carefully in one hand, showing off slender but toned arms as he carried the bottles to the booth in the corner, placing them gently on the table in a fluid motion with a genial smile.

Mick’s hand shot out for it, blunt and heavy as he bumped the table to claim it. The man was irritated, to say the least. The present was hot, and stifling, and it smelled bad. For a place right next to the water, Coast City was filled with a lot of unbathed scumbags. Scumbags that screwed him out of his cut of a good score, leaving him stuck with a bunch of fresh meat he wasn’t allowed to eat and aching to cause some havoc to vent his frustration. To see hazy smoke trails dancing upward while its source seared or crumbled into ash. The booze might curb his anger, for now, and his fingers curled around the glass to pull it back towards him.

The effort caused him to brush the pretty boy’s hand in the process, and Mick looked up to see the server eyeing him curiously. He was soft Beta, by the smell of him, with a dapper smile affecting his features. Realizing he’d caught Mick’s attention, his dark curls slid along his forehead as he gestured toward a side door suggestively, causing Mick to scowl and purposely look away. The crook didn’t have any extra cash to burn, and even if he did, he had no interest spending it on getting some tail from some dirty mutt in a crapsack city.

The kid must have gotten the hint, because Red and Blondie started talking freely again, pretty much ignoring Mick besides expressly forbidding him to act on his pyrotechnic impulses. Instead, they’d each ordered him a beer as they hunkered down in the skeezy cantina they’d retreated to since running with their tails between their legs from Albert’s chrome cave, vetoing Mick’s suggestion of melting the damn thing to scrap with all the bastards inside of it, leaving him with one more thing pissing him off.

He cast a surly glance over at Red, considering pointedly reminding the Alpha how he usually dealt with crews he’d been part of that had screwed him out of his share in the past, but Mick figured that could wait until he was finished with his drink, simply because it was difficult to get a decent beer in present day without an Alpha ordering it.

Besides, Sara was doing a pretty decent job ripping into him for now—Mick’s own threats could wait a minute.

“—just go back a couple of hours—”

“If we show up too much earlier than our meeting time, he'd know something was off.”

“But maybe not enough to bring in a dosed Omega to ambush us.”

“I handled that—”

“Barely.” Sara’s eyes flickered around them before leaning closer, her voice softening in the already rowdy room. “It’s been years since you’ve gone through a rut, Barry. And god knows when since you last got laid.” The younger wolf opened his mouth to retort, but his partner just pressed on, “You want to call it chivalry or standards or whatever, that’s fine, but today was an example of the plain and simple fact that the people we’re working with don't. If you’d lost control back there—”

“I handled it.” The captain’s tone was lower, more insistent, and Mick shifted uncomfortably, focusing harder on his drink. Not that he gave a damn about the captain’s fucking habits, but one of the upsides of traveling with Red in charge was the way the Alpha purposely avoided landing in Season. And while he didn't really care that it didn’t stop Sara from hooking up whenever someone caught her eye, or the Queen whore from jumping from one knot to another, for the most part, Mick appreciated a ship not overwrought with potential heats or ruts. Which meant he obviously didn’t want to listen to the two of them talk about whether the guy needed to get his rocks off more often now.

“What I don’t understand is why we didn’t just turn that damn meat sack into barbecue,” he piped up in a growl, taking advantage of the pause between scolding and deliberation to shift the topic to something more relevant to his own needs.

Sara eyed the larger man in annoyance. “Because then we’d be dead, Rory,” her voice deadpanned. “Hard to get paid if you’re dead.”

“Harder to get paid if your crew scampers off like some scrap-sucking strays,” Mick grumbled in retort, and Barry suddenly rose to his feet. Mick’s eyes flashed, tensing for a challenge-- he’d always wondered, between the two of them, which would come out on top-- but the Alpha was merely paying the tab and gesturing for them to leave.

“Look, it doesn’t matter anymore,” he stated, waving off the argument in the open air in order to circle back to his original point as they navigated the market crowds toward the Waverider. Mick eyed the scumbags of the present day and let his thoughts stray to how Ray was holding up on his own back at the docks, and whether the Princess was back with supplies yet. He didn't like the idea of the Omega being left on his own for too long: the nerd was too soft for his own good, and not much for a fight, even armed. “We need to get going anyways.”

Sara quirked a brow. “You think Julian called the Feds?” That caught Mick’s attention, and his eyes snapped back to his companions.

Red’s body twitched as he half-shrugged, half-shook his head. “I wouldn’t put it past the bastard. But it’s fine--we’ll just get out of here. Find another buyer, unload the goods that way.”

