Chapter Text
The next day, Dan decided to approach Zoe with intention. He had hoped that the days spent with Phil had given him time to understand and empathize with her situation, so he wouldn’t come off as ignorant as last time.
‘You stay,’ Phil’s words rang through his head as he headed towards the puzzle room. It sounded so simple when Phil said it, but as he approached their usual meeting place, it didn’t feel so simple now.
He entered the room holding his breath, but he was met with an empty space. Her usual spot on the carpet near the windowsill held no evidence of being recently disturbed, and her favorite bean bag to finish her sketches had plumped back up to its usual shape. It must’ve been days since she last sat down in it.
Dan frowned and continued on his search for her. He checked the usual spots first. The puzzle room was empty. But so was the recreation space. And so was the lab, where he lingered by the doorway for a second before deciding against it when he only saw Alfie moving around inside.
Eventually, he found her in one of the smaller rooms near the back of the center.
It wasn’t used often. A half-forgotten space with a worn couch, a low table, and a television mounted to the wall that no one ever turned on. The curtains were drawn halfway, letting in just enough gray sunlight to outline the room without fully brightening it.
Zoe sat curled into one corner of the couch, a blanket draped loosely over her legs, her sketchbook resting untouched beside her.
She didn’t look up when he stepped in.
Dan hesitated in the doorway for a moment, hand still hovering near the frame, like he wasn’t entirely sure if he should be there. She looked so… small. He finally took a step inside.
“Hey,” he said softly.
Zoe hummed in response, neither in a dismissive nor welcoming sense. Just… there.
Dan took a few slow steps towards the couch before stopping a safe distance away. He sat on the other end of the couch, leaving space between them, his hands settling awkwardly in his lap.
For a minute, neither of them spoke, and the room was quiet. Dan glanced at her from the corner of his eye. Even in the dim light, her skin still held that faint, sickly undertone. Her shoulders looked tighter than usual, like she was holding herself together out of sheer will.
He swallowed. “I’m not gonna ask him,” he said. Zoe stilled slightly beside him. Dan kept his line of sight forward, not wanting to put her under the microscope of his gaze in an attempt to read her too closely. He took another breath. “I won’t go behind your back or anything.”
Quiet washed over the pair for a minute. Or maybe it was only 10 seconds. Time seemed to drag on forever as Dan waited anxiously for a response. He just wanted his friend back.
“Okay,” she said quietly, her voice sounding smaller than usual.
Dan nodded once, more to himself than to her.
Another stretch of silence passed. Longer this time.
“I just—” Dan started, then stopped, frowning slightly as he tried to piece his thoughts together. “I didn’t mean it like… I wasn’t trying to take the choice away from you.”
“I know,” she said after a moment.
“I just don’t like seeing you like this,” he admitted, softer now.
“I know,” she murmured. “But I’ve been worse.”
Dan huffed lightly. “That doesn’t make it better.”
Her lips twitched upwards, but it was as if she didn’t have the energy to hold a smile.
Dan shifted slightly on the couch. “I’m not gonna fix it for you,” he added, a little more steady now. “Or tell you what to do.”
Zoe finally turned her head just enough to glance at him. “Good,” she said, but there wasn’t much bite behind it.
Dan nodded again. “But I’m here.”
Zoe looked at him for a second longer this time. Really looked. Like she was trying to decide if she believed him. Her gaze dropped again to the room in front of them.
“You’re annoying,” she said, but it came out quieter than usual.
Dan let out a small breath that almost sounded like a laugh. “I’ve been told.” Another silence passed through them before he spoke again. “I talked to Phil about you,” he said.
Zoe’s brows twitched slightly. “Why?” she asked, voice flat with fatigue.
Dan winced a little. “I didn’t— I didn’t go into detail. I just… asked what I should do.”
She shifted slightly under the blanket, and it seemed like even that small movement took effort. “And?”
