Chapter Text
Shane is in bed, glasses on, book in hand, when his phone lights up with a FaceTime call from Rose.
It's 11:33 PM, later than she'd usually call. He answers immediately, concerned that something is wrong, and feels a rush of relief at the sight of her smiling on his screen.
"Shane!" she says brightly. "I know it's late, sorry, but—"
"No, it's fine," Shane assures her. "What's up?"
"Oh, nothing's up," Rose says, but there's a cajoling note in her voice which tells Shane that something is, in fact, very much up. "Just— well, you think it's great that I volunteer with Omicron House, right? And you think their mission is, like, super important?"
Shane almost laughs at the ridiculousness of the question. Omicron House is a nonprofit that works to rescue omegas from sex-trafficking, then provides them with housing, therapy, medical care, and long-term support. Ever since Rose first told him about volunteering with them, Shane has made sure to mention the organization in interviews whenever he can. He donates to them regularly. He attends their fundraising events.
"Of course I do," Shane says slowly. "They do incredible work; you know I think so." He takes off his glasses and sets them on his nightstand. "Why do you ask?"
"Okay, well, I don't know if you've seen anything about this, maybe in the news or something," says Rose, "but on Saturday night, there was a huge multi-province operation to take down this certain omega sex-trafficking ring. And it was super successful. Like, multiple locations raided along Highway 401, tons of traffickers arrested, fifty-eight omegas rescued." She sounds proud— as she should, Shane thinks.
"Shit," he says. "That's great. That's— wow. Fifty-eight omegas? And they're with Omicron House now?"
Rose nods. "They are, yeah. Most of them went to our locations in Ottawa and Toronto, but some came here to the Montreal one. Which, um, kind of leads me to why I called you? I have a favor to ask. On behalf of Omicron House."
Probably something fundraising-related, Shane thinks, to capitalize on the news of this raid. Maybe a gala? Not Shane's favorite type of activity, but he'll go if Rose will be there. "Yeah, sure," he says. "What's the favor?"
"Uh." Rose takes a deep breath. "Right. So... there's this one omega who was rescued," she says, her expression twisting in anticipation, as if she already expects Shane to react negatively to whatever she's about to propose. "And he, uh— look, I'm just gonna come out and say it," she says in a rush. "I wanted to know if there's any way you'd be open to letting him live with you?"
"What?"
"Just— just listen, okay, Shane? His name is Ilya, he's 21, he's originally from Russia but he speaks English," Rose continues, evidently trying to get everything out before Shane has a chance to fully refuse, "and— okay, so the thing is, he definitely is an omega, like according to blood tests and hormone levels and everything. But biologically there's... like, something else going on too? Because if you didn't already know his designation, you'd never, ever guess that he wasn't an alpha."
Shane says nothing, just stares down at the screen, his phone burning against the palm of his hand.
"Like, he smells exactly like an alpha," Rose presses on. "He's gotta be at least six feet tall, and he's strong, and kind of... combative, I guess you could say? And he can even use Alpha Voice, which is obviously a shitshow, and..." She sighs. "It's just— it's a bad situation, Shane. The other omegas are scared of him because of his alpha scent. He refuses to use blockers. And he's sort of... endangering the staff? Like, using Alpha Voice on them, getting aggressive. So tonight, um, the higher-ups in management made the decision that he can't stay in any of Omicron's group homes anymore. He's going to have to leave. But Shane, he has nowhere else to go, and it's— it's just not fair." And shit, suddenly she's crying. "He's really not a bad person," she says shakily, wiping at her cheeks. "He's just fucking terrified. He's been through horrific things. He deserves to live somewhere he can recover, a place where no one is afraid of him, you know?"
"And... you think that place is my apartment," Shane says, making no effort to keep the skepticism out of his voice. "With me."
"Yes. I do."
Shane sighs. He leans back against his pillow. On his phone screen, Rose is watching at him intently. "Okay, but like, why?" he asks, averting his eyes from her gaze. "Why me specifically?"
"Shane, please," says Rose. "Just think about it. It's perfect. Because you're a big strong alpha hockey player, so he can't intimidate you physically. But also he needs to feel safe, which he can with you, because you're not like other alphas." She hesitates. "...You know?"
And yes, of course Shane knows: He knows that he's a 22-year-old alpha who's never had a full rut, whose scent glands barely function, who can't form a knot, and who genuinely has no interest in sticking his dick in anyone. It's actually the reason why Rose broke up with him last year— the reason they're better off as best friends than mates, although she makes sure to tell him, constantly, that he's still absolutely perfect just the way he is. Whatever that means.
"Right," Shane sighs, staring absently past Rose's earnest fact on his phone screen, "So basically he's an omega who acts like an alpha. And also he was previously sex trafficked by alphas. And meanwhile I'm an alpha who acts like an omega, which means I'm enough of an alpha that I can hold my ground with him, but not enough of an alpha for him to feel threatened by me. That's your argument?"
"Uh... Something like that? I guess?" Rose says, her voice small. "Fuck, I'm sorry, is that, like, offensive? I just—"
Shane pinches the bridge of his nose. "No, it's okay," he mutters. "It's not offensive. I mean, I have to admit that I do kind of see the... twisted logic of it."
Rose smiles tentatively. "You do?"
"Yeah, I do." Shane closes his eyes, one hand pressed to his forehead. "Fuck."
And here's the thing: It's not that Shane hates himself for being different from other alphas. He used to, a little, when he was younger, but he's made peace with himself. And he'll probably never find an omega who'll settle for him as their mate, but who cares? Definitely not Shane. Because why the fuck would he? He has hockey. He has his family. He has his friends. He has a great fucking life.
It's just that maybe, it would be nice if the things about himself that he's always seen as failings (because they are, objectively, failings, despite what Rose and his parents tell him) could instead be... well, perhaps not quite good things, but at least things that make him somehow uniquely suited to helping out someone in need. Especially someone like this Ilya, who is, in his own omega way, apparently as much of a biological anomaly as Shane is.
"Okay," Shane says at last. "Yeah. I'll do it."
"Wait, really?" Rose squeals. "You will?"
"Yeah, it's fine, he— Ilya. He can stay with me."
Rose positively beams at him through the screen. "Oh my god, Shane, I love you so much. You know that, right? You are absolutely the best, best, best person in the world."
"Yeah, yeah, I'm amazing," says Shane wearily. He knows, thinking logically, that this is probably a mistake. His mom would definitely not approve. But somehow he can't quite bring himself to care. "When should I be ready for him?"
Rose hesitates. "Is tomorrow too soon? Late afternoon, maybe?"
Which is insane, but fuck it. "I'll make it work."
"I know you will, Shane. Okay. So I have, like, provisional approval from the higher-ups, but I'll talk to them more first thing in the morning and then give you a call with my findings, alright?"
Shane nods, suddenly overwhelmingly tired.
"Good night, Shane," says Rose, with an earnest sort of fondness in her expression that makes Shane want to disappear.
"Night, Rose," he tells her. He ends the call.
He sets his alarm for 6 AM. He plugs his phone into the charger. He turns off the lamp on his nightstand and settles back into his bed.
And he tries very hard to fall asleep.
Instead, he lies there for hours, wide awake, wondering what the fuck he's gotten himself into.