Mick huffed unhappily. The crook had never particularly played well with Alphas, but Barry was really something he’d never come across before. The guy had to be the worst smuggler in the history of criminals-- always more than willing to back down from a fight if the deal went a little south, seemingly believing that there would be a new one right around the corner.

On the other hand, that also led to the main reason Red’s was the second-longest crew Mick had run with; why he stuck around for two years on this crappy ship, give or take the way time travel worked. Because however he had the luck, he did manage to find a new buyer, get the deal done and get Mick his share of the cut-- which, besides his own bunk and free run of the kitchen, was really all the Beta needed, he guessed. It’d just be nice if the idiot managed to pull this stuff off in a way that wasn’t the most annoying one possible.

“I’m thinking Caitlin,” Barry continued thoughtfully with a glance at Sara, who scoffed.

“You mean Killer Frost?” She ignored the displeased expression on his face at the nickname. “We don’t want to work with her, Barry.”

“Why not?”

“Because she impaled you.” Mick gave an amused snort at the memory of the story, the idea of an icicle run through the wolf in a way that might have killed anyone but an Alpha. He’d just barely missed that heist-- was under the impression that it was a serious contributing factor to Red and Blondie offering him a place in their crew-- but whenever the Alpha suggested going to the Mercury District, his partner would inevitably come up as a reason to tread with extreme caution, if not skip it altogether.

Barry shot a glare at Mick, but besides quieting a little, he made no effort to submit. Red wasn’t his Alpha, after all-- he may run with the kid, but Mick didn’t let any Alpha own him, and the string bean of a captain knew that.

The younger wolf ignored the other man and turned back to Sara, “Well, yeah, maybe a little, but I’m fine now.”

The formidable blonde beside him didn’t seem convinced. “She’s unpredictable, Barry-- aggressive.” He bobbed his head in agreement. “We can find someone else.”

“Like who?”

“Roy.”

“He could never afford this.”

“Fine then-- Stein.”

Barry arched an eyebrow incredulously. “Are you kidding? Stolen government goods? He wouldn’t touch the stuff.”

“Then what about the Hawks?” Sara pressed, refusing to give up.

He let out a soft sigh, eyes shifting away momentarily. “They’ve gone off-grid.” Mick glanced over curiously, and Sara’s probing gaze forced him to continue, “Pittsburg got hit by Howlers-- whole city was ripped apart.”

Both Betas balked, and Mick felt a curl of nausea hit him hard. Howlers were freaks-- absolutely disgusting, from their twisted looks to their cannibalistic nature. They creeped the hell out of him, and there really weren’t a lot of things in this world that made Mick Rory flinch.

Barry shook his head as if to scatter the unpleasant knowledge from his mind, before continuing his original train of thought. “Look, Caitlin’s got the money to afford it, and the contacts to move it. If we catch her at the right time, she’s still a friend, and I’m more than willing to forget about a perfectly understandable slip in composure. It was years ago-- potentially nonexistent, depending on when we drop in. I don’t hold it against her at all.”

The toned blonde let out a scoff. “I just don’t think that sort of Alpha’s the way to go.”

“Well, we’re on a clock, Sara,” he reminded her, tone still light while asserting a definitive edge to it, cutting off further argument for the time being. It actually made Mick feel much better, honestly: all of this back-and-forth needled at him after a while. And besides, this way seemed pretty simple: if the crazy bitch took the goods, he’d get his money; if she didn’t, he’d get to burn some people. Either outcome felt like a win-win situation to the crook.

A little more push and shove and they finally made it back to where the Waverider was docked. As if Mick’s mood wasn’t already sour, any potential room for improvement was nixed at the sight of Ray with his hands all over some bumbling wolf in a light-colored duster as he helped him pull his Time Visa papers from his bags. The Beta seemed like a moron, and his stupid tuft of scruff on his face and damned British accent reminded Mick of the asshole they’d just left, which put him off even more. Even the name was ridiculous: did he think anyone would actually believe Rip Hunter wasn’t made up? Was he trying to sound tough or something? The burly man was tempted to scrutinize the paperwork to prove it was forged, or maybe just burn it to a crisp and punch the pompous shithead that was touching his mechanic, except the guy looked too damned stupid to be able to even manage something like that. Not to mention he was a paying Joe, and Red probably wouldn’t appreciate it if Mick sucker-punched a guy at the docks before they got the money off of him. He just wished the prick would keep his damned hands to himself.

The whole situation just irked the hell out of him—he didn’t have the energy to put up with this shit anymore. A surly growl escaped him, and he completely blew off Ray as the man turned to greet him, leaving the genius to get the basic summary of the blown deal from someone else. Thea was riding up with packed crates of supplies too, so he figured they’d be fine while he raided the kitchen for beer and snacks before escaping to his bunk. It’d be a bit of a let-down from what he’d just gotten at the pub—the AI was disconnected on this ship, and synthetic shit never tasted quite right without it-- but Mick just wanted to get away from all of the people. They were pissing him off.