“He said that when you’ve spent a long time not having a choice,” he paused, trying to remember the exact wording, “even good options can feel wrong. Because it still feels like someone’s deciding for you.” Zoe didn’t respond right away. She didn’t ask him to continue either. So he did anyway. “And I think that’s what I was doing. The other day.”
Zoe let out a quiet breath through her nose. “You were.”
“I thought I was helping,” he added, almost to himself. “But I think I was just… making it worse.”
She looked at him once more. Her expression wasn’t harsh. Just tired.
“He also said,” Dan rubbed his thumb against the fabric of his sleeve, grounding himself, “that I don’t have to fix it. I just have to stay.”
“That’s it?” she muttered, almost sarcastically.
Dan gave a small shrug. “Apparently.”
A faint huff escaped her. An almost laugh. “Socrates reincarnated,” she quipped. She brought the blanket closer to her. “It hurts,” she admitted quietly.
Dan’s chest tightened. “I know,” he said, even though he didn’t. Not really. Not like she did.
She let out a slow breath. “And I know what would help.” She closed her eyes. “I’m just… not there yet.”
“Okay.”
Zoe cracked one eye open slightly, like she wasn’t expecting it to be that easy. “You’re not gonna argue?” she asked.
He shook his head. “No.”
“… That’s new,” she muttered.
Dan’s lips twitched faintly. “I’m learning.”
In the dim light, he saw another small smile attempt to form on her lips. It faded as quickly as it appeared. She shifted around, adjusting the blanket slightly. Settling in.
Dan didn’t say anything else. He didn’t need to.
He stayed.
Later that afternoon, Dan found himself in the canteen. Not because he was particularly hungry, though he probably should’ve been. Breakfast had consisted of half a cup of tea, a few bites of toast, and the corner of a biscuit Troye insisted was “emotionally filling.” Dan didn’t think emotions counted as nutrients, but he ate it anyway.
The canteen was quieter than usual, caught in that strange stretch between lunch and dinner where the workers wiped counters and the omegas who wandered in did so lazily, more out of boredom than hunger. A few sat near the windows with mugs cupped between their hands, and two younger omegas were giggling over a deck of cards at one of the round tables.
Dan stood near the drink station, staring at the tea packets.
Chamomile. Peppermint. Lemon Jasmine. They were the same flavors that were always there, but his brain couldn’t process it. He read them again. Then again. Then a third time, because the words kept passing through his mind without sticking.
With a small frown, he settled on peppermint. Absentmindedly, he dropped the entire unopened packet into his mug.
Dan stared at it. “… Right.”
He quickly fished it back out before anyone noticed, cheeks warming faintly as he tore the packet open properly this time and— The packet said lemon jasmine on it.
He sighed softly through his nose and set aside the opened tea bag to try again.
“Okay,” he muttered to himself. “Focus.”
This time he grabbed peppermint. Actual peppermint.
The tea bag landed in the mug successfully, which felt like an accomplishment considering the circumstances.
His attention drifted again while the water poured. Every time the canteen door opened, his eyes lifted before he could stop them. A beta carrying a tray. An omega with a board game in hand. Louise, briefly laughing at something Chris said before disappearing down the hall. But not Phil.
Dan added two sugar cubes and watched them disappear beneath the surface.
‘It’s a trial and error kind of thing.’ The memory of Phil saying it tugged briefly at the corner of his mind.
He added milk without hesitating this time. Progress, probably.
The spoon clinked softly against ceramic as he stirred. Once. Twice. Seven times. Dan stopped when he realized he’d lost count.
Food. Right. He should get food.
A few minutes later, he ended up sitting near the wall with half a sandwich, some apple slices, and tea that had already started cooling between his hands.
There were plenty of places he could’ve sat. Near the windows. Near the bookshelf. Somewhere softer. He wondered if he should’ve chosen the table by the window.
The canteen door opened again, and this time Phil walked in with Connor at his side.
Dan felt the shift in himself immediately, annoying as it was. His shoulders loosened, and the room, which had felt too open around the edges, suddenly seemed to have corners again.
