Chapter Text
Brendon clicks his tongue with annoyance when an insistent knocking on the door of his office distracts him from the paper he's reading. He glances at the clock: his shift officially finished half an hour prior, he would already be home if not for those stupid fucking forms. When he accepted the chief position he didn't expect to be literally submerged by so many useless documents forcing him to go home later and later every day.
Well, he can only hope this person won't waste much more of his time.
First thing first, he rapidly checks that the scent-blocking patches on the side of his neck and inside his wrists are still sticking to his skin. When those things were first introduced on the market it was almost a tragedy for him and others with difficulties in understanding emotions and intentions. Pheromones were an easy way to figure it all out, a much more direct and clear way of communicating, even though they make big crowds potentially nauseating. He still dislikes those patches, but he has to admit that at least they don't interfere with his work that much. As a surgeon his patients are mostly knocked out with anesthesia: not a lot of communication to do anyway -thank God-.
“It's open.”
He says without giving a shit about the obvious irritation in his tone, but when he sees a man entering with a matching frown he gets just a little bit curious. The badge says he's also a doctor, however he doesn't recognize those unruly curls nor those tired blue eyes. Nope, that man definitely isn't from his department.
“Sorry for the intrusion. I'm from the ER, Dennis Whitaker.”
Fuck, that doesn’t sound good.
“Just wanted to give a heads up: today was the tenth time we worked on a patient together and exactly like previously, your attitude made me and my coworkers uncomfortable. I will go to HR if this thing persists, doctor Park.”
Brendon feels the blood in his veins instantly starting to boil and for a moment he stands still with wide eyes, incapable of believing what his ears have just heard. There's no way he just said that, who the fuck does he thinks he is?!
Maybe if he wasn't still stuck at work on an almost empty stomach surrounded by too much paperwork he would feel intrigued, maybe even proud of this doctor for having the guts to come to him. But unfortunately, Brendon is in fact still stuck at work on an almost empty stomach surrounded by too much paperwork.
“Listen, I have no idea who you are, but I'm sure you're not the temporary substitute for Robinavich. What you're doing by coming here to whine is not only annoying, but against the hierarchy. If you have to cry about how I do my job, go to your superior and they will come to me.”
He says, sure that it will be sufficient to put an end to that absurd conversation. However the man in front of him clears his throat without ever lowering his head.
“Doctor Park, I'm doing you a favor by coming here instead of making an official complaint.”
This time Brendon really can't keep himself from chuckling almost hysterically. He gets up from his chair, circling the table with a predatory-like walk, a shark getting closer to his prey, until he's properly face to face with this mysterious doctor Whitaker. He's a lot shorter than him, but well-built, and Brendon towers over him with his usual authoritarian Alpha approach, eyes as cold as ice. Still, Whitaker doesn’t move if not to tilt his head up, maintaining eye contact as if Brendon wasn’t currently trying to kill him with a glare.
“Is that so? Why, you think people don't already know about my attitude? They don't care about it, not when I'm the best ortho surgeon they could ever have in this hospital.”
What he says is nothing more than the truth: people don't give a shit about his personality, the only important thing is being able to save the patients. And Brendon is so good at doing that, that they even made him chief of his department. Well, it was also because he is an Alpha and there still are some stereotypes about secondary gender. Born to lead, people say.
Despite being looked down with such an icy gaze, Whitaker's determined expression still doesn't falter, but when he speaks again, he's more cautious.
“Believe me, they will care if the complaint is coming from me, doctor Park.”
Stunned is the only appropriate adjective to describe how Brendon feels at this moment. Meeting someone who will talk back is already an extremely rare event, but that someone being a younger, lower ranked doctor who isn't even from his department? This has never, never happened to him, not once.
His head tilts to the side, a deep wrinkle between his eyebrows while, for the first time, he actually pays attention to who he has in front of him. He studies those confident, but gentle eyes surrounded by long eyelashes, those soft-looking lips closed into a thin line, the patches positioned more on the back of his neck instead of on the sides, the buff physique that can't hide the way his hips are a little wider that usual for a man— he shivers.
