Chapter Text
The first thing Gerald noticed when he closed the front door was the smell of browned butter, and then the muted bubbles coming from the pasta pot. He took off his shoes and went forward and hugged Marianne from behind, the specific pressure of which was received by her shifting into him, not a hug returned, exactly, but a recipient identified and a hug honoured.
Hey, she greeted.
You’re home early.
Business was slow, and the long weekend and all.
Chicken Alfredo?
Shrimp, go take that jacket off and help me set the table.
He spent more than a moment in front of the mirror to try and undo the Eldredge knot from the morning without irreparably tearing the tie, but not before he spent a few moments admiring the handiwork. He was very gentle with the knot, and so took more time than she did making it.
The living room smelled of the crust of a fried egg, and a hint of garlic from the toaster oven. He set the jute placemats onto the coffee table, then pulled two napkins from the bamboo box and placed the cutlery on top, which for today was just a fork, but the presentation was its own meditation. Marianne could be heard cutting the flame, and he uncorked a bottle of white Rhône for the two actually stemmed glasses in the entire house. He preferred Chardonnay, but she insisted he grab a Rhône on his way back from work.
The remote was in the drawer where it always lived and the TV was tuned to a documentary about water buffalos in a province neither of them could pronounce. The garlic bread being made from the neighbour’s starter.
The shrimp had a crunch to it, he figured it was not from the grocery store.
A water buffalo, as it turned out, could be the economic center for an entire family, and in the unpronounceable province it is a common dowry. He noticed a quiet in her, a quality of calmness that carried notes of resolution. It was the same quiet he had grown familiar with: the hand held before her meeting with his parents, the same calmness before she told him about wanting a Masters. She smelled like slightly greasy hair and the lingering notes of her conditioner, which she forbade him from using.
He held her at the shoulder in the usual way and did not force the fermentation, which never took long.
South of the desert, hardy goat breeds have lived with the local population for centuries. And provide much-needed protein by their milk. Of which, some is converted into clarified butter and cheese for long-term storage.
The dishwasher rumbled, and there was a bag of chips set unceremoniously on the coffee table. The narrator mumbled something about Yaks. A soft voice whispered from his right sleeve.
I’ve been thinking about the bite.
I see.
I want it, I think.
The yak is a very hardy creature and the mountain people use every part of it. Its butter is a staple at their altars.
Okay, he said as the herder ruffled at his animal’s snout.
They drifted off underneath the couch duvet.
He set the tablet down to help her with the groceries, along with his reading glasses. He was just reading an anatomy textbook about the difference in blood vessels and fatty deposits between betas and omegas, and that the beta layer is significantly thinner. She put the milk away.
They were out of the regular biscuits, I went ahead and bought the seaweed flavoured ones.
Did you get extra bacon? We were running low after having Ksenia and her husband over.
Oh dear.
No matter, long as we have eggs.
I could use a few more of your scrambles. Just make sure you use the chives first.
She kept the bag of cold things and stocked the fridge, and he concerned himself with the pantry.
A leaflet appeared that night, on his side of the nightstand. It was from the local health authority.
Safer Biting
…
The necks of beta individuals do not have the fatty deposit to absorb the bite injury, and the fat cells that are present are not able to react with the secretions within alpha saliva. Beta individuals looking to be bitten should consult a GP before a bite takes place. Site sterilization is the best way to protect your health, see page 3 for instructions and recommended supplies
…
I’m trying a new knot, it's called a Trinity.
A Windsor will do, poppet; get it tied and hurry yourself back to bed.
Oh, but the Trinity is—
…Marianne
A pout.
…Yes, alpha.
Now, just you stay in bed, and call me if you need anything. A kiss on the forehead and a click on the front door. He smelled like warm port but with an unusually sharp acidic note.
The Sun carried on with its march across the sky, and then a doorbell chime.
What remained of the carbonara cooled and the two women had moved to Ksenia’s babka. The countertop smelled of yeast and butter.
You do look a bit different from the last time, what’s changed? Marianne asked her guest.
Guess.
Hmmm, eyebrows look like what they always looked like. Is it the hair?
What? No way.
Well, how am I supposed to know?
Want to know the answer? Ksenia offered mercy.
Sure.
Fillers, at the cheeks, look but don’t touch.
Oh, and wow. It does suit you.
Friedrich said I’d look stunning with it, and for once he was actually right.
Does he still wear that caterpillar on his face? The dishwasher took two shoves to click under Marianne's hand
It is now a butterfly, thank you for the trimmers, but he just won’t get rid of it. And how is your Masters going?
Babe, you should know by now how bad of an idea it is to ask a grad student how their degree is going.
Mea culpa.
But yes, it is, in fact, going, which really helps with the winter season slowing everything in the hotel.
Manager still giving you shit?
I have come to understand it as weather.
They are lucky to have you, really.
Sure doesn’t feel like it sometimes.
