Chapter Text
Ilya Rozanov no longer existed.
The pretty woman across the desk from him, her scent marking her a Beta, asked his name again and he shrugged. He remembered it, of course. He guarded that memory along with his mother’s hands in his curls when he was tiny, the feeling of scoring his first goal when he was ten, and the intoxicating sensation of being named captain of the junior hockey team at his school the year he was fourteen.
Before his body had betrayed him.
The woman sighed and looked at the sheet of paper in front of her. “Do you consent to a medical exam? We have chaperones and Omega-only practitioners on staff for your comfort.”
Ilya flinched, inside. Outside, his face remained perfectly placid, but inside, the word exam made him want to curl into himself. “Yes, Ma’am,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “Whatever you wish.”
The woman frowned, but checked a box on the sheet of paper, then ran her finger down the page. “Do you have any questions for me? I really just need your name, though, please, Sir.”
Ilya’s gaze flicked up quickly, just enough to actually catch her pinched brows. Sir? He was no ‘sir.’ He was an Omega. ‘Sir’ belonged to him even less than his name did.
“Please?” she asked again, and he lowered his chin, deciding that even if she did say that they would not use that name, at least he was giving her what she asked for.
“I am Ilya,” he said.
Her smile was vibrant, so bright in fact that it shocked him into a momentary lowering of his guard. “Thank you, Ilya. It’s nice to meet you,” she said in a tone that sounded genuine even to him.
He was still turning that over in his head as he was led back to his room.
The next morning, the Beta woman appeared at the door of his room. “Breakfast, then your appointment is at nine am for your check-up. If all is well, we can discuss steps moving forward.”
Ilya stood and followed her out. He didn’t understand every word, but he got enough of the gist that he wasn’t surprised when they stepped into a room with white walls and many diagrams on the walls. They were in English, of course, and Ilya could not read most of them, but he did recognize some of the structures.
The tiny woman in scrubs offered a cheerful smile. “I’m Jinny! Let’s get your vitals, then we can have the provider come in. Did you want Petra to stay? Or do you prefer a clinic chaperone?”
Ilya glanced at the Beta woman. Had he known she was called Petra? He was used to not putting names to faces, but here it seemed like he would be expected to. “If Ms. Petra does not mind. Then she can give report.”
Jinny’s smile faltered for a moment, but then caught again, like a candle that was almost extinguished, but that had withstood the gust. “All right!” Her voice was high-pitched, almost as though she had inhaled helium, but not sharp or shrill. Ilya found himself willing to obey her simply because he wanted her voice to stay that way.
A small part of him knew that was stupid, but he was used to ignoring that voice. It hadn’t been right in many years.
Jinny collected his height, weight, temperature, blood pressure, and heart rate. The small clamp on his finger was odd, and he studied it while it measured whatever it was that it was measuring. It beeped cheerily after a moment, and Jinny smiled. “Very good, perfect oxygen saturation.”
Ilya offered a nod in return. “Thank you,” he said, because she had praised something.
“All righty! Dr. Connors will be in shortly, he’s just finishing up with another patient. Please sit tight.” She collected the tablet she had been carrying when she came in and let herself out of the room.
The Beta – Petra – smiled at Ilya from her seat in the corner. “I can step out for the exam, or I can stay,” she said.
Ilya looked at her.
Petra looked back, then took a deep breath. “Would you like me to stay in the room when Dr. Connors comes, or would you like me to wait in the hall?” she asked.
Ilya glanced away. “Stay,” he murmured, not looking at her.
Dr. Connors was approaching sixty, with weathered skin and an alarming number of smile lines. His eyes were deep brown, his hair was salt and pepper, and he had the build of someone who used to be muscular but who had been easing off the gym for a few years.
He greeted Petra when he came into the room, then looked at Ilya. “I’m Dr. Connors,” he said, holding out his hand for Ilya to shake.
Ilya accepted it after a moment of hesitation, but the expression on Dr. Connors’ face did not waver, nor did Petra’s. Dr. Connors shook it with a quick, firm grasp, neither too light nor too firm.
