Chapter Text
The result was unmistakable.
Bruce exhaled, trying to clear his nose of the overwhelming scent of beta happyfearlove filling the bathroom. He took a breath, leaning against the counter as something weakened in his legs.
“Are you alright?” Alfred asked, hovering in the doorway like he wanted to rush in and help, “You’re awfully pale.”
“You’re sure you can’t smell it,” Bruce asked, turning around to face the worried beta, “At all.”
“Nothing other than Master Kent,” Alfred swore, immediately straightening, “And your lovely scent, of course.”
“Thanks,” Bruce said, rolling his eyes, “Clark will be pleased.”
It turned out, multiple days of a satisfied heat with a well-matched alpha was enough to pull even the most bitter of omegas out of mourning-scent. And push them right back into their normal, if slightly elevated, instincts.
Had he known this years ago, he would’ve paid an alpha to fuck him into some sort of coherence immediately. Hell, Alfred would’ve chucked any available mate at him if he’d thought it would have solved his previous “problem.”
Alfred had hated the scent of miserable omega more than anyone else. Almost as much as he’d hated the endless suppressants and blockers Bruce subjected himself to on a nightly basis.
“If you can’t smell it, and Clark hasn’t noticed,” he swallowed, “then maybe it didn’t take. Maybe this isn’t real, and the test is just…”
He trailed off, watching Alfred’s eyes narrow. Beta fearprotectionlove overtook the small bathroom, sharp and insistent.
“We’ll get a blood test,” Alfred said fiercely, “Though, after this many tests, I’m not sure you’ll need one.”
Bruce sank down on the toilet, putting his head in his hands. Next to him, the trash can was overflowing with pregnancy tests -- different types, different boxes, from completely different stores.
He might have been a little out of his mind when he’d sent Alfred out that morning. Still, it was close enough to his last heat to blame the post-cycle hormones. Maybe.
Lex’s words were a brand across his every thought, digging into his convictions with razor-sharp teeth.
Did you know that Kryptonian matings are almost 100% fertile? The odds of you being with child -- even a human at your age -- are astronomically high.
“We didn’t use a contraceptive,” Bruce mumbled into his hands, “I didn’t even think about one.”
He could sense Alfred’s eyebrows creeping up the beta’s face. He let out a wordless groan, cursing his past self.
You don’t regret it that much, a voice in the back of his head whispered, cutting through his regret, He knotted you so perfectly, remember? How would that have felt with a condom on his --
“Accidents happen,” Alfred said, sounding slightly strained. It was far kinder than anything else he could have said, “At your age, you could be forgiven for being…a little lax, with precautions.”
“I’m forty-two years old,” Bruce said, pushing up from his hands. He blinked up at the bathroom light, then swung his gaze back to Alfred, “This isn’t supposed to be possible.”
“Well,” Alfred said, glancing pointedly at the heap of tests in the trash can. The beta cleared his throat, for once at a loss for words.
“I’m seeing Leslie,” Bruce said, standing up from the toilet suddenly. “Will you. Um.”
Alfred tilted his head, waiting patiently for the thought he was trying to force out.
“Will you scent me?” Bruce asked, feeling his cheeks heat up slightly, “Before I go. Just to be sure.”
Alfred’s eyes softened. He nodded, bringing up a hand to the back of Bruce’s neck, tilting his neck to the side.
Bruce closed his eyes, his entire body relaxing at the close proximity of a pack member. Alfred’s nose carefully skirted both scent glands, pulling back after a long breath.
“I don’t smell it,” the beta said, lips pressed together, “But that doesn’t mean it’s not there. It takes time, after all--”
“It shouldn’t be there,” Bruce insisted, pushing out a burst of thankfulworrypack even as his tone soured, “This is all just some misunderstanding. Some latent side effect from those suppressants you gave me.”
Alfred bopped him on the back of the neck like a misbehaving pup. “That you ordered me to retrieve.”
“Semantics,” Bruce said, ducking around him to exit the bathroom, “Christ. If the papers get ahold of this--”
“They won’t,” Alfred said, the fierceness from earlier returning to his eyes, “I’ll call ahead. Everything will be quick and private.”
Bruce nodded, swallowing down the anxiety he hadn’t realized was building in his throat. He was reminded, suddenly, why betas were the soul of functional packs -- especially those with expecting carriers.
“Before Clark gets off work,” he said absently, a hand drifting down to settle on his midsection, “He’s been… clingy, since…Well, I know he’s going to fly here as soon as he clocks out.”
