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Hey again! I want to start by thanking each and everyone one of you for your patience. Ya'll are fantastic. <3 I also would like to state how much I appreciate the growing support. This is my first venture into writing, and the omegaverse is a bit difficult to maneuver, to say the least.
To everyone who has voted, please don't be afraid to give me any advice or offer encouragement. Ya'll Deviants are the reason why I'm writing. ;)
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A nurse droned in her ear, spouting some nonsense about potential for infection and follow-up treatment. Across from the squeaky medical bed the omega sat on, Jazz's frown filled her vision, pretty, plump lips drawn down into a tense scowl. There were thoughts swirling in the taller woman's gaze, a storm of repressed emotions just roiling beneath the surface. But Deviant didn't, couldn't care. Not when she'd been pumped full of morphine and given all sorts of medicines upon re-entering the compound.
It had been nothing short of a miracle, landing her jump from the unstable third floor office. She hadn't realized it at the time, but a shard of glass had sliced right through her favorite sweater, stabbed into the flesh beneath, and left her with a gaping hole torn along her forearm.
The landing had been less than ideal too, no proper purchase to hold her weight. Her right ankle had rolled, muscles pulled, and by the time she'd basically tumbled from the deep, dark, trashy abyss, only adrenaline had allowed her to bolt. And then, like the angel she was, Jazz had screeched up with the truck, and all but dragged Deviant into the cabin before speeding away. It wasn't until they were minutes into their escape that the omega noticed the glaring lack of occupants in the vehicle. She knew without asking, what end had fallen upon the people she'd come to love and trust. If they weren't killed on sight, it wouldn't take long before the torture did them in...
The resulting ride had been spent in silence. Deviant had taken some abstract napkins from a long forgotten time and applied pressure to her wound, while Jazz did her best to drive through the emptied streets and ensure they didn't have a tail. Hours. It took them hours to feel comfortable enough to return home. And by then, the high energy from the fighting had worn off, and between hurt pride, heartbreak, and various injuries, the pair had made a sore sight stumbling into the med-bay.
The blonde alpha had needed a few patches, suffered from a bullet that had just barely clipped her waist, and obviously favored one side. But Jazz hadn't allowed more than a cursory poke and prod before she'd flitted away, off to send some encrypted messages and hopefully figure out what the ever loving fuck had happened. Because Deviant had no idea.
Not that the omega cared for long, however. One bark from Jazz, one single command, and she'd been dosed with enough drugs to ensure she felt dazed for the next few days. Had she the energy, Deviant might've felt scornful towards the action, but high as a kite, there was little that bothered her. She'd drifted off into her own little world while debris and tiny shards of glass had been plucked from her skin, sweater scissored open, blood wiped clean and jagged cut stapled shut. Her ankle had been bandaged up, nice and snug, and the nurse had just been finishing her exam when Jazz walked back in, silently brewing.
Despite being less than fully aware, Deviant knew the alpha wanted something. She couldn't find it in herself to feel bothered though. Instead, when the nurse handed off a baggie of antibiotics to Jazz and quietly left the clinic room, the omega gifted the older woman with a dreamy smile, and barely contained an airy giggle. If anything, her visible lack of pain garnered Deviant a tight smile from the Commander, and that was reward enough.
"Little fox," Oh no, there it was, nothing good was about to come, "We need to talk about what happened while you were upstairs." There was a soft firmness in Jazz's voice, perhaps because she thought Deviant might fall apart at any given moment. But the omega was far too intoxicated for that, and instead of issuing an argument, her pastel pink head merely bobbed in agreement.
"Upstairs. Yes. While I was upstairs." Her voice was slightly slurred, and after a moment of pause where nothing further was given, Jazz gently waved her on. "I wasn't upstairs for long. No. The building went bang while I was juuuust getting to the third floor. And then there was Samael. He wasn't too pleased that I didn't stay and chat for long." At that, she genuinely did giggle, no longer a victim of the mind-numbing fear his displeasure had enticed. Jazz openly blanched at her nonchalance though, tanned skin taking an unhealthy parlor.
"...And by Samael, you mean... The General?" This time, Jazz's voice was the one to waver, her throat constricting as she gave a rough swallow. All Deviant did, however, was lazily nod once more.
"Oh yes. The General!" As if the title was enough to bring memories rushing back, she felt the masculine rumble of his growl tickle down her spine, pooling heat in her belly and licking at the insides of her thighs. She shifted subtly, ignorant towards the instinctive awareness she felt. "Yes. Sammy was already there when I reached the top floor." Her uninjured leg swayed back and forth from the raised platform, an almost childish motion terribly unfitting for the current situation. "He said some things and stuff, I wasn't really paying attention. But he did warn me not to leave." At that, she glanced about the white walls of the medical room, down along the boring tiled floor, before finally settling her gaze on Jazz once more. "So much for that, huh?"
A drawn out stillness settled between the pair, Jazz's features pinched in concentration before she finally spoke. "And he didn't try to take you? He just... let you leave?" Disbelief rang out through the question, a clear reflection of doubt.
"Oh no! No no." Finally wide-eyed, Deviant shook her head. "The explosion blew open the floor. There had to have been a solid fifteen feet separating us. That man looks like a beast, but I doubt any Imperion could've jumped such a distance." The admission seemed the relax the human alpha, whose shoulders slumped as a heavy sigh spilled from lips no longer painted. Unfortunately, the drugged omega was hardly capable of filtering her inner thoughts, and she followed up the comment with one that caused the blonde woman to stiffen once more, all potential for ease thoroughly obliterated.
"I think he was waiting, Jazz. I think he was there for me..."
