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“Aww, sweetie,” Rosie murmurs, running her hand along the top of Vox’s casing. He lets out a piteous moan. The plastic is an inferno, and she’s honestly surprised nothing’s malfunctioned yet. Vox has been like this all day— half there, half completely off in his own world, talking to the curtains. She piles the blankets up around him, tucking him in firmly despite his protests. Sweating it out would be good for her little omega, even when he griped and tried to wriggle his way out.
Rosie frowns and looks down, inspecting her handiwork. It wasn’t a nest; as an alpha, Rosie knew next to nothing about building them. Of course, it wasn’t her place, but she certainly wishes she’d insisted Vox build his nest at her house. Now it was too late, and there was no world where she was going to let him hide out in his solitary little tower. No, she was keeping him right here, where she could watch him and make sure he didn’t get any stupid ideas like trying to work through his Hellfluenza.
Not that he was in any state of mind to try to work now. She hummed, replacing the cold towel resting on top of the screen. She coos at him, releasing more of her heavy floral scent. She watches Vox relax on the bed, his mumbling quieting as he falls back asleep.
It’s a shame they can’t spend Vox’s cycle together. She knows he’s been working up his courage to ask her to claim him. Call it an alpha’s intuition, if Vox wasn’t so sensitive about his role as an omega, Rosie would have asked him ages ago, but well, she didn’t want to send her little omega running. Not when it’s taken so many decades to reel him in. But there will be other heats, and Rosie knows the value of patience.
In the meantime, she’ll sit vigil over Vox. He’ll be up and at 'em again in no time. And maybe this time he’ll listen to her about not forgetting his seasonal vaccinations.