Alfred, already dialing the private clinic number, glanced up from his phone with a pointed look.
“You don’t think that’s…a bit of a coincidence?” the beta asked, skirting the edge of politeness by the skin of his teeth.
“I don’t believe in coincidences,” Bruce said, briefly distracted by thoughts of his alpha, “It’s only been a few weeks. It could just be lingering heat hormones. Or his pseudo-rut.”
Since his heat. Since the showdown with Lex and Zod. Since his entire world had been flipped upside down by an eager alpha between his legs and a mouthful of blood burning against his tongue.
Pack omega. The title was still foreign to him. He’d never wanted it, not even with Jason and their fledgling pack, years ago. Not when it came with an alpha, and all the problems alphas brought.
“Of course,” Alfred said, in the tone of voice that implied completely otherwise, “Start the drive in, and Leslie will be ready by the time you’re there.”
Bruce exhaled, his relief clear in his scent. He pushed out a clumsy thankyoupack and headed for the garage, focusing on the soft, ever-present note of protectpack in Alfred’s softer, beta scent.
Leslie didn’t laugh him out of her office, but it seemed to be a close thing.
“Alfred tells me you think you’re pregnant,” she said when he sat down across from her, not even bothering with a hello .
“Hello Leslie,” Bruce said, holding back a sigh, “How are you? It’s been a while.”
Leslie’s right eyebrow crept up at the obvious sarcasm. “Want to tell me why you think you’re pregnant?”
“I don’t,” Bruce said, blunt, “The pregnancy tests seem to.”
“You wouldn’t have tested without a reason,” Leslie replied, a line appearing between her eyes, “Walk me through it. What symptoms did you notice?”
This was why he’d given up on getting suppressants and pheromones from her long ago. Her scent was strong for a beta, pushing out sternprotectioncuriosity clearly enough, he wondered if she’d practiced it.
“No symptoms,” Bruce said, “No change in scent, but I recently had an unprotected heat, and I was…”
Leslie didn’t bother chasing off that trailing thought. She grabbed for her tablet immediately, opening what he assumed was his file. “When was the last day of the heat?”
“Leslie,” Bruce said, not begging, but getting closer.
“Last day,” Leslie repeated, “Was it the week of the 26th? Earlier? Later?”
“I don’t remember.”
“You don’t remember,” Leslie replied, sounding doubtful, “I’ll ask Alfred then. He’ll know.”
Bruce narrowed his eyes at the small beta, unimpressed. “The 24th.”
“Bingo,” Leslie said, tapping it into his file, “Normal heat? Suppressant break?”
Well, there didn’t seem an easy way out of this. Leslie wouldn’t give him the test without the full medical history, and he didn’t have the equipment for it back in the Cave. Considering he was well past the younger days of childbearing, it hadn’t seemed like too much of an oversight. Jason hadn’t presented yet, and even then -- well.
Now, it seemed terribly shortsighted.
“Shock heat,” Bruce said, watching Leslie’s left eye twitch in real time, “I took a new suppressant, overdosed on it, and then got caught in an alpha’s pseudo-rut. Not sure which one of the three caused the heat still.”
Leslie’s fingers were tapping at light speed against her tablet. Bruce refused to be impressed. “Duration?” she asked, voice tight.
“Under 48 hours,” Bruce said.
“Alone for most of it?” Leslie asked, looking up suddenly. Her eyes were a bright, piercing blue.
“Not alone,” Bruce said, feeling his hips twitch at the memory of Clark’s hands, “He stayed for all of it.”
Leslie’s eyes dropped to his chin. She nodded, her weaker scent shifting into something Bruce couldn’t quite pinpoint. “Any pain, sudden weakness, other complaints afterward?”
“No.” The opposite, actually. He’d never felt this well-rested and balanced in his instincts in years. The clarity alone…it was striking.
“Do you want an STD test?” Leslie asked, slightly quieter.
“God, no,” Bruce said, shaking his head, “Just the pregnancy test, please.”
“After the physical,” Leslie said, cracking a smile, “Don’t push that scent at me, mister. I’m not some knot-head alpha ready to fall over at a sniff.”
Bruce sat back, frowning. “What scent?”
“That scent,” Leslie said, waving at him, “This is the sweetest I’ve ever smelled you, I think.”
Bruce sniffed his wrist. He didn’t smell any different than normal -- or whatever this new normal was, post-heat. Post Clark, post everything.
