Chapter Text
Bill knocked on the door frame of Gunn's office. “Come in, go ahead and shut the door.”
He did as directed and sat down across from his boss, hoping there was no trouble. Gunn could go either way. He was ambitious, and that ambition could be a double edged sword. On one hand he was far more supportive of the BSU and their research than Shepard ever was. Bill had no doubt he would go to bat for them if he needed to. On the other, this interest meant that Gunn was far more aware of what was going on and more likely to exert pressure, if what he found displeased him.
Gunn, however, quickly put him at ease. “I have a little more information about the trip to Cedarville. This isn't going to last long. You and Holden need to help them get started, put together a profile, and they'll handle it from there. There's a chance you might get called back to help, but it won't be like Atlanta.”
“That shouldn't be a problem,” Bill replied, feeling relieved. Atlanta had been intense and come at a difficult time. He was in no hurry for a repeat.
“Between your experience and Holden's instincts, I'm sure you can keep them organized and on the right track.”
“Sir, can I ask you a question? It might sound odd.” Bill began, intrigued by Gunn's choice of words. It brought to mind the conversation back in Cincinnati regarding the possibility omegas could register things in their environment that betas and possibly alphas couldn't. This wasn't the first time Gunn brought up Holden's 'instincts', but there were instincts and there were instincts. With Gunn being a fellow alpha, he could be referring to either one.
“Of course, Bill. Ask away.” He smiled genially, his scent calm.
There are advantages to working for another alpha. Scent doesn't lie. “When you mention Holden's instincts...which instincts do you mean? Hunches anyone can get, or the instincts related to his status?”
“You know it isn't polite to discuss a person's status in the workplace.” However, there was nothing chiding in his manner. Gunn seemed amused, if anything.
“Not that it matters, it's just...I was curious, that's all.”
“To answer your question, I'm not sure. I have wondered how my own mate perceives the world around him, but it's difficult to describe something to someone who has no experience. You would have to ask Holden and see if he can explain things any better.”
My own mate? Bill questioned, catching the particular phrasing. Not 'my mate', but 'my own mate' as opposed to? He wondered if Gunn knew, and was subtly letting Bill know it. Or maybe I'm just paranoid. It there was an actual problem, he wouldn't hesitate to say something. And if there isn't a problem, he'd want to be able to deny he knew anything should it come up – so he isn't going to say anything about it directly.
He set aside wondering what Ted Gunn might or might not know. “But you think it might have something to with differences between omegas and everyone else.” Bill gently pushed, genuinely intrigued.
“It's just conjecture, but it wouldn't surprise me in the slightest. The problem is, there aren't enough omegas in positions that would showcase that kind of difference should it exist. What are instincts when you're filing documents or typing memos? There's undoubtedly a massive waste of talent that's been going on for a very long time, but it's hard to convince betas to change their views on hiring.” His expression became wry. “But seriously, ask him. He'll probably just look confused.”
* * *
He found Holden sitting with Wendy in the conference room with the thick file on the case, discussing and taking notes. He sat down and snagged a crime scene photo, studying it more closely this time. “What did Gunn have to say?” Holden asked. He smelled like he did when he was very focused on something. Not relaxed, but not excited or nervous either.
“That we'll only be there a few days. They're going to need help coming up with a profile and getting started. We won't be there to see it through to the end. Though they might call us back if the shit hits the fan, and they get stuck.”
“Good,” Wendy replied. “It's difficult when they have you gone all the time. This is an interesting case, though. He definitely has a clear type when it comes to victims.”
“But his hunting ground is large. I'd like to know how he's finding them.” Holden added, looking up at Bill in an omega fashion rather than meeting his gaze. Bill noticed that he had become more relaxed about his mannerisms around Wendy, pegging her as someone who really didn't care. Bill was glad to see it.
“Where did Gregg run off to?”
“He left for a doctor's appointment,” Holden said dismissively.
Ah, no wonder he's so relaxed. Bill strongly doubted Holden trusted Gregg enough to ever let his guard down. Gregg found Holden obnoxious, and Holden viewed Gregg as a lackluster flunky dumped on them by Shepard. Bill personally didn't find Gregg that impressive either, though he tried to keep an open mind. Some people just needed extra time. Still, they should have hired Jim Barney. He thought again about Gunn's words. “Holden, how do you see the world around you?”
Holden set his pen down and looked confused. “What do you mean? In what way?”
“As an omega.”
The look of confusion didn't lift, and Wendy was observing them with interest. “I can smell you, and Wendy can't?”
“Are you asking if he processes environmental stimuli differently?” Wendy asked.