When thinking back on it later, Mick would rationalize that he wasn’t paying attention to the Alpha who boarded the ship—that his large boring crate and his standard-issue Alpha “manly” cologne made his eyes skip right over him and the dark layers covering him, despite the humidity weighting down on them. That while he noticed the face turned his way from his peripheral vision, taking in Mick’s scars and gruff appearance, he just assumed it was the same cautious once-over almost every person he’d come across had given him. Risk-assessment and a tinge of fear. But passenger Alphas usually only spoke to their own kind, so the asshole was more Red’s problem, and Mick just needed a beer. So he ignored him.

He’d regret that later.

Chapter Text

The sun beat down through the dirty air of Coast City as Thea waited impatiently at the head of the Runner, watching the Alpha fastidiously secure his big, ugly crate onto her transport. It was actually a curious sight, and distracted Thea from other concerns on the trip as she tried to keep from being obvious with her staring. So many layers of pristine fabric beneath a midnight blue pea coat, pressed chinos, and fancy shoes that somehow had managed to keep from developing a coat of dust in whatever trek he’d made, and an overcompensating musk the young Beta worried she might choke on —this guy had Pureblood stamped all over him. The arrogance was palpable: he hadn't even offered his name since arriving on their dock. Instead, his cold blue gaze had taken one look at Thea and abruptly dismissed her in favor of discussing the details of departure with Ray. The young wolf had to stifle an incredulous scoff at the overt classism, especially coming from a guy found hanging around a place like Coast City.

But as soon as he’d confirmed his passage, the man seemed to turn on his ear –sort of. His expression remained cold and tactless in his regard of Thea as his eyes roamed down her small frame, pausing at her chest. Except Thea realized he wasn’t focused on her breasts, but instead the harness criss-crossed over her fitted shirt, holstering her jian beneath her jacket. The stranger may have refused to meet her eyes, but he was smart enough to acknowledge the potential threat, apparently.

Betas were forbidden by law to carry guns unless they were issued by the state, in the form of soldiers and Feds. This restriction also extended to unclaimed Omegas, although the reasoning was worded differently: supposedly Betas couldn’t be trusted with weapons, while Omegas needed to be protected from them. In the end, it boiled down to the same result of keeping Alphas at an advantage. Some wolves still risked it, but in present day, blades and fists had become the much more popular alternative, especially the closer you came to the inner cities. For traveling and trained wolves, though, Thea had found there were plenty of better work-arounds for the creative-minded. Sara with her batons; Mick had his laser-based flamethrower (or a “heat gun”, if you weren’t worried about semantics); Oliver and his recurve bow. And with Ray’s genius, all of them had been “customized” in ways not strictly illegal in order to give them an impressive edge in a fight. While there would be a lot of explaining to do if any of them were arrested with the weapons, the style in which they were crafted still left the possibility of walking away with them.

Neither Thea nor the Alpha said a word about the sword handle peeking out from behind the pilot in the pregnant pause, the man instead shifting his neck to crack the vertebrae before striding to the transport to grab hold of his crate. He shifted his form pointedly away from her, making it obvious that the Beta’s help was neither needed nor welcome in moving his items, which, considering how little he seemed to think of her, surprised the girl. While Thea was more than happy to let him lug the giant crate that she could easily fit inside onto the Runner alone, it was out of character for such an elitist Pureblood not to just assume she was subservient to his will. But perhaps her gentleman’s weapon—something that required years of skill and finesse to wield—had changed his mind.

Instead, the Auxiliary Beta was more than happy to let the stranger use his own (admittedly impressive) strength to carefully hoist the metal box onto the flatbed and secure it with straps. She inhaled the sweat accumulating along his close-cropped scalp, no doubt from the physical exertion combined with the heavy fabrics he weighted himself with in the humid weather. What little of his natural scent she could catch beneath the artificial garbage was much less offensive, and if she cared to offer her opinion, Thea would have recommended he go without. And if she was a kinder soul, she would have hoped for his sake there was better weather waiting for them in 2069.

She was kind of glad she wasn’t, as she watched his towering form finally step back to permit her to climb behind the wheel of her ATV, revving it to life and making her way up the ramp of the cargo bay.

