Chapter Text
“Ollie? You picked a hell of a night to show up.”
Ollie accepted the handshake before he was fully certain who’d spoken, wincing at the firm grip. He shook once, twice, then resolved himself to making small talk.
“Danny,” Ollie said, forcing a smile at the other alpha. Their hands dropped at the same time. “Why’s that?”
“Got some VIPs,” Danny said, wiggling his eyebrows. He glanced over his shoulder at the center of the ballroom, where attendees were beginning to congregate. “I mean, other than you.”
“If I’m not a VIP in Gotham, that’s okay with me,” Ollie said, sniffing slightly at the odd hint of deference that escaped Danny’s sloppy scent hold.
It wasn’t exactly something to be proud of. And he certainly didn’t want to make himself a target in a city known for being overly-invested in its glitterati. And not in a good way.
“Yeah, you’re always been pretty good about that kind of thing.” Danny shrugged one shoulder, dislodging his oversized tux slightly. “Some alphas, they get a big ego about coming in here. Need to be the biggest knothead in the joint. Especially the young ones, huh? Not you, though.”
“Thanks,” Ollie said, politely skimming the nearby attendees for a potential excuse to mingle. “Actually, you know what. I didn’t grab a drink on my way in here. Want one?”
Danny glanced at the bar in the corner, making a predictable face. “You know I don’t really drink anymore.”
“Right,” Ollie said, having remembered exactly that before he’d asked.
“We’re getting too old for that kind of shit, Ollie.” Danny’s massive hand clapped him on the shoulder, depositing some of his clammy alpha scent on Ollie’s collar. “I’m old. I feel old. I look old, too. You don’t, but I imagine that’s a trade secret too.”
“Just meditation and clean eating,” Ollie said. Danny rolled his eyes, backing away -- and, thankfully, taking his overbearing scent with him.
“Nice seeing you, man. Tell Dinah I said hey, yeah?”
For lack of anything better to do, Ollie started making his way over to the bar in the corner. He fended off a few polite welcomes on the way there, feeling eyes shift away from his face as soon as he tried to return the favor of eye contact.
It was still an uncomfortable feeling years later: the slip-slide of eyes away from his face. The held-back scents as he approached, some bizarre deference to who he was. Not deference -- capitulation, in the hope he wouldn’t take his anger out on them in turn.
Ollie kept his eyes low, not giving them the chance to react as he split through the crowd. Scents battered his nose as they often did in Gotham; the alphas and omegas in this city were more restrained with their scents, likely out of necessity, but that adherence seemed to lose steam in larger social events.
Every alpha needs to be the biggest knothead in the joint, Ollie thought, chewing on Danny’s phrasing. And every omega needs to let the whole room know they’re available. Jesus.
He was getting too old for this. Too old for anything scent-based, even though his nose was more of an asset on missions than he’d ever let on. The problem with using his nose and instincts on missions and patrol was the trade off; training it to be sensitive enough, turning it off in situations like these was nearly impossible.
“What can I get you, sir?”
Ollie met the eyes of the bartender -- a female beta -- waiting for the inevitable flinch. Predictably, as soon as he focused on her, her eyes went to the left, then immediately down to her bottles.
“Whiskey,” Ollie said, tamping down on the irritated note threatening to break free into his own scent. “I don’t care which kind. Neat.”
As the bartender reached down, grabbing a glass, Ollie stuffed a hundred in the tip bar in silent apology for his lack of manners.
The bar was as good as any staging location. Despite scanning the crowd several times, Ollie couldn’t spot the supposed VIPs, though Danny’s definition of the word was likely vastly different from his own. The man thought social media influencers should have weekly facetime with the Mayor.
Somehow, even at sixty, Oliver Queen was still at the beck and call of his executive staff. And Stacey’s instructions had been, in no uncertain terms, to mingle like you’ve never mingled before in your life, Queen.
Queen Industries was his, but some days, it certainly didn’t feel like it. People stared through him, seeing his board or his profits instead of the man. Worse, some looked at him and saw nothing but an alpha standing in the way, easily plied with omegas or a worthy enough challenge.
At least Ollie could say he’d never really fallen for either. Dinah was an exception, but as Ollie often told people -- she was an exception in every case. An omega who didn’t give a shit about natural order or dynamics. Who looked him dead in the eye and called him on his bullshit, alpha instincts be damned.
“Queen?” someone asked to his left, just as the bartender’s hand deposited his drink on the counter.
“Hey,” Ollie said, nodding at Hugh. Another alpha; Stacey was going to kill him if he didn’t mingle with anyone else. “How’s it going, man?”
Hugh had no issues looking him in the eye, at least. Like Danny, he left more than a generous helping of his scent on Ollie’s hand as they shook. He was a weaker alpha, and often tried to make up for it in scent. Sour, almost milky scent. Like milk that was about to turn.
“Doing good. Can’t complain, you know?”
Ollie sipped his whiskey, humming. “Yeah, that’s how it goes.”
“Didn’t expect to see you here,” Hugh confessed. He leaned over the counter, setting his empty glass on the bartender’s garnish station. “Thanks, hon.”
If this was a prediction for how the rest of his night was going to go, Ollie was going to stuff the toothpicks behind the bar into his eyes. Danny, Hugh, all the other alphas in the room -- it was so tiresome. The scent-throwing. The meaningless small talk as they flexed at each other, eyeing height and musculature.
What have we come to? Ollie wondered to himself.
“You don’t usually make it to Gotham,” Hugh continued, like Ollie hadn’t been standing there ignoring the conversational barb.
“You don’t usually make it to Star City,” Ollie bit back. Hugh snorted, accepting the point with a slightly-curled lip.
“Fair enough. What brings your ass to Gotham, then?”