“Oh, I see. Very possibly, I suspect so. However, I'm not certain to what extent.” Holden shrugged and idly tapped his pen against his note pad. “I don't know how you and Wendy perceive this room.” He made a circular gesture with his pen. “In order to compare. There are people who theorize that we do sense things differently – remember the kid in Cincinnati who had a bad feeling walking back to his dorm? We thought there might be something to that. but it's hard to say for sure.”
“There aren't really any good studies on this,” Wendy supplied. “It's hard to determine if there's truth in it, or if a lot of it is old wives tales.”
“Or a mix of both,” Holden added. “But again, I don't know what it's like to be a beta.”
“It would be an interesting idea to explore,” Wendy admitted. “To know what alphas and omegas experience and vise versa.”
“There's no way to mimic scent receptors, and even if you could, there would be no way to interpret that information. I can automatically tell what mood Bill is in – he's very calm, by the way, but it wouldn't mean anything to a beta. It would just be a scent without any instinct or extra knowledge attached. And if I was cut off my receptors, I wouldn't understand betas any better. Their mannerisms would still be completely foreign. Now if there are other differences in perception, that would be fascinating.” He turned his attention back to Bill. “What made you think of this?”
“I've wondered before, and something someone said reminded me.” He didn't want to admit to Holden that he had been discussing him with Gunn.
“I wish I had a better answer. It's an interesting question.”
Wendy was still looking at Holden with a speculative expression. “It's interesting how much difficulty you have with betas, yet you don't seem to have any trouble in interviews, despite all our subjects being betas.”
“Hmm...I suppose it's easier to play off what they're telling me, to relate to them in that way – verbally, through the experiences they describe, and sometimes you just get a feel for someone. Is that what Bill is referring to? I don't know.” He shrugged one shoulder. Paused, then admitted, “I can't play to a room full of people. It's too much information to try and break down and figure out. Unless it's very obvious, I can't necessarily tell how you're feeling. Though, I'll instinctively react to aggression, or what my body thinks is aggression. Those aren't always the same things,” he admitted to Wendy, then looked awkward when he realized he had lost the off switch on his mouth again.
“There's no shame in admitting it,” Wendy replied.
Holden looked uncomfortable, started to speak, stopped and started again. “I never interacted with betas as an omega. I always mimicked the mannerisms of betas, tried to mimic them,” he corrected. “But that doesn't mean I fully understood them. Perhaps by not interacting with people as myself, I never learned to translate the language properly.”
“That wouldn't surprise me in the slightest,” Bill told him, surprised that he had divulged that theory about himself, though it made a lot of sense. He had a feeling that with omegas and betas existing on the opposite ends of a spectrum, they would always have some things get lost in translation regardless. Omegas commonly claimed betas were confusing, but Holden's difficulties seemed to go beyond other people's. Betas rarely seemed to understand omegas at all, but then many of them didn't come into contact with omegas often. Far too many didn't seem to be interested in trying to understand the ins and outs of a small minority of people commonly considered weird.
He noticed Holden's scent had changed from the even focused quality it had when he first walked in to something signaling unease. He said more than he intended. His mate was intellectually curious, one of his better qualities, and if a topic grabbed him, he could talk at great length. He just didn't always know how to stop.
Holden turned his attention back to the file folder in front of him. “His second victim came from all the way across town. Different socioeconomic status, different occupation, it's doubtful victim one and two shopped in the same places. Neither were students. One was married, one wasn't. But they have the same hair color, same general size and build. They must remind the killer of someone.”
“An old girlfriend, wife maybe,” Bill suggested. “Or maybe his mother. It does always seem to go back to the mother.”
* * *
Holden spent the rest of the day preoccupied. He had the vague sense he said too much again. In the moment, he had no problem talking about any particular topic. But after the fact, he worried that he said the wrong thing, came off wrong, or sounded foolish. This was triply true when he divulged information about himself. He was used to keeping part of himself back and being careful what face he showed other people. At first it was a survival mechanism from his childhood, then it became habit. Bill was the one person who knew him most completely, but Bill had always been able to see through him anyway. Holden thought that was one of the reasons he and Bill fit so well together – Holden couldn't fool him.
But more than pointless worrying over a verbal slip up, was the phone number he had kept carefully folded in his wallet. His uncles happened to live in Cedarville, Pennsylvania. Talk about coincidence. Gregg reappeared that afternoon, and Holden went back to impersonating a beta. While he had little fondness for Gregg, he wondered how necessary it was to keep up the act around him. Not very. He knows I'm omega already. Still, the thought of relaxing in front of him added to his general sense of unease.