But look around, you whipped up carbonara in what? fifteen minutes? My loaf took that long just for me to knead.
They are very different dishes.
No matter, look at the plate itself, and the entire living room, even I don’t nest this well, and they have you managing a soulless complex.
Now you’re just embarrassing me.
Really, I think once you get that paper, you have better futures anywhere but there.
Ksenia, you know this isn't a mock trial, right?
Well, you pick up things in the office — but I digress, when are you going to come over and whip the sorry condo into shape?
Depends, will I also have to get Friedrich out of the rack suits?
I don’t think I will be able to repay that.
Marianne hugged her at the door, with her right arm bent at an unusual angle to accommodate the babka tin.
Come over soon.
Ksenia had her hair up in an auburn claw, and half of a faded bite scar could be seen peeking above her collar.
Once upon a time, there was a town, and in the town lived a baker’s son called Andrew and a fuller’s daughter called Beatrice. They first met each other when they were playing in the garden of their mothers’ friend. He smelled like raisin and parmesan and quite like how the girls who smelled smelled, only they smelled more often of magnolia and honeysuckle and pears heavy on the branch. He did not have his father’s strong arms, and made pastries while his brothers kneaded.
When the towns boys would tease and fight him, her footsteps became loud and the boys would scatter, and when she took him away she smelled of a sour burn.
When he became a young man, he would sneak into the oven half a dozen of his tarts and put them in a basket and bring it to Beatrice. He liked how she smelled of smoke and wool and a hint of wine when she ate his tarts. It was but a little dough and a dash of preserves, so Andrew’s father did not mind. He had realized that a girl like Beatrice would make Andrew happy.
Beatrice had quick hands and the mill grew busy, Andrew grew into patience and made pastries for the lords and for the festivals.
The lord mused about bringing him to the castle so he could better bake for the nobles.
It was her seventeenth winter when the fire in her whispered too loud in her ear, the smell of Andrew in his butter and cinnamon roiled in her mind and she could hear in her ear a plead to bite him and never again fear his flight.
Beatrice was a smart girl, and went to a midwife to ask for her wisdom.
The midwife turned to vinegar and held her shoulders, she said the following.
My heart, the boy smells of butter and raisins because he lives with his brothers in the bakery, his scent is not his but of his home. I have seen the boy and he does not have the warm blood that overflows into blooming honeysuckle and freshly made malt. If you wound him at the neck, his cool blood would fight the wound and grow cold and die.
She told Andrew of what the midwife said. And Andrew in his love answered thus:
I would rather be yours and sick than unscathed and away in the keep. Bite me tonight and grant me your union.
By candlelight she was in his room, and he held her hand as her jaw neared his life, she smelled of the blacksmith’s kiln.
She poured wine on the shallow cut, by morning the midwife had come, and lathered the wound in honey.
He is of cooler blood, the guest is unbidden and the search will sear.
Andrew lied to Beatrice and said it did not hurt at all.
By the second night the cut was pink and warm, and the midwife set her strongest herbs.
By Sunday he could not stand, and by Wednesday he was cold.
The hollow at Beatrice’s throat stayed tender, and in the dry seasons it would chafe with every swallow. She wore a high collar for the rest of her days.
My heart, be not like Andrew and Beatrice.
Do not let them love you that much.
The car was quiet, in a way that they had both become familiar with. The radio mumbled something about the sun-drenched fields in the northern islands. Marianne could never say it out loud, but she liked it sometimes when Gerald has the car and she is at home. The poison makes the dose and the dose had been carefully titrated.
She parked it underneath the mall, and reached over and stashed the sunglasses on the passenger side.
The itinerary was short, but they could always go longer. The carbonara was filling and she considered skipping dinner that night, but the thought did not survive contact with the idea of a rack of ribs.
The clinic refused the mall’s pure white tiles, and instead had a softer almost linen grey to the continuous flooring. Gerald told the nurse about the consultation booked earlier that day over the phone. And Marianne concerned herself with the other leaflets there for the taking. Half of which was about some new miracle drug to ask your doctor about, the other half was worth the readers’ time.
If you would proceed to room number seven.
These clinics were always bigger on the inside.
Hello, Gerald and Marianne, right? the GP asked.
Yes. She answered.
And the file said we’re here for a pre-bite consultation, is that accurate?
Mhmm.
Now, I have Marianne on here as a beta, is that correct?
Yes, that is correct. Marianne thought the GP smelled like burning sage.
Now, are you two aware that the bite won’t work the same as if Marianne is an Omega? That a bond won’t form and the higher risk to her health?
We are aware, yes.
I see, so, Gerald, before you bite down, please do make sure that Marianne’s hair is away from the side that you will bite down on, usually, just having her hair moved to one side will be enough. But, for her I would recommend having it in a bun just so disinfection is easier.
And, right, disinfection. Why does the leaflet not mention isopropyl alcohol?
Alcohol is harsher on the wound, and in cases like these we want to make sure that Marianne’s immune system is not additionally stressed.
