Chapter Text
When someone bumped into him on the metro, Oliver felt his whole body stiffen and tried, unsuccessfully, to consciously remind his muscles to relax. This was just some random person on the metro who couldn’t keep their balance as the train moved. He didn’t need to step away to avoid the threat. Besides, there wasn’t anywhere for him to step to.
The train was unexpectedly full for a Sunday morning, as a number of the passengers were carrying brightly coloured placards demanding stronger environmental standards for corporations. Most were fairly general (‘CLIMATE CHANGE IS REAL’), some had rhyming slogans (‘BE THE SOLUTION NOT THE POLLUTION’), and a few were clever enough to make him chuckle (notably ‘INCREASE SEXUAL EMISSIONS DECREASE CARBON EMISSIONS’ and ‘MARCHING FOR FACTS’). He scanned through them and decided that ‘🦖 DON’T BE FOSSIL FOOLS 🦖’ was his favourite.
He so admired these people for getting up early on a Sunday to fight for a cause they believed in. Part of him wished that he had the energy and inclination to join them, to fight for everyone’s future, but, even as he felt a pang of yearning pass through him, his more cynical side was already reminding him that humans were the ones who’d caused the environmental problems in the first place. He was on his way to begin cleaning up an entirely different, and much more immediate, mess that humans had made and he just didn’t have it in him to take on more.
The person who’d jostled him mumbled some sort of apology, backing out of his space, and Oliver couldn’t stop a tiny sigh of relief from escaping. He hated that touch avoidance had become his default, hated the wariness he’d been forced to develop, but it was definitely safer. He felt adrift, cut off from his pack, unwilling to trust the wolves around him to give him the physical closeness he longed for, and unable to trust any humans to do so, especially considering that he was on his way to meet with the Bureau of Special Investigations about what they had assumed was yet another ‘werewolf gone wild.’
His fists clenched at the thought and he uncurled them again with an effort. He huffed out a breath. The BSI had theoretically been set up to handle the human side of human-werewolf interactions since the coming out but all they ever seemed to do was assault and kill any werewolf they came into contact with. As far as the Trust could tell, no one ever bothered with the “I” in BSI, instead acting like government-sanctioned bounty hunters who never stopped to confirm that the wolves they targeted had even been involved in whatever crime they’d been accused of.
He caught a whiff of an egg sandwich and rolled his eyes at himself as his stomach grumbled, though the physical reminder that he needed to relax was a welcome one. He forced himself to take steady even breaths, nice deep inhales and smooth long exhales, and tried to keep a grimace off his face. The sandwich was the best smelling thing on this crowded train by a wide margin.
Thus far he wasn’t enjoying his time in DC. Everything was crowded and dirty and grey, and, however uncomfortable the idea of being back in Florence made him, he was looking forward to spending time somewhere he could breathe deeply again.
Ugh. The thought of Florence, and what awaited him there, sent him right back to brooding about his next assignment. He’d been anxious about it all weekend and the closer he got to the meeting time, the more tension he could feel building. The thought of spending time in a place that held so many memories of the wolf he’d been before was painful and more than a little terrifying.
He was glad that the timing meant none of his family would be in town. It would be difficult enough to perform his assumed persona on this assignment in front of people who’d known him since he was a pup. Navigating that, while making a show of collaboration with the BSI, was already keeping him up at night. He wouldn’t be able to cope with his family, on top of everything else.
From what he knew of the BSI, cooperating with them in any capacity—even knowing what he would really be there to do—was going to be challenging. He’d seen enough to know that most BSI agents were firm believers that the only good wolf was a dead wolf and very soon it was going to be Oliver’s job to work with the man they’d identified as likely the very worst in an agency full of unscrupulous bigots.
He understood, at least intellectually, what Cola was hoping to achieve with this new partnership but he couldn’t bring himself to put any stock in it working. Oliver was going to be spending all his time gathering the evidence the Trust needed to confirm his so-called ‘partner’s’ involvement in the recent wolf disappearances, while preventing him from adding more wolves to his victim pool, not to mention doing all the actual work to solve the case they were ostensibly partnering to investigate. He didn’t think he’d have much time to spare for improving the future of wolf-human interactions, at least not where the BSI was concerned.
Oliver felt the fine hairs on the back of his neck standing up, indicating the stranger who’d bumped into him previously was once more encroaching into his personal space. He took a calming breath and decided to ignore it again, since metro riders disrespecting personal space wasn’t exactly news to him, until his ears pricked up (figuratively, at least) at the sound of a deep inhale. Was the person sniffing him? He hadn’t caught the tell-tale scent of another wolf, his ongoing sensory assessment hadn’t raised any red flags, and, unlike many of his fellow passengers, his hygiene was impeccable. So why on Earth—?