“You're an Omega.”
Omegas in healthcare are incredibly rare: like all the high stress workplaces, hospitals are usually avoided by the secondary gender that is affected by pheromones the most. Even the more advanced scent-blockers nowadays don't work that well with Omegas and their incredibly sharp noses, so they can still partially smell everything through the patches, which is both a blessing and a curse. Yes, they can immediately sense any type of emotional state, however getting overwhelmed is a risk always around the corner.
And places like the ER? Those are literally torture, a constant tornado of pheromones belonging to desperate people in pain -maybe even on the verge of death-, families panicking or angry after waiting too long and health workers close to burnout who suddenly become aware of the fact that they're losing their patients in front of their eyes.
For a patient it means spending hours in distress due to the pheromones of the people around them before getting to go back home or to a quieter department once they get seen. But someone working there everyday, twelve hours a day? That’s badass. Or, more likely, just masochism.
The anger he's feeling towards the man in front of him diminishes just a little in favor of genuine admiration. It takes some balls to choose that career as an Omega, he can't deny it, and it takes some even bigger balls to come to an Alpha talking like that and maintaining eye contact while his pheromones are -more than probably- all over the place.
“Yes, I am an Omega. Which means I am perfectly capable of smelling how your attitude has a direct emotional impact on my coworkers, especially the students. We're a teaching hospital, doctor Park. It's our duty to create not only a welcoming environment for our patients, but also a place where people can learn without stressing even more than they already are. And it's my job especially to make sure there are no bad apples in the box.”
Being compared to a rotting fruit should be deeply humiliating, however it unleashes a wave of goosebumps all over Brendon's arms and lower back.
Whitaker being an Omega changes everything. It means that in front of him there isn't a frustrated Beta envious of his genetic superiority, nor an overly-confident Alpha trying to fight him for the top of the pyramid, but someone who does in fact have the authority to call him out and scold him and, apparently, isn’t scared to do so.
Because while Alphas have the innate instinct to protect from external dangers, Omegas have the same instinct towards the threats hiding inside the pack. If Alphas are focused on avoiding physical harm, Omegas pay close attention to stress and tensions between the members of the group. They are the ones making sure that everything works as smoothly as a well oiled bunch of interlocking gears, getting rid of the defective ones that could possibly make the entire mechanism collapse on itself.
And in this case -even though a medical team isn’t a proper pack- by following his sharp nose Whitaker has identified Brendon as the cog out of place. If he goes to HR, they will not ignore him.
“Seriously?”
A singular, uncomfortable chuckle escapes his mouth and Whitaker in front of him frowns a little more, probably noticing a shift in his only partially hidden scent. He takes a step further, entering Brendon's personal space like nothing.
“Yes. Maybe to you it seems like simple, blatant incompetence when we stutter or repeat things or ask “stupid” questions, but it is not the case. It's a response to the distress you are causing, doctor Park. And even if it wasn't, ignorance is still part of being a student or a new doctor.”
Whitaker's words are politely professional, still they're as sharp as the fangs of a feral Alpha and for just a second Brendon's confidence vacillates.
“I even had to scold one of our students for avoiding an ortho related injury because today you were on shift and he didn’t want to be in the same room as you. And I think you know as well as I do the possible consequences of delayed care.”
Brendon swallows hard, jaw clenched shut while he tries to not show any sigh of uneasiness, even though he logically already knows that Whitaker can smell everything.
Shit, why does he feel like he wouldn’t be able to talk back if he wanted to? How is it possible that a random doctor from a different department and at least ten years younger than him can make him feel like a child getting scolded?
“I just want the best for everyone, both patients and staff. Which means we have to find a way for you to not treat us so harshly.”
