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Phoenix was fussing. She’d stripped off his parachute and checked him all over for injuries with a frenzied kind of panic he’d never have expected from the alpha. Then she’d sat him down on a nearby rock with a sharp look that told him to ‘stay put or else’ and started pacing. Glancing between him, and the sky, and her own twisting fingers, frenetic energy not abating as their interminable wait for SAR dragged itself through another hour.
“Phoenix” a quick glance. Her eyes skimmed over him and returned to the sky. The pacing continued. He tried again
“Phoenix” nothing.
“SAR will find us soon, they’ve probably already been dispatched.” She shook her head. The pacing continued.
“It’s not that.” she muttered, speaking to her dusty boots. She kept moving. The steady beat of her footsteps hadn’t even slowed. The ubiquitous stomp was the only sound for miles, her anxiety permeating the air, seeping through their scent patches.
A whine rises from his chest.
She was on him in a second. Her hands fluttered over him, running over his chest and back where the straps of the parachute had dug in.
“What is it, where does it hurt, what do you need?” she pulls his face to meet hers, eyes wide with concern. He loses himself in their hazel kaleidoscope. Her fingers tremble against his cheek.
Slowly, very slowly – don’t startle the jumpy alpha - he brought his hands up to wrap around her wrists, thumbs rubbing over the pressure points, the little auxiliary scent glands hidden there. Gradually, he sees her shoulders inch down, the tense line of worry smooths off her face.
“I’m okay, Phoe.” He pitches his voice lower, trying to emulate the timbre of a contented Omega purr. “We’re okay, we’re both fine. SAR is on the way, they’ll find us soon. We’ll be fine, everything will be okay.” The last of the tension leaches from her shoulders. Her eyes slip closed. She falls forward, pressing their foreheads together. Her sigh fogs his glasses.
“I’m sorry, Bobby.” The nickname sends a little zing up his spine. He tightens his grip a little, risks a small tug, come sit with me? He can’t help but preen a little when she does. Warmth at her approval curling low in his gut. They lean against each other and watch for approaching helicopters.
“I’m worried about my Ma.” She tucks her nose against his temple, nuzzling into his hair. He laces their fingers together. Waits for her to continue. “He lost his RIO in a training accident when they were at TOPGUN. He’s gotta be freaking out by now.” Bob hadn’t known her mother was a male omega. Probably one of the first allowed to fly. It explained why he found it so comfortable to be around Phoenix, how easy she’d made it to share the cockpit. She must have seen what her mother faced, growing up, and knew what behaviours to avoid. She even got along with Bagman, one of the few people that didn’t get the other omega’s hackles up. She’d told him her whole family was Navy, but this was new. He hadn’t known Phoenix’s mother was at TOPGUN. But even if he was an aviator –
“I don’t think they’ll call our families, we’re not MIA yet, they’ll find us.” She goes rigid at his side. He squeezes her hand again, trying to erase the new tension between them.
Anything else they might have said is interrupted by the thump of helicopter blades, steadily drawing closer.
The flight back to base is quiet, the paramedics deferring to Phoenix and largely leaving the two of them alone once they’d ascertained neither had any major injuries. At any other time, it would have bugged him, the thought of anyone referring to his alpha before him about his own body. She hadn’t even growled at anyone, just sat through the tests with her knee bouncing incessantly. Phoenix is still holding his hand.
They should be herded directly into medical after landing. That’s the procedure.
Captain Mitchell is waiting for them by the helipad. Bob can see his nervous shifting as the settle in to land. Phoenix lets go of him the second they touch down, rushing at the captain and leaping into his open arms. She’s yelling, her voice distorted through the gently slowing chopper blades. Bob follows her out, at a much more deliberate pace. He hadn’t known his pilot was on hugging-terms with Maverick. When he’s close enough to hear, Maverick is cradling Phoenix’s face in his hands, looking her over as frantically as she’d done to him, hours ago, out in the desert. She’s clutching him right back, knuckles white on the sleeves of his flight suit.
“I’m fine, Ma. I’m okay. I’m here. I’m fine. I promise.” Oh. He stops still. The pieces fall into place. Phoenix’s mom was a male omega aviator. She was certain he would have already known about the bird strike. She’d called him Ma.
Maverick spots Bob over Phoenix’s shoulder. He tucks her head under his chin like she’s still a pup and slings his free arm over Bob’s shoulders, bringing him in too. He pulls them both away from the landing pad, heading towards medbay. His grip doesn’t loosen.