I see. Marianne interjected.
And, Marianne, you would also want to drink plenty of water in the twenty-four hours before the bite occurs, if you press on your muscles and it does not immediately bounce back, you should tell Gerald to not bite. And Gerald, please do make sure to disinfect your mouth before you bite, and to wash the wound with saline before dressing it. That is non-negotiable for a beta woman.
Yes, ma’am.
The GP pressed a few buttons on her computer, and the printer spat out a shopping list.
Give the prescription to your chemist, there is one around the corner, and follow the instructions on the second page. You two will be fine.
Understood.
That leaflet in your hand already lists several support resources, so I did not print page three, don’t hesitate to contact them or the front desk should you or Marianne feel distressed afterwards.
Thank you, doctor.
Marianne noted that the chemist’s tiles were matte whereas the mall’s own was glossy. And then realized that Gerald’s hand was guiding her at the hip.
For a Sunday afternoon, the place was surprisingly quiet. She said to his right sleeve something about the barbeque joint.
[x] Antibiotics
[x] Gauze
[x] Medical tape
[x] Mouthwash
[x] Saline
[x] Steri-strips
[x] Squeeze bottle
[x] chocolate
[x] advil
[x] a novel of ill repute
[ ] the not-seaweed biscuits
The documentary was saying something about seabirds flying for days to find food, and he had noticed her quiet back into the room. Which was a shame, because he had wanted to tell her how wonderful she had made the ramen with the leftover brisket chunks. Beneath her conditioner he could smell a hint of fear.
The noodles were really nice.
And thank you for helping with the garnish.
The narrator spent this minute describing a handful of birds on a cliffside.
We don’t have to, you know? He blinked.
I know.
They rarely flap their wings, instead relying on air currents to carry them.
I want to.
It is going to hurt.
She burrowed into his chest.
I know that too.
He held her tighter.
The birds, as it turned out, navigate the globe by listening to sounds beyond human perception.
The mouthwash irritated his tongue, but he paid it no mind. Slosh it front, back, left side, right. Make sure you get every part of the mouth. He double-checked that the label does in fact say anti-bacterial. She was next to him and twisting her hair into a bun.
He had grown used to the ponytails, and the hair down when they were home.
Gargle, the back of his mouth feels like static.
She took the liberty with the mouthwash, even though she usually never did.
She sat at the edge of the bed, waiting. Looking at her nape Gerald’s eyes searched for hers.
Marianne tried to suppress the shiver that had come up when the chlorhexidine swab touched her. Her hand searched and found his and both were cold from the washbasin.
We can just go to bed.
A squeeze.
Alright.
He bade her turn around. His other hand found a cheek. The specific pressure of which was received by her shifting into him, a caress received.
You can kiss.
I have to make sure the bacteria—
That’s why I rinsed too.
She tasted of menthol.
He had been taught, inside of locker rooms, how this was supposed to go.
You touch the omega, you create submission, you feel a throb in the hollow of your throat.
You get them soft, you let their head fall to the side, your jaws meet their neck.
Nowhere did it mention antiseptics, nor did it ever require painkillers.
His hand was still on her cheek.
And his other hand felt the ring on her finger.
He had hoped that that was enough.
And her right hand on his sweater’s sternum, her left leading his and depositing it on the inside of her thigh.
There really is no need, Marianne.
yes, there is.
It doesn’t matter with a beta.
yes, it does.
His other hand found her waist, and arranged her facing away from the nightstand with the first aid kit.
She smelled like antiseptic and freshly conditioned hair and a little bit like herself.
He did his best to be gentle with her, as he always did. He made sure her neck did not touch the bedding, because the bedding had not been disinfected and he could not bear to see her shiver again.
Marianne was quiet, with a quality of compliance that was always performed with a pout but was tonight paired with an averted face. It was not a quiet he had grown familiar with, and there were no examples he could point to.
She invited his hand beneath her t-shirt, and steeled her lips at the familiar fingers.
He wished that his throat would tighten faster.
Marianne burned from the inside, and remembered Andrew and his cool blood.
gerald?
hey.
i love you so much.
i know, i know.
It was decided then, on the grounds of keeping her t-shirt clean of blood, that her shirt was to leave her for a moment, and Gerald whispered to her to lift her arms and he pulled it away and set it down next to her pillow.
It would have been cold for her, but the heating was turned up after they left the bathroom.
She did not smell like hyacinth interspersed with morning glory.
His right sleeve tickled her, though she did not let it show on her face.
She understood what the leaflet said, that the toxins in his spit won’t react with her, that it would not alter her brain chemistry, that it is best if both parties were fully capable since the wound management is more serious.
If asked, she would say she did it for him.
To let his nature occur on her.
Though it was also for her.
To make his nature occur on her.
Something like wax paper crinkled from his pocket, and a packet clumsily opened with one hand.
She turned away from his closing face.
marianne.
He was careful.