Later that evening Bill walked up and pressed his lips to Holden's neck. “Are you feeling OK? You smell OK, but you've been standing there with that dish in your hand for awhile now.”
Holden jerked. “Oh yeah, I'm just a little distracted.” He quickly rinsed off the plate and stuck it in the dishwasher.
“I can tell.” He continued to stand right behind Holden's shoulder with the air of someone waiting for something.
Holden considered his options. If he told Bill what he was considering, his mate would hold him to it. If he didn't say anything to Bill, he could cowardly back out with no one being the wiser.
“Holden...” Bill said gently and nudged his back.
He exhaled. “My uncle William and his mate live in Cedarville. I haven't seen them since I was eight – my mother is estranged from them along most of her family.” He paused before admitting, “I copied down their phone number out of my mother's address book while she was asleep.”
“How...furtive of you,” Bill said after a silent moment. “Are you going to call them?”
“I don't know. Doesn't it seem kind of odd to call them up when they haven't seen me since I was eight?”
“No, not really. They're family and whatever happened between them and your mother doesn't have anything to do with you,” Bill pointed out. “Why have they been estranged all these years?”
Holden turned to face Bill, leaning against the counter. “I have no idea. She doesn't really talk about them much. She's referred to them as busybodies before. We have no connection to most of her side of the family, and I don't really know why other than they're not her kind of people. Whatever that means.” Holden had some of his own theories regarding this, but kept them to himself. “Dad mentioned there was some kind of big fight at one point.”
“Interesting. And you want to know why.”
“Yes,” Holden replied, “and no.” He shifted uncomfortably. He had avoided talking to Bill about his parents and childhood as much as possible. He had the feeling if he told Bill, his mate would verify what Holden already feared most. “I suspect some things,” he finally went on, tone careful. Bill's focus on him was intent. He reached out to take Holden's hands in his own and silently led him to the living room and sat him down on the sofa, the intensity of his regard never dropping. Holden's mouth went dry.
“What things?”
“I'd rather not...” He grimaced, shifting uncomfortably. Bill still had hold of his hands so he couldn't escape. His mate leaned in and kissed his neck again, his lips soft and lingering. A gesture meant to comfort, but also a way to covertly scent his neck. Holden didn't know what he smelled like, but it probably wasn't the scent of a happy omega.
“I think there's some things you ought to tell me.”
When Holden remained silent, he went on. “They hurt you, didn't they?” Holden didn't think he'd ever heard his voice that gentle. “Your parents.”
“N-no.” It was perhaps the most unconvincing negative uttered in human history. “My mother can be a little difficult at times, but she means well.”
“Are you trying to convince me or yourself? It sounds like you're trying to convince yourself.” He caressed the back of Holden's hand with his thumb. “Give your uncles a call and see if you can stop by while we're in town. We'll have some downtime in the evening. Get your answers.”
It was half an our later, and Holden still hadn't phoned. He stared at the telephone and then back at the creased piece of paper feeling horribly awkward. Maybe no one will be home. Maybe they will have moved. The thought both comforted and depressed him. He would like to see Will and Stevie again. He liked them as a child. He sighed and picked up the phone, knowing if he didn't, Bill would pester him until he did. That's what I get for being honest and forthcoming.
He frowned, forced the jumble of thoughts from his head, and dialed. It rang once, twice, a third time and then Holden heard a click as the receiver was picked up on the other end. “Hello, Miller residence.”
“Is William there, please?” He asked, desperately trying to collect his thoughts.
“May I ask who's calling?” Came the polite voice that he assumed was Stevie's.
“This is his nephew, Holden Ford. Linda's son --”
“Holden? This is Stevie. Did someone die?” He sounded both surprised and mildly alarmed.
“No, no! Nothing like that. I just got your phone number--” He quickly reassured him.
“Hold on, let me get Will. He'll want to talk to you.”
Holden nervously wound the phone cord around his wrist. He could faintly hear Stevie calling for Will and then footsteps approaching the phone. “Hello? Holden? This is your uncle Will. How are you? It's been how long?”
“I'm fine, and twenty-two years.” But who's counting? “This might sound odd, since I haven't seen you and Stevie for so long, but I'm going to be in town for work, and was wondering if we could possibly get together for a little while some evening.”
“Of course – we'd love to see you. When are you going to be in town?”
Holden started to relax. “The fourth through the sixth.”
“Come by the evening of the sixth. Do you have our address?”
Holden copied down the address and directions, his heart rate returning to normal. He felt a weight lifted from his shoulders when he hung up the phone. Granted, he still had to go through with the visit, but the awkward part was over.