Whitaker's tone is still firm, but there is a different light in his eyes, almost pleased with the way Brendon has gone quiet.
“So if you have any kind of request like giving you more space around the bed, just tell me and I'll make sure us in the ER will do exactly that. In exchange, you will stop shutting us down and looking at us with superiority. And if it doesn’t work, I will go to HR.”
And then he finally closes his mouth, waiting patiently for Brendon to answer him.
The surgeon shifts uncomfortably, crossing his arms as a defensive mechanism. Which doesn't make sense, he's a fucking Alpha. But Whitaker still manages to make him viscerally uneasy in a way Brendon can't explain. It's not annoyance, it's something deeper, hotter.
His cheeks grow warmer and red, his breathing labored.
“Just— don't get in the way.”
He blurts out through his teeth in the end, jaw closed tight and eyes still locked into Whitaker’s, blue melting into blue. The Omega looks at him with his head slightly tilted to the side, probably busy studying his expression or sniffing his pheromones like a hound. It lasts only a couple of seconds.
“Ok. Then good night doctor Park.”
Whitaker bows his head politely, but not submissive, with a half crooked smile before turning and exiting the room like nothing happened.
Only then Brendon inhales deeply, feeling a sudden rush of adrenaline flooding his body and giving him goosebumps as the tension in the air disappears. Not once during his forty-one years of life has someone who wasn't hierarchically superior or another Alpha stood in front of him like that. It still stings and it should make him feel furious, but on the contrary the adrenaline makes him smile. A proper, shark-like ear to ear grin, almost maniac.
So there is someone out there who can still stand up to him instead of passively nodding along. And it’s an Omega with doe-like eyes, soft curls, muscular tanned arms and a sharp tongue. It's thrilling.
He returns to his chair, ignoring the document he was reading before Whitaker knocked at his door, and he takes his phone instead. He knows that it’s late, but he also knows that his call will not be ignored.
“Since when is there an Omega in the ER?”
He asks immediately after hearing Garcia picking up exactly as expected, to which she responds with an annoyed sigh. Sometimes he genuinely asks himself how it is possible for her to still stand him.
-Good evening to you too, Shark. My day went well, thank you so much for asking. What about yours?-
He rolls his eyes, fidgeting with a pen to let out some of the adrenaline in his system.
“Garcia.”
-If you're talking about Whitaker, he started his rotation with Pittfest and came back as a resident at the beginning of this month. Why?-
So that's the reason why he has never noticed him: Brendon started to visit the ER consistently only after becoming chief a couple of months ago when Whitaker still wasn't working there.
“He just came to scold him as if it was my mom. He's annoying.”
That's only a half-truth, but Garcia doesn't have to know about his business. She laughs.
-Ah, don't tell me. He even stole my toothbrush once.-
He frowns for a moment, memories of a similar story coming back to him. It all soon clicks into place.
“He is the roommate of your fling?”
They usually don’t talk a lot about their respective lives outside of the hospital, but when Garcia drinks a couple of beers more than usual, she becomes a lot more chatty and Brendon can do nothing but listen. That’s how he knows about her fooling around with a Beta whose roommate is apparently not only a funk enthusiast and thief of toothbrushes, but also a determined Omega ER doctor.
-Yep, so what did he say to you?-
“Nothing that concerns you. ‘night.”
He doesn’t even wait for an answer, ending the call before tossing the phone on the table with a deep, frustrated inhale.
Damn, that Whitaker sure is special. Not only is he an Omega in the Pitt, he chose to stay there after dealing with a mass shooting on his first day and he came to confront him after only a couple of weeks since he started to work? That's even more badass than Brendon previously thought. It's a shame that he decided to work in the ER: it would probably have been a worthy colleague on the surgery team, someone he would actually like to work with.
But Brendon still has to finish scanning through the documents that are on his desk, so he momentarily forces himself to push those thoughts to the side, even though it’s incredibly difficult to forget those fierce blue eyes.