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The second Eva receives the list of casualties from the explosion, she knows what has to be done. She doesn’t need the strict “need to know” meetings that come afterwards, the hushed voices, the unvoiced guilt of everyone involved. It is the logical conclusion. It is the only conclusion.
The instincts that war inside her, crawling at her heart and sending bile to her throat, cannot be a consideration. She puts on more scent blockers than usual, forces herself to sit up straight, and prepares to do what must be done.
Ryland arrives at her office not long after she calls him. It takes everything in her to keep her voice straight as she tells him what he needs to do.
A small part of her, an illogical, needling part, had hoped he’d agree to the mission. That he’d set aside the tethers that tied him to Earth, the wind in his hair and the friends he has and the kids he loves so much (and that tether that reaches across the table, thrumming with their shared heartbeats), and accept the duty presented to him. She’d hoped that she didn’t know him as well as she does.
But there’s dozens of stolen hours between them, hidden scentings and restful nights in unkempt nests and one demanding, dazzling heat, and she knows him just as well as she feared she did.
“My mind is made up,” Ryland puts on his tuque, the one that always ruffles his hair no matter how he takes it off. “I’m sorry, but, uh. You just can’t talk me into it.”
Eva knows what has to be done. She reminds herself of this, repeatedly, as she takes a few seconds to respond. She has to push down the overwhelming part of herself, the part ancient and impetuous, that wants to sink her teeth into his neck and steal him far away and make sure no one ever takes him away from her.
She wonders, as she has a hundred times, how alphas have maintained so much power throughout history. Things would be so, so much easier if she was a beta. Maybe then she wouldn’t feel like she was being torn apart.
“I’m not trying to talk you into anything,” It is a wonder she is not growling, let alone that her voice is calm. “I am trying to make you understand what I’m about to do next.”
The doctor enters the room, and Ryland’s brows scrunch. Still, his scent does not sour, and Eva knows that it is because he trusts her. She digs her nails into her knee.
“What is this?” Ryland asks.
“The mission plan will state that we induced your coma early to maximize your safety,” Eva says, as if that will comfort either of them. “You will be remembered as a hero.”
Ryland’s scent does sour, then, cinnamon and honeysuckle rotting and molding into distress, and Eva cannot move from behind her desk. She cannot risk taking a step, not when every inch of her wants to attack the very doctors she’d called in.
“This may seem like me betraying you, but it’s actually me believing in you,” she says, because it is a half truth. She does believe in him. She wouldn’t be able to do this if she didn’t.
“Sure feels like you’re betraying me!” He shouts. Their eyes meet for only a second, and Eva sees his fear. She sees his confusion as much as she can smell it in his scent, and she knows that his instincts cannot comprehend why his alpha is doing this to him. There is no bite in his neck, but the betrayal is skin-deep all the same.
“Sit down and we do it differently,” she pleads. Maybe it would be easier, then, if she got to walk him to the ship, scent him one last time before she sent him to the stars. It is a fantasy. She already knows nothing in existence could make this easier.
Not for the first time, she wishes that she hadn’t allowed herself to become so attached to him. Besides for the distraction to the mission, this had always been a possibility, no matter how many times she pushed that thought to the back of her mind. But she knows that nothing in existence could have prevented that, either.
Ryland runs. She had expected to lose herself the second her office was empty, to release her flurry of instincts in a roar or growl or uncontrolled act of violence to some inanimate object, but she doesn’t. Instead, she sinks into her chair, and sobs.
* * *
The last time Eva sees him, he is unconscious in the medical bay. The doctors have assured her that the coma-inducers worked perfectly, that he isn’t in pain. It doesn’t make her feel better. Already, his body has shut down scent production. The last memory of his scent she’ll have is the memory of his fear.
She takes his unresponsive hand in hers, uncaring that the doctor is still in the room. The already abounding rumours do not matter now.
Any hope of comfort she’d thought she’d find from the action dies in his limp fingers. She feels as if she has already killed him.
She leaves the room without another word. She already knows that she will never see him again.
There are more meetings in the next three days, more than Eva can count. She does not sleep. She wouldn’t have been able to anyways.
Oleysa corners her after one of them, which is no surprise. Eva had not missed how she’d seen Ryland and Eva sneak off after karaoke night.
“Captain Yao and I will take good care of him,” Oleysa promises her. “He won’t be alone.”
Oleysa is an alpha, Yao a beta. It is enough for a pack, though small. Omegas need packs, more than any other dynamic. DuBois and Shapiro had both been betas, to try and avoid pack isolation sickness as much as possible. That was not a concern they could allow themselves to carry any more.
“Thank you,” Eva says, even though it is a small consolation. Oleysa pats her on the shoulder and lets her go.
Carl avoids her. She is grateful for that. He and Ryland were not involved in the nature Eva and Ryland were, but he and Ryland were close, close enough to form a pack bond. She does not want to confide in him. It is easier to carry the pain of her personal betrayal alone.
She takes charge of deciding which items Ryland should have in his chest, but while she sends assistants to buy shirts and print photos, there is one task she leaves to herself. Ryland’s small dorm has been left untouched since the last time she was there, a day before he was put under. She beelines to his closet and throws open the door, revealing the nest he’d built there.
It’s an unruly beast, filled with blankets and shirts and a few pairs of pants. Many of them are from people Eva never knew, scents long gone. More of them are from her, jackets and shirts and even her favourite bra, that Ryland stole and she never asked him to give back.
There is no nesting space on the ship. There had been no need to make one, and now there is no time. Ryland will have to make a nook for himself somewhere, if he is able to find any comfort for himself inside those metal walls.
She looks at the nest. She can count how many hours she spent here, painfully aware of how much she could be better utilizing her time and yet unable to make herself leave. When she closes her eyes, she can remember the heat of Ryland’s body against hers as she ran her hands up his side, picturing where this might go, one day far from then, when she could finally rest and build something just for herself. A silly dream, fading faster then Ryland's stale scent in the air.
She unrolls one of the scent-sealing bags she brought with her and gets to work.
Years later, when Ryland stumbles upon the bag, he is hit with a scent that he cannot recall, but brings him comfort all the same.