Chapter Text
October, 2016
"-and I think that brings us over to the Admiral's performance this season."
"And Jeff? From what we've seen in the pre-season, and these first few official matches?"
"Oh boy. They are off to a slow start, aren't they?"
"Especially Scott Hunter. Last season was... how should I put it?"
"Abysmal? Embarrassing?"
"And he hasn't come back strong since the summer- he's currently averaging less than a point per game."
"Oof. The Admirals took a big risk drafting Hunter first overall back in 2005, maybe an even bigger one by re-signing him twice, and it's never been clear if that's paid off for them."
"To be fair, it's never been clear he's a bust either."
"No, inconsistent is definitely the adjective we're looking for."
"Yeah, inconsistent. Maybe that just goes with the territory?"
"You mean..."
"I'm just saying!"
"Hey, c'mon, no one would call Rozanov or Hollander inconsistent, would they?"
"Alright, I'll drop it. But if Hunter doesn't pick up the pace, how quick do you think the Admirals will drop out of playoff contention?"
"It all depends-"
Scott ripped the earbuds out of his ears, letting the cord drape them across his neck as he caught his breath.
Scott loved running. It was a vital part of his conditioning program, and good for his mental health. He'd been running to clear his head since childhood. He even liked listening to hockey podcasts while running. It was usually good mindless background noise, something interesting to roll around in the back of his mind while he ground out the miles. He even liked it when they talked about him- the voyeuristic pleasure of hearing his good games praised, or the masochistic catharsis of hearing his mistakes torn apart.
But the talking heads on that show could never quite resist bringing up his condition, could they? Scott was mutable, and everyone knew it- you couldn't exactly hide it in the locker room, and hormone therapy had to be disclosed and strictly monitored to prevent it from being used to enhance performance. Scott was acutely aware of the t-patch on the small of his back, a little itchy as sweat beaded up around the edges. It had been two months since he restarted his hormones, and the unnatural flush still hadn't quite faded as his body readapted to it's t-dominant state.
Because everyone knew Scott was mutable- and everyone knew him as an alpha. Only his parents and his pediatrician had known the truth- that Scott had first presented as an omega. The awfulness of his first heat had been compounded by his dad freaking out in the living room, muffled and indistinct through Scott's locked bedroom door but still yelling and upset. They'd taken him for his first round of suppressants and stabilizers a few days later, Scott still a little sweaty and jittery as his heat faded.
Since hormone therapy had been refined in the seventies, there had been a considerable decrease in the stigmatization people of mutable sex faces. There had also been a considerable decrease in the number of omegas- Scott remembered seeing a figure that something like eighty-five percent of parents chose to raise mutable children as alphas, and most omegas were stabilized with estrogen and progesterone to prevent heat. Catty comments and insinuations aside, most mutable people were seen as boys with an endocrine disorder, the biological differences and primal instincts smoothed over and tamed with modern medicine.
How terrible would people be if they knew the truth- that Scott was never happier than when he peeled off his patch after the last game of the season. That he loved the way everything about him changed as the synthetic hormones flushed from his system. He loved the way everything felt more electric, physical sensations sharper and emotions closer to the surface. That he planned his whole summer around his heat, around finding a place that was warm and safe and as far away from hockey as possible so he could collapse into the rawest version of himself and let strangers fuck him out of his mind and back into it again.
He wiped the sweat from his face, a phantom cramp low in his belly. His heat was the only time he really felt at home in his body, and it had passed three months ago- nine more to go, Scott thought ironically, and felt empty inside.
He was tired, and hungry, and his blood sugar was probably dipping. He thought about his nutrition plan, and then he thought, he fucking deserved a tiny tiny cheat. He had to stop dreaming about summer and get his head in the game, put some pucks in the net and points of the board. Scott jogged across the street to the bougie little smoothie shop he ran pass most mornings.
Of course, Scott thought as he swung open the door. He didn't know whether to laugh or to cry. His life was a fucking joke. Scott was trying to forget the summer, and of course the guy behind the counter was the most gorgeous man he'd ever seen. Scott realized the gorgeous man was asleep, head drooping onto his chest and mouth ever so slightly open, an art history textbook right on the cusp of falling out of his arms. Scott couldn't help but imagine what the man would look like asleep beside him in bed, and his lips were so soft, and Scott was a sick fucking freak objectifying this poor college kid who was just trying to do his job, but he couldn't help it because he was just so beautiful and the season was so fucking long and oh my God the guy was an alpha. Scott took a long, deep inhale through his nose and yes, underneath the slightly sour smell of milk and the sticky sweetness of fruit was the unmistakable musk of an alpha.
Something twinged deep inside of Scott, and he couldn't hold back the rumbling, chest deep purr as he exhaled. His face flushed with humiliation as the man at the register jerked awake at the noise.
"Oh my god, I am so sorry," the man babbled, fumbling with his textbook and setting it to the side, "How can I help you?"
"It's fine, uh, Kip," Scott said, gaze falling to the man's name tag. "What's good here?"
They made a little awkward small talk about smoothies, and Scott felt like he was going to puke, internally swinging between being sure Kip was flirting with him and being sure he was deluding himself, between hope that maybe Kip was attracted to him as well and bitterness that it didn't matter any ways, because it wasn't like Scott could do anything about that during the season. But as Kip handed Scott the smoothie, Scott thought- I deserve this. Kip had no idea who Scott was, and he was so beautiful, and the season was so goddamn long, and Scott deserved to flirt with a beautiful alpha for a few minutes and cling to feeling like himself for just a little longer.