Phil wasn’t even looking at him. He was listening to Connor with that focused expression he got whenever rescue planning swallowed his brain whole. His head was tilted down, and his hair looked like he had run his hands through it one too many times. Connor said something low and quick, and Phil let out a soft laugh.
Dan looked back down at his tea.
He knew that later in the evening, they’d probably end up in the usual living space again. Phil would work on blueprints. Dan would bring some pointless little task to keep his hands busy. He’d have his opportunity to tell Phil about his chat with Zoe and how he thought it went well. How he listened to Phil’s advice. He followed directions. He was very good at following directions—
Phil and Connor stopped across the room near the counter. Louise joined them a moment later, appearing from the hallway with a folder and a plate of fruit. She said something that made Connor lift both hands defensively, and Phil smiled as he reached for a clean mug. Connor stole an apple slice from Louise’s plate and immediately got smacked for it.
Dan smiled faintly into the rim of his mug before the feeling faded again.
They looked busy; comfortable in that easy way people became after years of knowing each other.
Dan’s tea sat untouched between his hands, and the sandwich on his plate might as well have belonged to someone else.
He wasn’t waiting for permission. He knew that. The difference mattered. But somewhere along the way, Phil had quietly become a point of reference inside his head. And without that familiar attention settling briefly on him, the room felt oddly shapeless.
Finally, Phil glanced up. It was brief. Accidental, maybe. His eyes moved across the room and caught on Dan for half a second. Phil’s expression softened immediately in recognition, and he gave a small nod. Nothing big or anything anyone would notice. Just a nod. It probably meant a ‘hello’, but Dan took it as permission to exist again.
He nodded back, then looked down quickly and picked up his sandwich. It tasted like nothing at first. Bread. Cheese. Something mild. But he chewed and swallowed, and the world didn’t crack open around him.
Across the room, Phil’s gaze lingered a little longer than he meant for it to. Phil turned back to Louise before Dan could catch him staring.
Connor nudged his shoulder. “You listening?”
“Yeah,” Phil said quickly.
Connor raised an eyebrow. “You sure?”
Phil glanced down at the page Louise was holding. “Basement access. Relocation schedule. Evan should avoid the east corridor unless we know what the staff rotation looks like.”
Connor pouted. “Okay. Annoyingly, you were listening.”
Louise looked between them. “Are you two finished?”
“No,” Connor said.
“Yes,” Phil answered at the same time.
Louise sighed and handed Phil the folder. “Great. Then take this before Connor eats someone else’s snack and calls it reconnaissance.”
Connor pointed at her. “For the record, I learn a lot from snacks.”
Phil shook his head and chuckled. His eyes wanted to move back to Dan, but he didn’t let them.
He risked a glance for just a moment. Across the room, Dan took another bite of his sandwich. A small one. Then another. He was staring at his tea as he mindlessly chewed his food, but he was eating, and that’s what mattered.
Phil looked away before relief could become too obvious.
Not too long after, the administrative wing felt colder than the rest of the center. Maybe it was the fluorescent lighting. Or the lack of windows. Or maybe it was simply the abrupt absence of softness after spending the morning around recovering omegas and quiet living spaces filled with tea and puzzle pieces and blankets and half-healed people trying their best.
Phil sat at the conference table with one elbow braced against the wood, eyes fixed on the laptop in front of him. Connor stood nearby, flipping through a stack of freshly printed documents while Louise skimmed over Evan’s latest messages from her tablet.
The room smelled faintly like old coffee, printer ink, and stressed alpha. The silence in the room echoed the focus and tension quietly shared amongst the three.
Connor broke it first. “So,” he muttered grimly, tossing another packet onto the table, “they’ve upgraded from scent testing.”
“What does that mean?” Phil said.
Connor slid the top sheet towards him. At first glance, it looked clinical. Like any ordinary medical evaluation.
Behavioral Adjustment Assessment.
Phil’s eyes moved lower.