They finally reach a room with several medical cots. Coyote’s already ensconced in one by the window. Hangman pops up from where he’d been sitting by his friend and bounds across the room, stopping just shy of barrelling straight into them. Phoenix detaches herself from Maverick, she and Hangman nose at each other and he hugs her very gently, careful of her bruises. It’s entirely different from the enthusiastic embrace they’d shared that first night at the hard deck. Bob had heard the thud of their bodies colliding, and the smack of hands on backs while they scented each other, familiar as siblings. Or lovers. That thought spikes something hot and tight in his chest before he shoves it down. He’s only known Phoenix a few weeks. She’s not his alpha. No matter how much that idea makes his heart speed, and his lungs shake with want.
The Captain chivvies him over to the bed opposite Coyote, and fusses judiciously for several long seconds before turning back to Phoenix and Hangman. He wraps an arm around each of them, and they move together to the empty bed next to Bob. Maverick sits next to Phoenix, stroking her face and hair.
“I’m okay Ma.” she says again. “I promise.” Hangman wavers next to them. Vibrating with the warring desires to check on Coyote and stay with Phoenix. The doctor walking in interrupts his dithering, he and Maverick get shooed away and the privacy curtains are drawn between him and the rest of the room.
They’re going to be kept overnight for observation. Just like Coyote. There’s always a risk with ejections, one or both of them could have a concussion. Or worse. They’re all kept in the same room, curtains pushed back so they can see each other. Coyote doesn’t look any worse for brief spell of unconsciousness. The beta grins at them and his shoulders relax when the doctors pronounce them essentially unscathed. Maverick and Hangman, who’d stayed in the room, also visibly relax at the prognosis.
They all startle when Rooster blusters into the room, short of breath from clearly having run here. He scans the room before folding in half and resting heavily on his knees.
“Jesus Christ Tasha.” He pants, “Never scare me like that again!” the alpha leans over and wraps her in a hug, pushing his nose against her hair to scent. To reassure himself that his friend is still here and alive.
“Do my best Brad Brad, blame the birds.”
He repeats the exercise with Coyote, limiting his commentary to a “glad you’re still here, man.” Before turning to Maverick.
“How are they?” he asks, with a nod towards Bob. Rooster isn’t family, isn’t Bob’s pack. It would be incredibly inappropriate for him to crowd over an unmated omega, especially an injured one like Bob. Maverick, as their current CO, is technically in loco parentis for things like this until Bob either gets mated or leaves the Navy. Hangman too, come to think of it. Even for mated pairs, a CO stands in if no other pack members are present. Maverick quirks an eyebrow when Bob looks over for permission. He shrugs, which they both must take as permission enough, because he’s immediately engulphed in Rooster’s warm concern.
“I’m glad you’re okay Bob.” Is muttered against his hair. He chokes out a laugh.
“Me too, man.” He pats Rooster on the back and they withdraw. Rooster tucking Hangman with him into the chairs between Bob and Phoenix’s beds.
Maverick glues himself right back to her side, sitting on her bed, holding her hand and stroking her hair, subtly scenting her now the medical staff have removed their patches. The deep, strong scent of the ocean wafts over from her bunk, mixed something sharp and herby. And something warm, like baking. Homey in an unfamiliar way that made his chest ache with nostalgia. His mother never baked.
Hangman had drifted back to Coyote, at some point while Bob was floating on the waves of Phoenix’s scent. He glanced over and saw Maverick looking back at him, a considering expression settled on his face. Green eyes seem to pin him in place and pierce right through him all at once. He let go of Phoenix and shifted to perch on Bob’s cot instead.
“Are you gonna be all right in here Lieutenant?” From an alpha, the question would have been condescending; could the poor little omega handle spending the night in the same room as an alpha without getting overwhelmed by their scent and doing something embarrassing. From Captain Pete Mitchell, one of the Navy’s first omega pilots, it was a more practical matter. Do you feel safe here? Something warm settles in his chest at the concern.
“Is this the part where you ask what my intentions are with your daughter, Sir?” a delighted grin spreads over the captain’s face.
“I’m sure she’ll just be ecstatic that you have intentions, Bob.” Hope sparks, the warmth in his chest intensifies. The grin takes on a conspiratorial edge as Maverick leans in. “Between you and me” he murmurs, too low to be heard by the others, “It’s her brother you’ll have to convince, Jake can be very protective.” He leans back and glances at the three aviators sprawled across Phoenix’s medical cot. “They’ve always been like that” he shrugs in a ‘what can you do’ gesture, “twins, y’know?” he looks up at the other bed sharply, and meets Hangman’s green eyes, staring back.