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Bed rest was a bitch. Deviant had never been content in small, confined spaces, and considering her room was furnished like a dorm, there wasn't much area to freely roam. Of course, the drugs helped ease any restless aches, and soothed her frayed nerves, but after a particularly colorful night terror, the omega threw all but the antibiotic medicines away. She didn't need vivid imagery of a certain stormy eyed villain wrapping his hand around her throat and threatening her with unspoken violence while fucking her subconscious. Not at all...
But without the haze of intoxication, she was left with little choice but to face her own anxieties. And they were steadily building with each passing day.
Jazz had been unreachable but for a few short seconds, ones spent giving constant reassurance that Deviant was, in fact, okay. That didn't halt the demand for a therapist though, something the human alpha required after her pink haired omega admitted the growing fear that Samael might've launched his attack for the sole purpose of getting Deviant within his grasp. It was such an off-base idea, and Jazz had no choice but to acknowledge it simply because no other figurehead had been targeted. Only the seemingly clueless, low-ranking omega.
So Deviant had gone to see a specialist each day since the incident, and damn if it hadn't made the girl feel even worse. Initially questioned towards her thoughts and feelings on the lose of close personal friends, she'd tried to act nonchalant about the whole affair. It was war, after all, and people died all the time.
But then again, it wasn't that simple.
Deviant couldn't help the guilt that threatened to spiral out of control, the impending sense of doom that stalked her mind every waking moment. And eventually, she told the therapist exactly that.
"...I should've stayed in the compound. I knew better. Omegas can't walk outside without someone placing a target on their backs. I just..." Features strained, Deviant tried to articulate her thoughts in an acceptable manner, when all she wanted to do was rip at her hair and scream. The grey haired woman across from her offered an expression of extreme patience, a slight uptick of the lips and an encouraging head nod enough to push the omega on. "I just figured I was different... Being here, being part of the resistance, it means something. If I hid out and coward all the time, what use would I be?"
A low hum of consideration was given, a soothing noise that failed to calm Deviant down. Unaware of her unrest, the therapist gave answer. "It's understandable to be upset, Delilah." Deviant bit back a cringe, but just barely. Real names were more personal, and she understood why the doctor used them. But all she could think about, all that came to mind, was the seductively low hum of the Imperion Alpha, growling the title with dark promise. Something so simple, now tainted by such a short encounter. Deviant hated herself for being unable to shrug him off. Something was fundamentally wrong with her, and it was getting worse.
"We all play a part in the resistance. We all understand the dangers. You are neither responsible for the people who suffered, nor to blame for what the Imperion decided to do. Your job, Delilah, is to take care of yourself. You're just as helpful here, safe in the compound, as you would be on the front lines, fighting." But as comforting as those words were meant to be, Deviant understood the hidden meaning beneath. Perhaps she might've been clueless, had Jazz not so recently revoked outside privileges, and ordered her barred from the arms room. For all intents and purposes, she was officially a mundane civilian. And she had no one to blame but herself.
The therapist was, in all likelihood, playing sitter for Jazz. Trying to encourage Deviant away from any reckless behavior, while attempting to ensure the omega remained more complacent in her unwanted confinement. It just wasn't working very well.
"Mhm." In response, Deviant made a noncommittal noise in the back of her throat, along with a careless gesture of her hand. As if sensing the lose of interest, the therapist changed the subject rather abruptly.
"I'd like to question your sleep schedule, Delilah..."
"It's shit." Blunt. Something that seemed to startle the older woman, who blinked owlishly before speaking.
"And why is that? Are the medicines not helping?"
"I stopped taking them." Again, the poor doctor blanched, mild smile turning into a tight frown. Someone wasn't pleased.
"So you're... depressed? Anxious? A little out of sorts?" The pink haired female nodded to confirm each question, and the therapist continued on. "You were given a mild sedative to avoid potential affects from your interaction with the Imperion Alpha." He wasn't named, as if his mere title might magically transport him into the room with them. Deviant snorted lowly, annoyed at the unease that flared up as they skirted around Samael. "Do you believe your encounter had negative impact on you, as an omega?"
"I believe it negatively impacted me as a person, hearing the screams of my friends as the building shook around me. I believe it negatively impacted me to know people were dying while I suffered minimal damage. I believe it negatively impacted me, knowing they came for me and it resulted in the lose of lives." The pitch of her voice wavered, and it was only when Deviant finished that she noticed how her fists had curled together, tight balls where nails nearly pierced the skin. Forcefully, she eased up, relaxing the lines of her body. Suddenly flush, it was all she could do to peel herself from the overly stuffed couch and stretch out, acting as if nothing was wrong.
The therapist already had her mouth opened, and looked as if she might say something. Instead, Deviant interrupted her, waving a hand dismissively. "I think that drained my energy for the day. Which, considering I'm really only allowed to roam the hallways and bide my time with board games, is rather impressive." Outside the closed door, a rustle broke out in the hallway, voices muffled. Curious but mostly uncaring, Deviant spoke once more, a biting smile curled over her lips. "If it's all the same, I'd prefer to continue another time. You know, after you have a chance to tattle to Jazz, and tell her I'm not taking my medicines."
No denial was given from the doctor, though she had the decency to appear a bit guilty. They both knew the pecking order well enough, and Deviant couldn't be any more than a tiny bit resentful. In fact, she was sorely tempted to apologize for her childish outburst, but before she could get another word in, the once closed door was thrust open, and a panicked face stared her down.
Elton, flawless skin splotched and coated in a sheen of sweat, panted before her. His manicured hands gripped the door frame, designer blouse lopsided and wrinkled as if he'd just jumped from bed. Considering he and Jack spent most of their time rolling between the sheets, it was a rather likely chance. But something had set him on edge, and as his eyes held her firmly, pupils dilated in fear, she felt a chill wrack down her spine. Before he even spoke, Deviant knew...
"...They took Jazz."