Ilya should have taken that as his cue to expect surprises, because every other moment of this exam was a new one. He was asked to raise or lower parts of his clothing, but never remove them. He was asked about pain, about his history, and about his preferences. When a small infection was detected in one of his toenails, he was informed of the process for treating it, and when he nodded his consent, he was given a shot to numb it before Dr. Connors did what was necessary.
By the time they were finished, Ilya was possibly more puzzled than when they arrived, though a small, treacherous part of him was beginning to feel compliant. Maybe, if they offered numbing for a toe, maybe they would also be lenient on discipline. Maybe they wouldn’t withhold food or beat him. He could handle spankings; they were nothing, and he did his best not to deserve them, but he was a male Omega. He was stronger-willed than most and sometimes acted out.
While he put his shoe back on, Dr. Connors offered him a small bag. “This is for your toe. You need to change the dressing twice a day, with some of the ointment.” He continued to explain what to watch for, and Ilya nodded. He didn’t understand every word, but he did understand basic wound care. He could use the gauze and the medicine, and he understood what an infection looked like.
“If it still hurts after forty-eight hours, please contact us, and I can write you an oral antibiotic prescription,” Dr. Connors said. “It was lovely to meet you.” He shook Ilya’s hand again and breezed out of the room.
Petra smiled at him. “Well, that wasn’t too bad,” she said. “One infected toe, but we have that fixed up.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” Ilya said. His toe was still numb, but he suspected it would begin to throb once the shot wore off. Part of the nail was now gone, and the pocket of infection had been thoroughly cleaned out. He knew his toe had hurt, but they did that sometimes. He ignored them, and eventually they stopped.
“I’ll get you some OTC pain killers for once the shot wears off,” Petra said, standing up. “And it’s lunchtime. Are you hungry?”
Ilya blinked.
She glanced at him, then nodded once. “Yes, it’s lunchtime,” she said again, and this time it wasn’t a question.
***
The next day, after Ilya had changed the bandage twice and been given three doses of small, very bright red pills that brought the throb in his toe down to a quiet thumping that matched his heartbeat, Petra again knocked on his door. “I have good news!”
Ilya followed her.
They went back to her office, and on the desk was a packet of paperwork.
“You are doing well, Ilya, and I have a proposition. Sometimes, when an Omega is handling their transition well, we offer them the opportunity to stay with a sponsor rather than live in the shelter. You get more real-world opportunities, more privacy, and it frees bedspace for those who are not handling the transition as well. Do you understand?”
Ilya understood. He was being sent away. He had been quiet and obedient and taken the pills and visited the doctor and still he was being sent away. “Where is sponsor?” he asked, because whether he wanted to go or not was not a real question.
Petra gestured to the stack of papers, and when Ilya picked them up, his eyes widened.
They were all written in Russian.
He lost control of his face for a moment, his jaw falling open. It had been so long since he’d seen the alphabet of his mother tongue that it took him a few seconds to even decipher what it said.
Agreement for Sponsorship for Omega Immigrants Seeking Asylum
“You will live with your sponsor, you will attend whatever appointments you need, and we will assist you in securing a Visa. The intake forms that we filled out the first night are a part of it, but in order for you to not need to go back to Russia, you need a long-term visa solution. You can stay based on your Omega status, but the paperwork takes time and in the meantime, you need a safe, stable place to live.”
Ilya looked at Petra. “I do not understand.”
She nodded. “You understand the word citizenship?”
He frowned. “Like the reason you live somewhere?”
“Kind of. And Russia is considered…” she paused, casting about for a word, and Ilya watched her closely. He hadn’t seen many people do this who were speaking in their native language already and it felt important. What she was saying was important, and he wanted to understand.
She took a deep breath. “Russia is considered unsafe for Omegas. Your own experiences play that out. Canada offers asylum citizenship for Omegas fleeing countries like that.”
Ilya pondered that. Russia was unsafe, but he had no concept for Canada being any safer. “Okey,” he said. “And this… sponsor? Would do what? Make sure I am not trouble?”
“No! They would help you to integrate into life here. Learn your way around. Practice your language skills. Give you a place that feels more personal than staying here at the shelter.”
Ilya hummed. He did want to improve his language skills. He knew why he hadn’t been permitted to learn to read English, and he wanted to. He glanced at Petra and then turned a page of the paperwork.
What he saw was nearly unbelievable.