The air stirred around her as Thea powered the machine back down, causing a new scent to draw her attention. The girl was smiling, engaged with Ray as he happily discussed who-knew-what, and a small strand of dark brown hair had shifted past her ear, away from the rest. Unlike the overbearing stench of the man traveling beside Thea, this girl’s scent was a perfect balance of her natural self and an Alpha-heavy mask, intermixing to the point that the pilot couldn’t really be certain how far along the spectrum the other Beta was. In fact, if the girl wasn’t so captivating, and Thea’s training so well-honed, she probably wouldn’t have noticed that it wasn’t her natural scent—masks that well-produced were expensive, and the girl’s appearance, despite being downplayed in an attempt to blend in, did nothing to deter Thea’s opinion that she likely came from money. Her bright eyes flickered over to Thea then, and the girl’s stomach flipped as she gave a soft smile, causing her own expression to brighten in response.

Any potential interaction beyond that was cut short, however, as the damned Alpha cleared his throat emphatically, forcing Thea’s attention back on the cargo as the man shadowed her uncomfortably closely. Mood considerably darkened, she jerked at the straps holding the crates secure, and bit back a growl as he finally spoke his first words to her in a condescending sneer.

“Careful with that.”

He callously moved beside her to once again prevent Thea from touching his precious carry-on, and her gaze narrowed as he blocked her from accessing any of her own supplies on the flatbed in the process. It must have been some time since they’d had an Alpha riding with them if she was this rankled before they’d even boarded the ship. Or this guy was just a serious ass; the latter opinion solidifying more firmly in her mind as he all but commanded that she remain rooted in place as he settled on a spot secure enough to satisfy the safety of his crate in the hold.

The tourist finally released his hold on her, and boots striding up the ramp revealed why, as Thea turned to watch the rest of her pack returning. A sour-looking Mick and stoic Sara could have meant anything and nothing, but the way Barry chewed his lip and stared ahead in preoccupation raised a red flag that things did not go according to plan.

Thea’s nails dug into her palm as the large Alpha pushed past her, coolly dismissive of the petite girl helping him as he turned his focus now to the ship’s captain and newly arrived crew. The sword tapped seductively against her back, but Thea instead forced herself to concentrate on the rest of the provisions still packed on the Runner, taking the tiny amount of pleasure in the surprise the man seemed to express at Mick not even pausing to regard him as he strode into the ship, likely to the galley or his bunk. Thea's lip twitched in vindication-- Mick would be the last man to give a rat's ass over proper etiquette, and it gave her a petty sort of pleasure that he could rile the Alpha the way she couldn't. In the meantime, she would take the time necessary to unload and secure it in the ship in an effort to fully regain her composure. Her training had taught her, if nothing else, that malicious cackling at a stranger's expense would probably leave as poor of a first impression with the new girl as if she left pretentious Alpha blood spatter all over the metal interior of her ship. Rich wolves tended to frown on both sort of actions.

By the time she finished her responsibilities, the petite Beta had moved on to striking up a conversation with the third civilian traveling with them. Delaying her curiosity in the face of making casual group conversation, Thea decided that introductions would have to wait until later in favor of navigating her way closer to where Barry and Sara had isolated themselves to watch over the chaos of the room. She flitted closer to the two, mirroring Barry’s relaxed posture against the wall to catch the quiet conversation that most wouldn’t be aware was happening if they hadn’t spent the last five-ish years traveling with the two.

“Nice, Barr.” Sara’s lips barely moved, even as her gaze slid from Beta to Beta to Alpha as the newcomers shuffled and tugged at their belongings, settling in for the trip. The fabric of her jacket pulled tight as she crossed her arms over her chest, showing off their tone as she planted one foot back against the crate behind her. “And now we have civilians riding right on top of our marked contraband.”

Thea’s eyebrows disappeared into her scalp, head jerking slightly as she tried to catch the first mate’s eye in her periphery. No one had said anything about the goods being marked, and if they had an Alpha on board that could pick up the scent…

“Everything’s going to be fine,” Barry insisted, shifting on his feet and shuffling to the side to allow people to move into the corridor and inside of the ship. “Thea, how fast can we make the jump to 2069 Mercury District?”

“Mercury District?” Thea hadn’t quite mastered the art of breathing her words, so the surprised inflection carried the location in a seemingly random manner through the air. “I thought we were headed for Keystone?”

“Quick stopover.” Even alone in the cargo bay now, Barry’s voice remained quiet, fingers waving away the detail. “What’s the time?”

The younger girl sighed quietly, leaning toward him as she listened to Ray’s voice in the distance, now showing the newcomers their rooms. “We busted the oscillator again-- Time Drive’s on its last legs. If you’d just let me turn on--”

“Gideon stays off,” Barry cut her off, eyes stern as they snapped toward her, and Thea scrunched up her nose unhappily.