Objective: Determine optimal conditioning methods for omega compliance, emotional regulation, and bonding receptivity prior to placement.
His jaw tightened. Beneath it sat paragraphs of observations. Data points. Notes written with the kind of detached professionalism that made the contents feel even worse.
Repeated exposure to recurring dominant scent reduced panic response by 37%.
Subjects isolated prior to reassurance exposure demonstrated increased compliance during reintroduction phase.
Connor handed him the rest of the stack of papers. “There’s more.” So Phil kept reading.
Bonding susceptibility increased significantly after routine establishment.
Subjects emotionally regulated faster when assigned consistent alpha presence.
Pheromone stabilization observed following recurring handler interaction.
Subjects began seeking proximity voluntarily after repeated scent familiarity and environmental consistency.
Something inside Phil went cold, yet the room suddenly felt too warm despite the air conditioning humming overhead.
Connor swallowed. “Yeah,” he said quietly.
Louise lowered the tablet slowly onto the table. “They’re conditioning attachment responses.”
Connor scoffed harshly. “They’re weaponizing instinct.”
Phil stared at the pages spread before him; at the deliberate biological manipulation. The auction house wasn’t just abusing omegas physically. They were studying them. Tracking stress responses. Measuring scent regulation. Learning how to turn relief and safety into further obedience.
Phil flipped through the papers. “When does it end?” The words came out harsh, but beneath the bark, they subtly contained a desperate plea.
The papers contained a hypothesis. A controlled environment. Data collection. Outcome projections.
Behavioral Recommendation: Subjects displaying elevated bonding tendencies should remain dependent on assigned handler to maintain emotional regulation compliance and reduce resistance behaviors during relocation procedures.
His stomach twisted. Connor silently pulled the papers away from Phil, noticing his rising anger.
Connor spoke, “Evan said they rotate isolation periods before introducing ‘safe’ handlers.” He sucked on his teeth to control the growl creeping up his throat. “Apparently it increases attachment receptiveness.”
“Of course it does,” Louise grumbled.
The papers weren’t in front of Phil anymore, but he couldn’t get their contents out of his head. Somewhere between the images of what the report depicted—repeated scent familiarity, routine establishment, and emotional regulation—he pictured Dan eating easier after Phil acknowledged him in the canteen earlier. Dan drifting towards whatever room Phil happened to be working in. The quiet evenings that had somehow become routine without either of them discussing it aloud.
Connor watched the shift happen across Phil’s face and sighed. “Oh, don’t do that.”
Phil glanced up. “Do what?”
“That thing where you start acting like every psychological problem in the world personally traces back to you.”
Louise snorted softly into her coffee.
“I’m serious,” Connor continued, pointing vaguely at him. “You get one ethically complicated document and suddenly your brain is racing like a corrupt priest who has to atone for his sins.”
Phil blinked once. “That is an insane sentence.”
“And yet you know exactly what I mean.”
Phil pouted. “I’m not spiraling.”
Connor gave him a look.
Louise lifted a brow over the rim of her mug. “You reorganized those papers three times in the last two minutes.”
“That’s called thinking.”
Connor swatted Phil’s hands away from the sticky note he kept picking up and resticking to a manila folder. “That’s you trying to scent-control the room. And you stink.”
Phil looked genuinely offended. “I do not.”
“See? Spiraling.”
Despite himself, Phil let out a short laugh through his nose before scrubbing a hand over his face, some of the tension eased out of the room with it.
Louise leaned back slightly in her chair. “Phil, there’s a difference between manipulating attachment and just making someone feel safe.”
His mouth remained open for a while. None of the staff had mentioned Dan’s quiet liking to being around Phil in the living space near the back end of the rehabilitation center. There hadn’t seemed like much to comment on. Phil was simply working in the center he built, and Dan happened to enjoy existing nearby.
“Yes, he’s been hanging around while I work,” Phil admitted finally, like he was confessing to something far more severe than sitting on opposite ends of a couch.
Connor looked deeply unimpressed. “Scandalous.”