His own nose tingled with the sharp scent of arousal and he had a sudden urge to inhale deeply, to capture that tendril and hold it inside himself. He took a cautious inhale of his own, knowing he could manage it more subtly than the stranger. Having his back to his target made identifying the specific group of scents he sought a bit of a challenge but, with both the arousal and what he’d picked up in the initial bump to go on, he’d soon teased out the various scents wreathing the stranger. He was pleasantly surprised by what he found there or, rather, by what he didn’t.
Oliver generally avoided smelling humans too closely. Most of them were a more vicious assault on his nose than a Yankee Candle store. There were the obvious things, like conflicting deodorant and cologne, but it had always struck him as bizarre that they never stopped to consider how the amalgamation of differently scented body wash, shampoo, conditioner, moisturiser, hair products, laundry detergent, etc was entirely off-putting.
He could smell the breakfast sandwich he’d noticed earlier, coffee, and a light combination of only one or two products—all of which he was able to parse easily to get at the person’s underlying scent plus the heady addition of arousal. He felt goosebumps break out along his shoulders and the nape of his neck, though they thankfully didn’t spread into any of the areas his skin was exposed.
He fought the urge to turn around and introduce himself to this stranger who smelled so tantalising. If this were another day, and not one where he needed to prepare himself up for the meeting ahead, he would jump at the chance to make a new connection. It had been so long...
The smell of arousal was suddenly replaced by the cold stench of fear. He felt his hackles rise as his eyes darted around the train car, cataloguing everything that had changed in the few minutes since he’d last assessed his surroundings, but there was no obvious threat he could identify. What had the stranger reacted to?
His training had him on full alert, somehow his instincts had already decided that this person was someone who needed his protection. He liked to think that he wasn’t so very shallow, or so very desperate, that he’d classified as ‘pack’ the first person who’d expressed sexual interest in him in ages but, then again, here he was.
He mentally shook himself. No. He knew himself—he trusted himself, trusted his wolf—and his wolf had decided he would gladly step between this stranger and whatever had triggered the wave of fear.
The trouble was, there didn’t seem to be anything to protect against. Once again, he considered turning around, introducing himself and taking the opportunity to observe the person’s eyes and body language to help evaluate the threat but the spike of fear had already receded, gone as quickly as it had come. Perhaps the trigger hadn’t been anything on the train but some memory or association, something Oliver would be powerless to fight without more information.
The metro screeched to a halt and Oliver was jarred from his musing by the realisation he’d reached his stop. As he made his way toward the doors, he spent a moment fantasising about missing the meeting. It would be awkward and ultimately pointless, so wouldn’t his time be better spent on discovering whatever was going on with the person behind him? Maybe the stranger was one of the protesters and they could go to the climate rally together. Instead of fighting against bigots who wanted to keep the status quo firmly in place, Oliver could spend the day fighting beside people who believed not only in their cause but also in their ability to affect change on a systemic scale.
They could explore their obvious attraction. Maybe they’d get to talking and make a real connection, something solid they could both depend on as they continued in their respective fights. He’d be open to examining the aspects of his life that might be negatively impacting the environment. Partnership was compromise, after all, and building trust. Oliver liked the feel of hemp well enough, he could see himself switching over to more sustainable clothing choices and, maybe, this would finally be someone he could share himself, his whole self, with. Someone who wouldn’t flinch from his wolf, who would embrace it. Someone who could support his principles. Someone he could make a home with.
But, even as the fantasy played itself out in his head, those same principles had him stepping off the train, ignoring the sounds of some minor commotion behind him, and heading toward his meeting. It wasn’t just that he knew Cola would see right through any ‘accidental’ absence on his part. Not to mention that, after everything they’d been through, and everything she’d done for him, she deserved better than a blow-off.
The BSI was rotten at its core and, though he had little faith in the ‘partnership’ aspects of this new project, the knowledge that he could help remove the rot helped motivate his steps. If they could present the BSI leadership with the necessary evidence, they could dismantle the problematic aspects of the system and rebuild. This could be his chance—finally—to begin repairing the damage he’d done to the werewolf community. He squared his shoulders with grim determination and quickened his step, ready to get this morning’s meeting over with. The BSI believed enough negative stereotypes about wolves, he didn't want to reinforce them by arriving late.