“I’m not… trying to push anything out.”
“Well,” Leslie said, looking almost identical to Alfred for a moment, “Let’s add that to the symptoms, then.”
Bruce scrubbed a hand across his face. “That could still be the suppressants, not the pregnancy.”
“Oh, so we are pregnant?” Leslie asked, typing again, “Is the alpha still around?”
Bruce snorted. Clark had barely left his side in the last few weeks, something he’d chalked up to lingering heat hormones and the loss of Zod. Or the new, strange pack they’d inadvertently created.
“He’s around,” Bruce said, trying to keep his scent vague, “We’re…seeing how things progress.”
Leslie nodded. “Did he mention any symptoms?”
“No,” Bruce said, shaking his head, “He scents me frequently, and hasn’t mentioned anything.”
“Interesting,” Leslie murmured, typing something before looking back up, “Why do you think you’re pregnant?”
“The unprotected heat,” Bruce replied, “Like I said --”
“We both know you’re a little past the prime pup-bearing years,” Leslie said, not without sympathy, “A pregnancy at your age, with your suppressant usage, would be rare enough to be a statistical anomaly.”
“Thanks,” Bruce said, giving her a look, “Appreciate the reminder.”
“You’ll remember,” Leslie said, sending him a look of her own right back, “that I informed you of those risks -- several times -- before you started prescription shopping elsewhere.”
“I remember,” Bruce exhaled, looking at the ceiling as a strange emotion rose in his throat, “I have reason to believe that this pregnancy might not be…entirely human.”
Leslie, to her credit, merely began typing with renewed vigor, nodding for him to continue.
“The alpha is Kryptonian,” Bruce said, “My research indicates that their matings almost always result in a successful pregnancy, regardless of age.”
His research being Lex Luthor -- Lex Luthor -- and the small slivers of data he’d cobbled together in the last few weeks about Kryptonian pack dynamics. And a twisting, yearning feeling in his gut, persisting long past his heat’s end.
Leslie’s eyes flicked toward the small window in her office’s corner, then back to him. Putting together the obvious pieces -- she wasn't dumb. “And the pregnancy test was still positive?”
“All of them,” Bruce said, “They all developed instantly; I didn’t even have to wait.”
The beta made a soft hmming sound, tapping at something on the tablet. “No typical pregnancy symptoms, other than the test. Tell me the non-typical symptoms, then.”
“I’m having a hard time distinguishing them from possible post-suppressant symptoms,” Bruce admitted.
“So consider all of them,” Leslie said, looking up at him expectantly, “I’m assuming you’ve already assigned them to possible categories.”
She was, as usual, correct.
“The alpha is clingy since the heat,” Bruce admitted, shifting in his seat, “I’m feeling a bit more instinctual since then as well, but that could easily be the lack of suppressants. My scent has changed, obviously, and, of course, the pregnancy tests are all positive.”
“And the post-suppressant withdrawal symptoms?”
“Change in scent,” Bruce listed, “Deeper instincts. Shift in mental outlook.”
“How so?”
“I don’t feel miserable,” Bruce said, going for sarcastic at the same time his scent deepened with muted grief, “I…keep thinking about Jason.”
The last part came out as a confession, barely above a whisper. Leslie nodded once, lips pursing in sympathy.
“We’ll run a few tests,” she said, clicking the tablet shut and meeting his eyes, “I want to check your liver and kidney function.”
Bruce got the distinct impression she’d be following up with Alfred about the suppressant overdose and ensuing drama. He nodded, giving her a deferential dip of his chin.
Leslie immediately snapped open the tablet, tapping something into the notes. “That’s new.”
Bruce let out a half-whine, half-growl. “Yes.”
“Breathe through it,” Leslie said, tone softening. Her scent pushed out a weaker, steady beta-comfort scent, “Instincts are nothing to be ashamed of or fight. The sooner you realize that, the easier this is.”
“I’m not pregnant,” Bruce said between gritted teeth, “This is just…a lingering side effect.”
“We’ll see,” Leslie said, closing her tablet for a second time, “I’ll go put those orders in. Then we can see about a physical exam, yes?”
Bruce glared at her. “Just the test.”
“Hm,” Leslie said, scent sharpening, “No. A physical exam is required after any patient report of an unplanned, unprotected heat.”
Bruce exhaled the sudden fear-irritation rising in his chest, trying to stay calm. “And if I said it was planned and protected?”
“I would still order one,” Leslie said, “and then I would give Alfred a call to see if you’d been replaced with an android.”