“We’re running a legitimate transport in present day, Barry--”

“How long, Thea?” She knew better than to push him any more: Barry had been obstinate about keeping the ship’s AI disabled ever since hiring Ray didn’t make it strictly necessary, wanting to keep as far away from government’s scrutiny as possible. Instead, she shrugged her shoulders.

“Eighteen hours in the temporal zone minimum, to come out sometime safe,” she estimated. It sounded ridiculous to say out loud, considering it had only taken forty-eight to travel over a century and a half, but they would take it easy with the jump for the passengers' sakes anyways-- not everyone could handle the straight shot, and it was safer to slow the trip to lessen the chances of side effects. And without the proper repairs, she wouldn’t feel right pushing the Waverider regardless.

The captain nodded. “See? Eighteen hours, and none of them could find that hidden panel even if they were trying to sniff it out.”

Thea cocked her head curiously. “Why not?” she asked. She had to admit that sometimes Barry’s foresight and creative intelligence surprised her in the best ways. Not every Alpha had those sort of smarts, and she felt herself relaxing.

Barry’s green eyes flickered between the Betas watching from either side of him, blinking at the question as he gestured vaguely in front of him. “...Because.”

The pilot’s stomach sank, and Sara’s face stretched into a wry smile. “Yep,” she remarked, turning toward the hall, “this is going to go great.”

“It’s going to be fine,” he continued to insist quietly as he followed behind her, and Thea fought not to bury her face in her hands as she took up the tail of the group, punching the ramp’s closing mechanism on the way.

“All aboard,” she murmured.

Chapter Text

Luck was with them, it seemed, as the ship pulled clear from the grimy port without any trouble, sailing into the fresh green currents of the Temporal Zone. Well, not really lucky-- Thea was a damned good pilot: the youngest pilot registered since before the Reconstruction, in fact. The rare tears breaking through Moira's perfectly poised and collected features when she’d graduated, despite the woman's misgivings of the “sensitive, delicate” Auxillary Beta leaving Queen Consolidated for the more informal world, still played fresh in Thea's memories. But no matter how much she loved Moira, and saw the Omega as a surrogate mother, the prim and proper escort life wasn’t for Thea, and while the Waverider hadn’t really been what she’d had in mind when she’d started out, now she wouldn’t trade it for anything. Well, at least anything that the world was currently offering to a soft Beta.

Regardless, the ship was currently flying smoothly, and Thea confidently locked in the coordinates and stepped back from the controls, rolling her shoulders lazily as she loosened the kinks in her neck before heading down the hall to sneak a peek at the newcomers and any potential plans circling Barry’s brain. Under normal circumstances, proper maintenance and updating of its AI allowed for Time Ships to all but fly themselves. However, being on a smuggling ship, Gideon dismantled to stay out of the Council's cross-hairs, “normal” remained few and far between for them, acting as yet another reason Thea would likely never be out of a job.

There was still ample time to step away from the wheel, of course, which Thea took full advantage of in order to join the rest of the group. Her timing turned out to be spot-on, as she popped into the library just as Barry was finishing the basic rundown of the trip. A cursory glance revealed two of their pack missing, with Mick likely avoiding the newcomers and Ollie still cleaning himself up; but between the extra passengers and books, maps, and other resources scattered around, the room still looked busy.

“—bunks are a little sparse, but they’ve all got the basics: bed, lights, biometric locks for privacy. The library, as you can see, is well-stocked, if you need to check up on any details of when we’re arriving,” Barry's long limbs gestured to the books and screens around them. “And we just refilled the kitchen, which is open the whole trip to you. It’s pretty standard synthetics-- all the vitamins and nutrients that can be made up in most known foodstuffs. Now, our AI is presently undergoing repairs and unavailable for use, but the appliances are fully functional if you’re feeling domestic.”

“The AI is malfunctioning?” The British lilt of the new Beta piped up from the table edge he was using for a seat. “For how long?”

“Not very,” Barry lied smoothly; years of practice and a basic understanding of the ship’s workings had made the line second nature, and Thea secretly wondered if her captain ever forgot that it wasn’t actually the case. “Just a bit of a hiccup on the linguistic recognition software. Happens every now and again on these models. It’s an easy enough fix once we make port, and until then we’ve got the best pilot and mechanic to keep her course smooth and steady for everyone on board.” Thea gave a small smile as the group turned toward her, lingering on the shy expression watching her from the couch, before both gazes were pulled away by an accidental jostle as Ray’s broad form twisted to give a cheery wave around the room. After reassuring him she was fine, the younger girl glanced back at Thea, and both shared a grin of amusement. “So no worries on that front.”