“Wait,” someone called out. “Hold the door please.” There was something about that voice, something warm that slid right through his ears to uncurl deep in his belly. Without consciously deciding to do so, Oliver found himself turning around, stepping back toward the closing doors, and wedging them open with his shoulder. “Hold the—”
To Oliver’s surprise, instead of taking advantage of the held doors, the man stopped in his tracks. His eyes widened as they roved down Oliver’s body and then back up. When he made no move forward, Oliver indulged himself in a similar perusal. The man was tall, only a little shorter than Oliver himself, with dark blond hair and avid green eyes that Oliver wanted to get lost in. He wore a rumpled, coffee-stained, ill-fitting suit and there was a hollow, sunken look to his face that made Oliver wonder if he was eating and sleeping properly. Whatever his dietary habits, his sexual appetites were on full display as he looked hungrily at Oliver. Those gorgeous sparkling emerald eyes were devouring him. They rose slowly to meet his own with a start and a pretty pink flush drifted across those too-thin cheeks as the man straightened in embarrassment. Oliver kept his smile gentle, encouraging, doing his utmost to convey that the interest was most definitely reciprocated.
“Uh, thank you,” the guy said, his voice husky. He looked away and didn’t say anything further, moving past Oliver and toward the exit. Considering the eye-fucking he’d just given him, the departure felt abrupt. Not sure what to do, and realising the stranger was headed in the same direction he was, Oliver kept pace with him. He didn’t say anything, just waited patiently, daring to hope, and was rewarded when the guy snuck another sidelong glance at him and wheezed out a laugh.
Oliver smiled sympathetically at the guy’s awkwardness. He hadn’t met someone so clearly interested in him in ages. He wanted to suggest they go somewhere, perhaps to grab a coffee to replace the one the stranger seemed to be wearing more than drinking, or, better yet, maybe they could save the coffee for afterwards. He stifled the urge. It was the worst luck that he didn’t have a chance to do anything about it right now. If he didn’t have this meeting, if he hadn’t been scheduled to fly out in a few hours, if he was free from all the obligations weighing on him, if if if.
Then again, it wouldn’t hurt to exchange numbers. Surely he could spare that much time. Whatever happened with this new project, he would probably be stationed in DC for the foreseeable future and a hot prospect with captivating green eyes could help alleviate the dreariness of this city. Maybe the guy would be interested in more than just sex and Oliver could cook for him, care for him—it had been so long since he’d had anyone to truly care for and he found himself yearning to erase those dark circles. He remembered the moment of fear from the metro, and the way his instincts had screamed at him to protect, and wondered just what it was that was interrupting the sleep of this tempting stranger. What monsters were terrorising him and would he let Oliver help fight them?
He shook himself. What was it about this man that had Oliver constantly spinning wild dreams of impossible futures? There was no sense creating an entire future for them before they’d even introduced themselves properly. All he could say for certain at this point was that his ego was getting a very welcome boost.
He wanted an entire future, though, and he couldn’t ignore his response to this stranger. Every fibre of his being was vibrating with the connection. His veins were coursing with the satisfaction of having found what he’d been searching for. Something about him was telling Oliver, in no uncertain terms, that here was pack.
“Well,” the man began, raising his hand to wave and spattering coffee onto his wrist. “Aw, shit.” His eyes darted from the spill, to his briefcase, to the ground, to the crowd of people striding around them. It looked like he was trying to determine where he should put his coffee.
“I wouldn’t risk it,” Oliver said, trying (and failing) to suppress the widening of his grin, “if I were you.” Here was the opening he’d been hoping for. He reached into his pocket, where he’d stashed the extra napkin from his breakfast. “May I?”
When the stranger didn’t say anything, Oliver delicately mopped up the coffee, sliding his fingers up under the man’s cuffs. Ostensibly he was ensuring that he cleaned up all the drips but, really, he just wanted an excuse to feel the glorious pounding of the man’s pulse against his skin. He knew he’d made the right decision when he heard the stranger’s breath catch. His nostrils flared as he picked up the tantalising aroma of the man’s arousal. It was just as heady as it had been on the metro. Oliver licked his lips in anticipation of finding out just what had prompted the earlier extended inhale, the sensation that had first brought him to Oliver’s notice.
The man cleared his throat. “This really hasn’t been my day,” he said.
Oliver felt his smile grow. “You know,” he replied, “I thought the same thing this morning. But mine just recently started to turn around.” He looked up into the man’s eyes. “Perhaps yours will too...?” he asked, expectantly.
“Ah,” and there was that pretty pink flush again, “Cooper. Cooper Dayton.”
Oliver’s smile died, his interest shrivelling up as his heart clenched in denial at the name. Maybe it was a coincidence? Cooper Dayton wasn’t exactly a common name but, surely, this couldn’t be the same person. Of all the rotten luck. Oliver forced a polite façade onto his face. Apparently his day was just as shitty as he’d feared.