Phil ignored him. “And logically, I know there’s nothing wrong with that.”
“But?” Louise prompted.
“The problem with traumatized omegas is that regulation can turn into attachment really fast.” He gestured vaguely towards the reports. “Routine. Scent familiarity. Consistency. Their nervous systems latch onto it.”
Louise tilted her head slightly.
Phil rolled his eyes. “And I don’t want to encourage that.”
A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “Encourage what? Feeling safe around you?”
“You know what I mean,” he said petulantly.
“Actually, I don’t think I do,” she replied. “Because from where I’m sitting, Dan’s doing better. He talks more. Eats more consistently. He’s spending time with multiple people instead of isolating himself.” She shrugged lightly. “That sounds pretty healthy to me.”
Connor nodded. “And it’s not like he’s imprinting on you.”
Phil stared at him. “Please never phrase it like that again.”
“I’m just saying!” Connor continued, entirely unbothered, “He likes being around you. That’s not exactly shocking. You did rescue him.”
Phil grimaced slightly at the reminder.
“You’re acting like attachment is automatically a bad thing.”
“No,” he said quickly. “I just…” He shrugged. “I don’t want him building his whole sense of stability around me.”
Connor gave him a half smile. “And that’s valid.”
“Especially,” Phil continued, “when I’m about to disappear into a rescue mission for the next two weeks.”
And there it was. It wasn’t a matter of attachment or impropriety. Just timing.
Louise and Chris always stayed near the rescue center. They didn’t go on missions like Phil and Connor and the others. Connor rotated in and out, but Phil was usually the one buried deepest in field work. His life revolved around leaving on short notice and coming back exhausted three weeks later with another file tucked under his arm.
Connor cupped Phil’s shoulder as reassurance. “Dan’s smarter than you’re giving him credit for.”
And Phil knew that. God, he knew that.
Dan noticed everything. Learned people frighteningly quickly once he felt safe enough to observe them properly. Which somehow made this whole thing feel more complicated instead of less.
Phil dragged a hand through his blonde locks before finally looking back down at the files spread across the table. “Anyway,” he muttered, “we have bigger problems.”
Connor immediately slid another transportation report towards him. “Finally. Back to our regularly scheduled horrors.”
Louise made a face. “That should not be our slogan.”
They ran through transport schedules, unmarked vehicles, and the possibility of relocation, which would mean that they’d lose all the progress they had made thus far. All the maps and diagrams and blueprints would be rendered useless if they’re planned around the wrong location.
“If we move early, we risk screwing up extraction,” Phil stated the obvious.
“And if we wait too long,” Connor reminded, “there might not be anyone left to extract.”
The late afternoon bled slowly into the evening, and eventually Phil gathered the unfinished blueprints into a messy stack and carried them towards the usual living space near the back of the center.
And, unsurprisingly, Dan found his way there not long after.
Phil noticed him before he properly looked up. There was always a subtle shift whenever Dan entered a room now. The soft sound of hesitant footsteps. The faint scent of vanilla and pine cones that followed in after him. The loud conversations echoing from a nearby room seemed to quiet in Phil’s mind before he could realize.
“Hey,” Dan said.
Phil glanced up from the papers in his lap. “Hey.”
Dan lingered near the doorway for a second before walking over. A sketchbook was tucked against his chest, his fingers drumming lightly against the cover.
He sat down on the opposite end of the couch with far less hesitation than he used to.
The room settled comfortably around them. Somewhere further down the hall, Troye’s guitar drifted faintly through the center, clumsy enough in places that Phil could practically hear him restarting chords. A kettle whistled from the kitchen. Someone laughed loudly enough that another voice immediately shushed them with a giggle of their own.
Phil looked back down at the transport schedules in his lap. Basement lockdowns. Vehicle rotations. Ten days. Maybe less.
Dan glanced towards the papers, then towards Phil. “You look stressed.”
Phil huffed quietly through his nose. “That obvious?”
“A little.”
“Damn. I was going for mysterious and composed.”