“But doesn’t the Alpha Council require you to dock immediately for IT repairs on Time Ships?” The new girl's curiosity pulled her attention away from Thea, eyes bouncing from Ray’s sudden surprise beside her to the captain’s. “I mean, I’m pretty sure I read that any issues regarding government-regulated equipment needed to be resolved immediately, in case of safety hazards.”

Barry narrowed his eyes. They’d come across their fair share of questions about the safety of the vessel without an AI, but they’d never been called out for specifically skirting federal protocol. “Where did you read that?” he asked suspiciously, and Thea watched her blink in confusion.

“Um, I did a mock thesis on Reconstruction Union Transport in undergrad,” she explained slowly, and if Thea hadn’t been certain of her privileged status before, her academic standing would do it now. She vaguely wondered if the girl’s family was well-connected or extremely rich, since they'd have to be at least one in order to get a Beta’s application accepted for a university degree. The girl straightened her posture against the tension in the air, and the projected confidence was actually really cute.

“You’re a historian?” Barry’s tone sharpened like an accusation, and Thea felt herself bristle in defense.

“Student,” she clarified, raising her chin even as her expression wavered. She was obviously confused by the confrontation, but refused to be cowed. “Is...that a problem?”

Thea's foot shifted forward, mouth opening to speak, but Ray beat her to the punch, placing a reassuring hand on her arm. “Of course not! Right, Barry? It’s great-- amazing even. Definitely not a problem.” His brown eyes fixed on the other man's, communicating the same message Thea was thinking, though likely with less irrational possessiveness and more reassurance natural to Omegas.

Barry inhaled, glancing from his mechanic to the Beta beside him. “No,” he conceded curtly, releasing a huff, and Thea's hand twitched with the urge to smack him. Any member of the Waverider could write a short essay about Barry’s issues with those who perpetuated the propagandized version of history and bullshit agenda Vandal Savage pushed, but it was hardly right to take it out on the passengers. Although, Thea could fairly confess to herself, if it had been the annoying, overdressed Alpha currently leaning against the wall with that arrogant smirk doing the talking, instead of simply watching the scene play out, she may have had far fewer objections.

“Anyways, the problem isn't much, but for... safety reasons--” his lips twitched as he glanced at the brunette “--I’m going to ask you to keep to the aforementioned areas while we’re in the temporal zone. The bridge, engine room, cargo bay-- they’re all off limits without a crew member with you.”

“And what if we forgot our toothbrush down there?” The Alpha’s sardonic drawl came from his spot by the table, a challenging look in his eye. Thea’s own brow arched at his brazenness. His lax position against the wall demonstrated he wasn't seriously making a play for dominance, that he recognized while he might be able to take Barry in a fight (considering the age and size difference between them), he knew his odds as a lone wolf in tight quarters, surrounded by a Beta-heavy pack completely loyal to their captain (or as loyal as Thea imagined Mick would ever get to any Alpha) didn't look good for him. Which meant that the privileged passenger was simply taking amusement in pressing buttons, risking a fight to get them reported, or worse.

Barry, thankfully, resisted rising to the bait. “It's a short jump, but I understand some of you might have things you'll want to grab, so Sara will be taking you over as soon as we’re done here. If that’s all—“ he paused on the other man, who wisely remained silent, before continuing, “—there is one last thing. I’m sorry in advance, but the ship has been requested by the Alpha Council to deliver supplies to the Mercury District while we’re in 2169. It’s a little out of our way, but since it's just a drop off, I don't expect it to take us too far schedule.”

“Supplies? Like what?” This damned Alpha was far too nosy, and Thea's fingers flexed against the door frame as she forced a breath through the guttural snarl building against her throat.

“Not sure; probably just restocking things they need to keep building the country back up to greatness." Barry's tone was leaning left of neutral as he responded, stance shifting to the balls of his feet to signal the end of the query. Sara's posture straightened as well as she took a strategic step closer to the center of the room, and Thea held her breath as the man critically took in the scene .

“Then I guess it’s good we’re helping,” the Brit in the back spoke up, coattails rustling as he stood in an obvious attempt to diffuse the situation. The Alpha passenger angled his head slightly, smirking at the Beta from his periphery before his eyes flickered across the rest of the room and shrugging indifferently into the wall.

Thea's muscles relaxed in relief, and Sara called the group's attention as she moved to lead them back toward the hold. The pilot stepped out of the doorway, lingering behind in order to fall in line with Barry's delayed steps.

“I think I may camp out in the bridge,” she explained quietly. “Make sure things stay on course.” Everything about this Alpha grated on her, and while she didn’t want to stir up trouble, the Waverider was Thea's home, and she wouldn’t hesitate to defend it if things got heated.

“Might be wise,” Barry agreed, glancing around the cargo hold at the group now rummaging amongst their belongings. “At least until we hear back from Caitlin.”