With a wink, the beta stood and exited the office, closing the door behind her.
Bruce put his head in his hands, feeling something almost like longing as the room emptied and he was left alone.
Leslie proclaimed him, upon exit from her office, in “surprisingly” good health and currently sitting somewhere above-average in instincts. He gave, in return, six vials of blood and a promise to await her phone call before doing anything “stupid.”
The drive back to the lake house seemed to drag. Bruce kept both hands on the steering wheel the entire time, trying to pretend they weren’t trembling.
An average hCG test took several hours to process. He knew Leslie would expedite that as much as she could. He’d likely receive a phone call in a few hours, while Clark was home.
Alfred, in true beta fashion, was waiting for him at the doorway when he returned. He parked the car, something in his instincts settling as soon as he was on his own property again -- and under Alfred’s watchful eye.
“She’ll call in a few hours with the results,” Bruce said, answering the unspoken question, “I’ll need your help running interference with Clark.”
“You could simply inform him you’re under the weather tonight,” Alfred said, taking his coat and gesturing him inside, “One day apart won’t kill the poor alpha, after all.”
Bruce snorted. “Try telling him that.”
He’d initially chalked it up to post-heat possessiveness -- alphas, they really were all the same sometimes -- and grief over Zod. Clark’s hands had rarely left his body in those first few days, pulling him tight against his chest and allowing them to scent each other.
Somehow, in between the rising crests of instinct, he’d reverted to thinking of Clark as his -- his alpha, his pack, his person. He’d welcomed the possessive, if often apologetic, embraces, scenting the alpha back if only to find peace within his own instincts.
Alfred had held back the majority of his teasing, despite his obvious urge to press. There was no bite on either of them, no sign of a bonding, but they were so clearly pack, even if it had only been a few weeks.
Pack bonding Lex should’ve been the only connection between them -- indirect, through Zod and whatever Kryptonian pack he represented to Clark -- but it didn’t seem that way. Didn’t feel that way.
Clark already felt like pack. It was as undeniable as the dozen pregnancy tests he’d had Alfred retrieve.
“I would be happy to inform him of your unavailability,” Alfred said, with all the poise and polish of a butler, “And stand at the doorway of your bedroom with a rifle, should he try anything.”
“You’re going to shoot Superman?” Bruce asked, scrubbing a hand across his face. God, he was tired all of a sudden.
“I imagine proximity to one of your kryptonite samples would make him slightly more vulnerable than usual,” Alfred said, clipped, “I would slip it into his pocket before trying, of course.”
“Please don’t kill my--” Bruce cut off, frustrated when my alpha rose up again in his mouth, “Please don’t kill him.”
When he opened his eyes, Alfred was staring at him. The beta wasn’t even trying to be subtle.
“Go lie down,” he said, pushing beta pleasereassurance into the room, a gentle caress, “I’ll wake you for Leslie’s call. You’ll need your rest for whatever news it is.”
Bruce hesitated. He -- politely -- quashed down the urge to inform Alfred that he was hovering almost as much as Clark was, then nodded.
“Fine,” he said, tossing his cellphone on the kitchen counter, “Don’t take a message. I’ll have questions.”
“Of course,” Alfred said, perfectly innocent, “Off you get. Or I’ll call Master Kent here early.”
Bruce let out a half-hearted growl. “Low blow, Alfred.”
“I can go very low,” Alfred warned, beta-sharp and intimidating in his own right, “As you’ve seen.”
He had. Bruce shook his head, lips twisting into a smile.
“Alfred?”
The beta blinked. His nostrils flared, as if inhaling a new scent. “Yes, Master Wayne?”
“I…” Bruce cut off, frowning, “I don’t know.”
There was that same, yearning sadness, aching in his throat. It felt like Jason -- like an empty bed, an empty room. A quiet lake house in Alfred’s absence.
The beta’s hand reached out, grazing his chin. Bruce lifted it up on instinct, allowing Alfred to trail it down his neck.
“I’ll be right here in the kitchen making dinner,” Alfred said, calm and beta-reassuring like he hadn’t been since Bruce was a child, “I won’t go far.”
There was a whine rising in his throat. Bruce nodded, ducking his head.
“Thank you,” he said, instead of I’m sorry, or what the hell is going on?
Alfred’s smile held a thousand memories. He finished the half-scenting, leaning back. “Of course.”
Cloaked in Alfred’s weaker, beta scent, he headed for the bedroom in a daze.