"Is that your star sign?" Scott asked, pointing at the little pin adjacent to Kip's name tag. Cliche, maybe, but classic flirting, right? Kip got a little tense as he glanced down.
"No," he said, "It's the symbol for Mercury. It represents the union of opposites."
"Oh," Scott said, not quite sure what to say to that. "That's neat."
"Mm."
"With them- uh- triangle inside- I thought maybe it was a- an LGBT thing," Scott said, cringing because he felt awkward and too obvious but he just wanted that moment of recognition- just for a few seconds-
But Kip's face drew tighter, more closed off, instead.
"No, it's a delta," Kip said. "It represents change."
"Because- you're mutable, right?"
"Mm-hmm."
"Like- an alpha?"
"No, actually," Kip said abruptly, "The false dichotomy of alpha and omega is oppressive and obscures the fundamental biological reality that our sex is fluid and without exogenous hormones over forty percent of mutably sexed people will experience a shift in presentation, largely in response to changing environmental conditions, not some kind of profound personal truth, and modern society is hellbent on pathologizing five percent of the population and forcing us to pick a side and stay there, rather than accepting our fundamental humanity remains the same regardless of which endocrine system is dominant."
"Oh," Scott said, trying to process the wall of information Kip had so passionately delivered. "So delta- delta means both? Or someone who's changed?"
"The smoothie is $8.95, are you going to pay?"
"Right, of course," Scott said, fumbling for his wallet. He had completely blown that interaction- he was such a fucking dickhead, talking to this guy about his gender and sexuality at work, did Scott like that when it happened to him? Did Kip being beautiful make it suddenly okay to talk to him like that?
A woman had poked her head out from the back of the house, snapping her gum and looking at them with an idle, judgmental curiosity. Scott knew, deep in his gut, that he was going to walk out of the shop and be the weird customer they bitched about that morning, and he would be too humiliated to ever set foot in the smoothie shop again, and would never see Kip's beautiful face again.
"I'm so sorry," Scott said, fussing with the card reader, "It's just-" He risked a glance up at the woman, watching him without a hint of recognition on her face. "It's just, me too."
"What?"
"I'm..." Scott tapped his chest, about where Kip's pin would be if he was wearing it. "I'm both- or I've changed. Whichever that means. Both are true, I guess."
"Oh my god," Kip said, anger disappearing from his face as he lifted a hand to cover his mouth. Scott tried not to feel too relieved.
"I really- I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, I just wanted to make conversation-"
"-and I completely bit your head off," Kip said, "I totally misread that interaction, I am so sorry, I would've ranted at you with solidarity if I'd realized."
"It's okay," Scott said, "I know I'm not the kind of guy where you can tell by looking- not that you are- or that it's a bad thing- ugh, I'm screwing this up again."
"No, really, I could've taken five seconds to ask why you wanted to know," Kip said. "God, sorry, it's been a rough couple of days and I assumed you were a chaser, I promise I'm not normally a psycho."
"A chaser?"
"You know- a guy who's really into alphas or omegas."
"Or deltas, right?"
Kip laughed. "No, no- a chaser always cares if you're an alpha or omega."
"Ah," Scott said.
Kip unpinned his little badge, and held it out to Scott.
"Here," he offered, "Do you want it?"
"I couldn't possibly," Scott demurred. Kip thrust it out more insistently.
"C'mon," Kip said, "I feel bad, and I've got like a dozen of these kind of things from the SGM club back in undergrad."
"You keep giving me new terms to Google," Scott joked, taking the pin from Kip. Their fingertips brushed, and he tried not to feel like too much of a lunatic at the excitement that gave him.
"Oh, that just means sexual and gender minorities," Kip said.
"Thanks," Scott said. He stuck his wallet in his pocket, cradling the pin in the palm of one hand and holding his smoothie in the other.
"You're welcome," Kip said, then he looked back at the register. "Oh my god. You- this is too much."
"No no- for the trouble, right? And the pin." Scott smiled a little, still awkward and nervous but optimistic he'd salvaged the conversation, that this indulgence could be a bright memory to get him through the session rather than a bitter reminder why he never, ever talked about his gender with others. "Boys like us have to stick together," he said with a wink. Kip laughed, and Scott felt warm and proud.
Behind him, a bell jangled as another customer opened the door.
"Oh my god- are you Scott Hunter?"
For a split second, Scott thought about just saying no and leaving immediately, but that felt riskier and ruder than slapping on a smile and making sure the pin was safely hidden in his fist. He took the fan's exhortations to bring the goddamn Cup home this year in good spirits, and was grateful to escape without a selfie. He rushed home, anxiety churning in his stomach, switching to his soothing pregame mix of binaural beats, but unable to settle down. The pin was growing sweaty, still clenched in his fist.
Because Kip knew- and his coworker, too. It had felt like a safe, secret indulgence when he was sure neither of them recognized him. That he could let his omega out a little, knowing he would just be one customer out of hundreds. Even when Kip had snapped at him, or when he'd handed him the pin, and Scott knew he was going to be remembered, it had still felt okay, because he knew he was just some guy to Kip. But now- thanks to the fan, Kip didn't just know that Scott had shifted presentation, or that he was an awkward and anxious wreck, he knew he was Scott Hunter.
Scott wondered if it was terrible of him that it felt so exciting.