"Killer Frost?" Thea’s nose wrinkled slightly at the name. She’d figured the Alpha was the target when he’d mentioned the Mercury District, but she didn’t much like that idea either. “Didn’t she impale you the last time we were in 2169?” The quiet nausea building in her stomach was not helped at all at the sight of Barry shrugging his shoulders with a non-committal noise from the back of his throat.

Luckily for Barry, the telling hiss of compressed air behind them announced Oliver's arrival, drawing the group's curiosity as the broad-shouldered man stepped into the corridor from the Jump Ship with an easy smile. Thea's chest lightened, and Barry's own lips quirked playfully as he turned to face the Omega completely. "Looks like his Majesty had a successful envoy," he remarked, waving a hand with an exaggerated cough at the nonexistent smell of sex.

Thea rolled her eyes, but grinned nonetheless as she quickened her steps to meet the older man for a hug. Oliver may not smell like his occupation, but his scent was noticeable in the air, causing the fancy arrogant steps to falter as the Alpha reentered the corridor, caught off guard by Oliver's presence. Better Ollie than Ray, however, as Mick chose that moment to appear as well, beer in hand, flinching backward in discomfort with a long stare. Sara, obviously the most well-trained on the Waverider's Alpha side of the spectrum, didn't even flinch as she wove through the jam, merely nodding in greeting and continuing on through the hall with Ray tagging along. His enthusiastic greeting toward Mick seemed to pull the crook from his stupor, and he angrily huffed and stalked after the others. Barry, quip now delivered, had settled back with a self-satisfied expression, expression nonchalant as he watched the well-dressed Alpha move toward his bunk without a word, but Thea doubted the feeling carried beyond skin-deep-- not that it was her place to say what was going on in the mind of the two men beside her, of course.

Meanwhile, the new girl's curiosity had drawn her closer to the crowd, taking in the newcomer and the crew's reactions to him. Thea chewed her lip shyly, disappointed that yet another Omega had managed to catch the Beta's attention and stole her chance of speaking to her, regardless of being able to pull quite a bit of information by the girl's responses to others. It was generally a risk for Betas interacting with upper-class Omegas (which Oliver, in his soft shirt and pressed slacks certainly was), since both evolution and law stereotypically working against them often made for tension. But this girl seemed as at ease near Ollie as she had with Ray, hinting that she'd had plenty of exposure with his type before. Thea sighed quietly in dejection as she wondered if the girl might hold a preference for them.

The distraction of her thoughts explained her expression lighting up in a gleeful surprise when, instead of making an impression one way or another with Oliver, the girl extended her small hand and bright smile at herself. “Hi. You’re the pilot, right? I don’t think we’ve met yet. I’m Jesse Quick.”

Oliver grinned in amusement at Thea's glow, and she nudged him with her shoulder as she reached for the proffered hand. “Thea,” she replied with an equally friendly reception.

“Jesse Quick? She sounds perfect for you, Speedy,” Ollie joked, earning a face and long-suffering groan by Thea at the use of her childhood nickname. They had known each other so long, growing up together at Queen Consolidated, they were considered brother and sister in all but blood, including his ability to be an annoying jerk. “She’s a quick learner, this one,” he added with a wink to Jesse, and Thea shot a daggered look at the sandy-haired man to get him to shut up.

“And an Auxillary Beta.” Thea turned to face the final newcomer. She hadn't paid much attention to him besides noting his scruffy appearance, and now forced herself to be polite as he approached them. “I didn’t realize that they allowed licenses to our kind for these types of vessels anymore.”

Thea frowned. “Anyone that gets flight training can get a pilot’s license,” she replied defensively, careful with her words. The statement was arguably true, although the man wasn’t wrong in the difficulty of soft Betas getting accepted into flight training in the first place. Moira had had to pull quite a few strings when Thea had asked to pursue the passion. “And temporal flying isn’t much more difficult really.”

“Thea’s just got a gift,” Ollie added with protective smile, blue eyes studying the stranger. “The captain’s lucky to have found her.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Jesse agreed with a bright smile, and Thea felt herself preening. She appreciated her pack, undoubtedly, but it had been a long time since a stranger had shown any confidence or appreciation of her abilities. And while it could just be the Beta being friendly, Thea had heard enough from her to know she was also quite accomplished in her own right, so it didn’t seem like false praise.

Unfortunately, her jerk of a surrogate-brother chose right then to indulge in his proper Omega etiquette, because he nodded in acknowledgement of both visitors, extending his hand and interrupting Thea’s moment in order to introduce himself. “I’m Oliver, by the way,” he greeted, and Jesse’s cheeks colored with a hint of embarrassment as she pulled her eyes away from the other girl and toward him.