* * *
The afternoon of November 6 rolled around, and Holden had been pushing the thought of the impending visit from his mind. It was easy while working. He liked puzzles, was good at them, and people made the most interesting puzzles of all. What made them the way they were? What motivated them to act so far beyond the bounds of normality? How did they think, feel about the the things they did? In this case, the question was how was the perpetrator selected his victims. He had to be someone who didn't look out of place whether he was in a poor neighborhood or a more affluent part of town.
The rest of the profile wasn't hard, white male at least in his mid twenties to thirties, a beta, clean cut looking, no one who would arouse suspicion. He had a type, average height, thin, dark hair, twenties, suggesting he had a connection in his own life to someone fitting that description. He was careful in what he did with all the rope being the same color and diameter, all the knots being the same type, he wrapped the wrists and ankles the same number of times on each victim. There throats were slit in the exact same manner – the length of the cut was the same, the placement was the same. They were all washed clean of blood before they were dumped. There was an obsessive quality to it that perhaps carried over into other aspects of his life.
Though the victims had nothing in common aside from their physical attributes, Holden noticed something. All five women lived in houses rather than apartments. Even the two from the poor neighborhood.
“It's possible he has a job that would take him into a home – some type of repair or utility work,” Bill suggested. “Something that wouldn't take him into a victim's living space, if they were in an apartment building.
“He wouldn't look out of place anywhere he went and would have access to his own transportation.” Holden agreed. “That's what they need to do. They need to check and see if the meters have been read or serviced lately, and if so by whom, or if they had any repair work done. I know two of them lived alone, but if something were recently repaired or replaced like a large appliance or window, it should be obvious.”
“This will give them a place to start,” Bill agreed. His scent read pleased alpha.
Things had been going smoothly minus a few minor hiccups that for once hadn't been Holden's doing. He found himself working almost entirely with betas except for one alpha who never said anything about his status, but eyed Holden with a knowing expression. They were wrapping up now. He and Bill were only on a short temporary loan, since the city felt decently equipped to deal with the case, and Bill and Holden had an interview scheduled early the following week. He felt a sense of satisfaction that came from doing work that truly interested him, but now that they were almost through, thoughts of the coming evening began to creep back in.
He had double checked with Will when they made it into town, and yes, they still wanted Holden to stop by. He told himself it was one evening of his life, that whatever they said was unlikely to shock him, because he knew his mother after all. He reminded himself that they had made it clear they really did want to see their prodigal nephew. But telling himself these rational, logical things didn't stop the nerves fluttering around in his belly.
“Do you want me to come with you?” Bill asked later that evening. They had been killing time in the motel room, but the clock said seven, and it was time to leave.
Holden paused midway through putting his shoes on, hesitating. Having Bill with him was security, but he didn't know what Will and Stevie were going to say. What if this was somehow my fault? What if my mother's actions really were wrong? What if Bill hates my parents? Will I be able to still love my mother? What if I'm just overreacting and being silly, and Bill sees that I'm overreacting and being silly? Countless thoughts formed a traffic jam in his brain.
“Holden?”
“Yes, but no. No, I think I should go on my own,” he finally said more firmly, shoving his left foot into his shoe.
“OK, if you're sure.”
Holden exhaled long and slow, relieved that Bill wasn't pushing. The alpha was concerned, but willing to give his mate the space to do what he needed to do. Holden stood up and slipped his jacket back on, then his overcoat. “I shouldn't be too late.”
Bill handed him the room key he almost forgot. He tucked it into his coat pocket and headed for the door. The chilly November air helped clear his head as he slid into the drivers seat of the rental car and looked over the directions again. He spent the relatively short drive attempting to talk some sense into himself. The family issues may have nothing to do with me, and Mom meant well, I'm sure. She's a beta, how could she know any better? But the excuses on his mother's behalf had begun sounding hollow after his last trip down to see them. Perhaps even before that as he started struggling with his identity as an omega. That was why he didn't want Bill with him. Bill wouldn't allow him to keep up the fiction that his mother was well meaning and unconditionally loving. Bill would see right through it just just like he saw through the other lies Holden told himself. And then what?
He found the correct street after only one wrong turn and slowed to peer at the house numbers. 256 sat half way down the street. He parked and got out, making his way to the modest, but pleasant looking home wedged between a duplex and a larger house. Maybe Will and Stevie will have nothing earth shattering to say. And maybe my mother will send me a card congratulating me on my bonding. He sighed and attempted to prepare himself for the inevitable.