He gave Dayton another, less sexually-charged, once-over. So. This was the BSI agent responsible for at least four of the recent wolf disappearances in the past year. Well, the Trust was hoping they were disappearances, hoping that they could still be found and reunited with their families and packs. Oliver felt that was extremely unlikely, however, given the connection to the BSI and to Dayton and his partner, Jefferson, in particular. Although the BSI was full of agents who, once they’d become ‘aware,’ had leapt at the opportunity to enact a twisted form of vigilante justice against wolves, Dayton and Jefferson were well-known as the nastiest of the lot.
When the Trust had realised that the disappearances weren’t random, they’d connected a number of them to cases where the wolves had been apprehended by the BSI. After presenting their findings to BSI leadership, they’d begun quietly questioning the (very) small handful of BSI agents who’d proven themselves loyal to the stated objectives of the BSI. The Trust agents hadn’t even needed to direct the interviews toward Dayton and Jefferson. Every single BSI agent they’d spoken to had brought up those very names in expressing their concerns about the spread of bigotry and misinformation. One had even gone so far as to declare that, although they hadn’t been actively involved in the massacre at Syracuse, they were the ones who’d planted the seeds.
Special Agent in Charge Santiago had maintained that Dayton had a solid investigative background, claiming that he’d often voiced concerns to her about how the BSI was managing cases and saying he wasn’t as openly anti-wolf as Jefferson, but Oliver didn’t buy it. Of the two, Dayton had the stronger motive and Oliver didn’t think it was a coincidence that the werewolf who’d attacked him, Jacob Symer, was the first of the missing werewolves they could tie to BSI involvement. He wondered if Dayton had gotten swept up in the thrill of enacting some perverse revenge fantasy and then needed to keep going after wolves for his next high. He could believe that Dayton wasn’t doing the heavy lifting, and the too-slender frame Oliver had noted earlier made physically overpowering wolves improbable, but with Jefferson’s help?
Dayton certainly didn’t look like a threat but, then again, that tracked. Oliver wondered furiously how many wolves Dayton had lulled into a false sense of security before his partner brutally took them down. His stomach roiled as it occurred to him that the ‘aw shucks’ awkwardness might all be an act, that Dayton might actually take an active role in the proceedings. He couldn’t imagine anyone but a sociopath participating in the execution of innocent wolves, no matter the provocation. He squashed the impulse to bare his fangs at Dayton and see if his blatant lust transformed into bigoted disgust, or if his eyes lit up at the prospect of another kill. He wouldn’t find Oliver such an easy mark, that was for damn sure.
Dayton, seemingly oblivious to Oliver’s turmoil, was still talking, still flirting. He held out his free hand. “Maybe we can save that shake for another time.”
It took Oliver a moment to realise what Dayton was talking about, and he blinked at the realisation that he was still touching this piece of human filth. He withdrew his hand sharply, ignoring Dayton’s other hand where it hung between them. He’d have to get enough of a grip on himself to manage a handshake in the meeting, it was human tradition after all, but he wasn’t about to subject himself to it more times than necessary. The idea of touching Dayton again, combined with the memory of the caress he’d so recently bestowed, made his skin crawl.
“Maybe.” Oliver clenched his jaw to keep from yelling, knowing that as soon as Dayton learned who he was, this attraction would fizzle and die. He needed to get out of this conversation ASAP. “Excuse me.”
Dayton’s face was a picture of confusion, embarrassment, and disappointment. Oliver felt his protective instincts try to push their way forward again and ruthlessly shoved them back. It didn’t matter if he was upset. Regardless of what Oliver’s wolf was telling him, this man was not pack. Dayton’s feelings couldn’t possibly be more than a pale echo of the pandemonium going on in Oliver’s own heart and, quite frankly, the only thing Dayton needed shielding from at this point was Oliver himself.
He’d never been so wrong before. Well, that wasn’t precisely true. There was one other time that everything he’d known about himself, and his pack, and his instincts had proven to be utterly incorrect. Oliver supposed he should count himself lucky that his error had been made clear to him up front this time, saving him a second round of devastation.
He didn’t feel lucky, though. He felt unmoored, adrift, and lonelier than he had in months. To have found that instant connection with someone, that soul-deep certainty that this person was pack, only to discover that he was the furthest thing from that… He reminded himself that nothing had really changed and that he didn’t have time to wallow in self-pity. Whatever he may have thought he felt had been fleeting. It’s not like any of the fantasy scenarios he’d concocted had actually played out. He didn’t know Dayton and he refused to feel that flash of hurt at the thought that he hopefully never would.
For once he was glad of the tight press of other people in the crowd as he strode toward the BSI headquarters. He had no idea how he would manage to pretend willingness to work with this asshole and he wanted all the time he could get to master himself before his formal introduction to Dayton. He was so completely fucked.