“Queen.” Thea’s smile drooped uncertainly as the scruffy Beta turned his brown eyes on Oliver quizzically. “You’re a Queen. You both are,” he added, more scrutinizing as he turned back to Thea.

Jesse’s hand twitched midway toward Oliver’s, as though fighting to both pull back and remain polite, and Thea's stomach twisted. While Oliver’s livelihood as a liaison for QC depended on being noticed as an Omega, only someone from the inner cities would be familiar enough with the Queen branding in order to recognize one on sight: it was pretty rare in the Waverider’s travels. Thea thought she’d outgrown the tells herself, but this stranger seemed to be aware the instant he’d taken a serious look. And Jesse’s reaction colored her features with a wary pallor, which meant she probably wasn’t completely brainwashed by Vandal Savage's press. Which meant she was probably aware of Queen Consolidated’s morally ambiguous dealings, and what their Omegas and soft Betas did to secure those dealings. Not that either Thea or Oliver had any hand in them, but Jesse couldn’t possibly know that. To Thea’s disappointment, she looked at a complete loss for words at the declaration.

Oliver, meanwhile, stood his ground, broad shoulders and smooth lines a sharp contrast to the stranger’s thin frame and frayed attire. “I am, Mister--?” he affirmed, unfazed as the man’s eyes flitted from Thea and back with a hesitant “Rip Hunter.” “—Is that a problem?”

Rip swallowed and shifted his weight, duster swaying lightly against his legs as he moved from one foot to the other. “Not at all. I just didn’t realize that you...traveled within the Temporal Zone,” he explained, obviously encompassing more than just Oliver in his pronoun.

“There are only so many occasions that call for it that it’s not generally a practice we advertise.” Oliver’s tone was smooth and soothing, and yet there was a warning laced within the words. A quiet danger that hadn’t existed when they were young. Ollie had always had confidence, had been magnetic and appealing as an Omega. Not just by scent (which Barry complained about constantly, claiming it threw the whole crew off focus), but by the way he held a person’s gaze, pulled them into a sense of compatibility that would at least last through an orgasm. How he made it through his teenage years without getting claimed was still a huge mystery to Thea.

And yet now, since his return from who knew where, and now that she could see him up close on the ship, the older male’s submissive behaviors had ebbed, his sensitivity and desire to please carefully refocused rather than as obviously displayed as his pheromones. And while she worried for him, she couldn’t deny it was sort of exciting to have a strong, somewhat intimidating Omega on the ship to throw off assholes that tried to tell her all she was good for was servicing those who couldn’t afford a “real” fuck.

“Actually, it’s a great opportunity.” Thea wasn’t certain when Barry had left the conversation, or returned; if he'd been quietly listening in the whole time, or had merely caught the tail end; but his grin was wide as he sidled closer to Thea, gesturing to the man beside her. “I mean, Queen Consolidated holds shares in just about every one of the Alpha Council’s ventures, and having one of their Omegas on board-- well, it certainly opens all sorts of doors for a working Time Ship.” Thea couldn’t tell if Barry was sticking up for Ollie with his faux enthusiasm for the government or trying to make the passengers more uncomfortable by highlighting the power of QC, but she wished he would shut up regardless.

“Um, I should really put my things away,” Jesse stammered, jiggling the trolley handle beside her and shuffling forward as Barry nodded. Her eyes flitted between the three wolves. “I guess I’ll see you…”

Oliver’s expression had hybridized between polite and amused. “Don’t worry; I usually keep to myself. It was nice to meet you.” He eyed Rip pointedly, who cleared his throat before seemingly choosing to retreat wordlessly, following after Jesse.

The shaggy-haired captain, however, simply gave a hearty wave to their backs before turning a faux-innocent look on Oliver. “You don’t want to go check up on the rest?” he asked. Thea hated them both.

Oliver's own irritation slipped into view from behind his composed mask as he leaned closely toward the captain. “You’re an idiot,” he snapped, turning to stride away toward the galley.

Thea let out a short breath in equal exasperation before moving to catch up with her brother. He and Barry had an odd relationship that bounced back and forth in a way that was difficult sometimes to keep up with, but the captain’s actions had obviously bothered him, and there was already too much tension on board. “So, how many Alphas made an offer to Moira to take you away from all of this and make you a proper mate?” she quietly teased in an effort to distract him.

Away from the others, Ollie’s mood seemed to lighten easily, as he gave a light laugh and smiled down at her fondly. “Just the one, but she had another on call-- does that count?” Thea grinned, sneaking a look over her shoulder to where Jesse had disappeared before brushing away her disappointment and turning back to the conversation.