Ollie didn’t even bother trying to respond to that question. He swallowed the rest of his drink, set the glass on the counter like a decent human, and tapped it once. “Nice seeing you, Hugh.”
“Yeah,” Hugh said as he walked away. His shoulders puffed up slightly, like an afterthought. “Real charming personality you got there, Ollie. Never disappoints.”
When Ollie was almost out of earshot, Hugh took a parting shot:
“How’s that omega of yours doing, anyway?”
The abrupt wave of challenging scent hit him a second later, like a slap across the back. Ollie froze, thought don’t do this to the sickening feeling of anger rising in his gut, and then -- in a fit of sudden instinct -- turned on his heel.
“Oh yeah, sore subject?” Hugh asked. A small crowd had formed within seconds of his weak alpha challenge, heads snapping between the two of them like they were watching a tennis match. “No need to get all huffy, man. It’s just an omega.”
In hindsight, it was embarrassing how quickly Ollie lost his cool. It wasn’t one small fight. It was the papers sitting on his desk. It was his empty apartment filled with the stale scents of his ruts that kept coming, even at his age. It was Stacey’s nonstop micromanaging and texts. It was the whiskey. It was --
Before he could do anything more than take a step forward, balancing his weight for a glaringly obvious punch, a new scent burned in his nose. So painfully alpha, it whited out his thoughts for a few seconds.
Ollie took a short breath through his mouth, holding it for as long as he could. When the scent cleared, the alpha had already stepped past him, putting his body in between the two of them.
Oh, Ollie thought, dazed. That’s…
There was a bizarre feeling of relief, of all things, working its way down his spine. This new alpha wasn’t a threat to him, but he didn’t know how he knew that. It didn’t make any sense, either. Because he certainly was a threat. Every cell in Ollie’s body knew that.
And yet. That scent. There was a shred of something Ollie would almost call familiar, if he could parse the scent beyond his own profound relief and awe. It was just as subtle as it was prominent; deep, rich tones of the same kind of whiskey Ollie kept locked up for a once-in-a-lifetime win. The scent rolled out of him in impressively-controlled waves, ebbing with a whispered promise of more, should need be.
“Hey,” Hugh said to the strange alpha, backing up half a step. His eyes lifted to the alpha’s face, holding there in a silent challenge.
Despite the growing crowd, the new alpha didn’t capitalize on the foothold he’d achieved. Instead, he rolled back onto his heels, stretching to his full height in one casual motion. Not puffing out his chest, per se, but not hiding the possibility of it.
He was a redhead, Ollie realized. Not quite Roy's orange-adjacent shade, but in the same family. Unlike Roy, this alpha’s hair actually laid flat, gelled back in thick, glossy waves that would make even an omega jealous.
When he spoke, the assembled crowd leaned forward. Despite the ongoing chatter in the room around them, the alpha’s voice projected effortlessly.
“You really think that’s a good idea?”
Hugh chewed on his lower lip. It was an anxious motion, meant to buy time, but it made him look increasingly uncertain. “So you’re defending him?”
“I’m not defending anyone,” the alpha said. “I’m talking about the scene you’re making right now. On purpose.”
After a moment, Hugh’s eyes -- reluctantly -- dropped to the alpha’s chin. He took a second step back, visibly abandoning whatever stupid alpha challenge he’d been trying to start.
“Whatever. Not like it’s your turf, either.”
That seemed to amuse the alpha. His shoulders lifted in a silent chuckle. “Yeah. That’s what you think.”
Someone patted Ollie on the shoulder. He made the mistake of looking in their direction, losing sight of his defender as the alpha slid back into the crowd.
“Wait,” Ollie said to whoever was trying to get his attention. “I’m just going to go say thanks.”
“Ollie,” someone said to his left. “I don’t think that’s a good id--”
The alpha wasn’t hard to track through the crowd, but he’d covered impressive ground in just a few seconds. He was tall, which helped pick him out of the other attendees, and the red hair was a dead-giveaway. Even without visual confirmation, Ollie could have tracked that subtle whiskey-scent halfway across Gotham if needed.
Ah, Ollie thought to himself as the alpha reached out to a man engrossed in a circle of conversation, slinging his hand around their waist. They always find their omega afterward. Typical.
The omega in question was nearly, if not equally, as tall as the alpha. He gave the group an awkward smile as his alpha -- mate? -- tugged him away, clearly mouthing excuses as he did so.
Ollie circled closer, eyes narrowed. The omega didn’t seem in distress, despite the more-than-abrupt change of scenery. He used their minimal height difference to his advantage, leaning back and looking up at the alpha with wide eyes.
He was pretty, even for an omega. Thick black hair and lashes, blue eyes that leaned ever so slightly green. His tux was in the omega style, one worn slightly looser at the belly to accommodate a potential pregnancy. Or to promote the potential of pregnancy to a prospective alpha.
As Ollie closed the remaining distance between his would-be savior, the alpha tensed, then relaxed all at once. Ollie had no doubt that an alpha as strong as him had heard -- and smelled -- him coming. What was surprising was the sudden feeling of the omega’s eyes on his face, drilling into his cheek with an intensity that felt blistering at twenty feet.
Holding eye contact with Ollie, the omega leaned forward, pressing his nose to the side of the alpha’s jaw. It was a typically submissive gesture, but in the moment, it felt borderline possessive.
“Hi,” Ollie said, coming to a stop in front of the couple. He nodded at the omega, addressing him instead of the alpha’s tensed back. “I just wanted to say thanks to your mate for the save back there. Hugh was just being an--”
The alpha turned around, releasing the hold on his omega’s waist. Ollie’s excuse died somewhere in his throat.
“...Roy.”