Dan’s lips twitched faintly. “You look like Connor after three coffees.”
Phil looked genuinely offended. “That’s actually really insulting. I could maybe accept Alfie on two Red Bulls.”
A small laugh escaped Dan before he could stop it. The sound pulled something lighter into the room, and Phil felt some of the tension ease from his shoulders almost immediately.
Dan adjusted the sketchbook in his lap. “I talked to Zoe again,” he chirped, pride seeping into his voice.
Phil hummed distractedly as he scanned another note from Evan. “Yeah?”
“It went better this time.”
Phil looked up properly now. “Oh?”
Dan nodded once, quieter this time. “I stayed.”
Phil blinked at him.
Dan looked briefly embarrassed under the attention and rushed to explain. “Like, I didn’t argue with her this time. Or try to fix it. I just sat with her for a while.”
Something warm spread unexpectedly through Phil’s chest. “Look at you,” he said lightly with a grin. “Growing emotionally.”
Dan rolled his eyes a little, though there was obvious satisfaction tucked underneath it. “She still got annoyed with me.”
“Yeah, but Zoe gets annoyed when people breathe incorrectly near her.”
That earned another soft laugh out of Dan. “She’s just… protective over herself.” His words hid meaning that was unbeknownst to Phil.
“I’m glad she’s doing better.”
Dan silently grimaced. “Well, I didn’t say that.”
Phil wasn’t sure what problem Zoe could be going through that required an alpha’s scent, but he chalked it up to some sort of anxiety. Perhaps she needed some sort of grounding that scenting could provide.
“Well, I’m sure she’ll figure it out. She’s aware of her solutions, right?”
Dan nodded.
“Okay, so there’s nothing left to do but wait.”
“Thanks… for all your help,” Dan said earnestly.
“Of course, that’s what I— what we’re here for,” he said, gesturing to the center. His gaze dropped briefly towards the papers near his knee.
Behavioral Adjustment Notes. Reduced panic after repeated scent familiarity. Increased emotional regulation after routine establishment. Seeks proximity after consistent safe exposure.
Dan, thankfully unaware of where Phil’s brain had just gone, continued softly, “I think she understood what I meant this time.”
“I’m sure she did.”
Dan traced his thumb along the edge of the sketchbook. “And… I used your advice.”
Quiet lingered over them for a moment, but before the silence could stretch too long, Dan glanced at the blueprints scattered across the couch cushions. “Still working on the mission?”
“Unfortunately.”
Dan leaned slightly to look at one of the maps upside down. “That one looks confusing.”
Phil went into his usual nerdy mode and started explaining what each symbol on the map meant, the marked entrances, the hidden corridors only accesible by staff.
“And what does this line mean?” Dan pointed vaguely towards one of the red-marked routes.
Phil shifted the papers so he could see properly. “Possible transport routes.”
“Oh.” Dan paused. “That seems bad.”
“It is bad.”
Dan nodded solemnly as if he was processing highly advanced tactical information. “Have you considered simply telling them no?”
Phil stared at him for a second before snorting out a laugh. “Holy shit,” he muttered. “Connor’s rubbing off on you.”
A faint smile hung from Dan’s lips.
The moment softened again after that, but Phil still felt the clock ticking quietly in the back of his mind.
He rubbed a hand through his hair before finally admitting, “Things are probably gonna get busy for a while… Evan found more information today. We think they might relocate sooner than expected.” He gestured vaguely at the papers. “So we’re probably moving up the timeline.”
Dan nodded slowly.
“I’ll probably be stuck doing this for the next couple weeks,” Phil added. “Late nights. Planning meetings. Connor complaining dramatically. The usual.”
Dan huffed a small laugh. “Sounds exhausting.”
“It is.”
“Well, it makes sense.” Dan looked back down at the sketchbook in his lap, flipping absentmindedly to another page.
Phil watched him for half a second too long before forcing his attention back towards the blueprints.
This was healthier, he told himself. Necessary.