“Thank you so much, Mom.” Millan says from their bathroom, fetching more diapers to put in Nyla’s bag.
“I’m always happy to look after Nyla, you know that.” Stella says from the adjacent bedroom, holding her sleeping granddaughter.
Millan comes back in the bedroom, hands full with useful and not so useful items.
“Millan, maybe you should take more time off, you shouldn’t overwork yourself.” Stella says, eyeing her son while he struggles to find space for everything in the duffle bag.
She shakes her head at the three teddy bears and four blankets that won’t possibly fit in the small bag.
“I’m not.”
Stella gives Millan a telling once-over.
He’s disheveled, wearing the same clothes he wore the day before, fatigue written under his eyes.
“I swear!” Millan says with more force, turning to look at his mother.
The look she gives him has him deflating a bit. He knows he’s a little bit of a mess, but Weston had gone back to work already, and he was anxious to do the same.
“Grant and Jace need help with the recruits. And honestly, after yesterday’s training session, I can confirm. The newbies need all the help they can get.” Millan rambles while pushing on the bag’s contents to try and close it… without much success.
“Have you even eaten anything today?”
Millan rolls his eyes, “You sound like Wes.”
He finally succeeds in zipping the bag shut and smiles at his work.
“Well… have you?” Stella insists.
Millan pauses.
Has he?
He’s fed Nyla in the morning and again before Stella arrived, but he can’t remember if he, himself has eaten. Judging by the low growl in his stomach, he probably forgot to feed himself.
Millan shrugs and turns towards his mother to give her the bag which she shoulders with Nyla still in her arms.
“I’m going to grab something before I leave.” Millan says to appease her exasperated stare.
Stella sighs, “Millan…”
“I’m fine, Mom, don’t worry. And thank you again.”
He kisses her cheek before planting a kiss on his daughter’s small forehead lovingly and dashing out the door, knowing he is already late.
*****
“You’re late.” Grant states with his usual grumpy stare.
The Commander is standing tall, arms crossed, overlooking the trainees as they practice basic defense maneuvers.
When Millan arrives at his side, Grant eyes the omega’s clothes bringing Millan's attention to his own appearance.
Millan curses. “I forgot my uniform.”
Grant pinches the bridge of his nose in annoyance.
“I’ve got spares in my office. There should be a size small in there.” He says that last sentence with a tiny, barely perceptible smirk.
After working with Grant for almost a year, Millan easily detects the intentional jab at his height.
“Give me a break.” Millan sighs dramatically before running to Grant’s office to change.
When he comes back to the training field with a proper attire, Jace has joined Grant. They gather the trainees outside for a pursuit demonstration.
Millan is overjoyed by the newcomers. He has been working for a year, even through most of his pregnancy, to recruit more omegas and betas in their forces and it has paid off.
Now, almost a third of the aspiring spies and soldiers are omegas and he couldn’t be prouder of their effort. He tries not to favor anyone as he teaches them how to run away from another werewolf, but he can’t help the swelling feeling of pride every time an omega trainee outdoes an alpha trainee.
In truth, he couldn’t be happier as a Sergeant for the Blayne Pack.
At first, he’d dreaded the idea of working alongside Grant. To his surprise, however, it hadn’t been all that bad.
Turns out, beneath all that ego and grumpiness, Grant is a rather good-hearted and funny guy.
It had been a blessing to work with Jace too. The beta had been more than happy to guide him through his new position patiently and judgment free.
“See, Ford, you need to use the terrain to your advantage. You can’t outrun an alpha in a straight line.”
The redheaded omega frowns. The eighteen-year-old boy, although a head taller than Millan, doesn’t look older than fifteen. He puffs his chest and gives Millan a defiant stare.
“I bet I can.”
Millan snorts, amused by the young omega’s boldness.
“That may be, but you have better chances if you use your natural agility- something alphas usually lack.”
“Heyyy.” Someone drawls behind Millan; someone Millan recognizes easily.
He’d sensed his soul mate approaching from a mile away. After a year, Millan had become quite good at reading their soul bond.
“Alpha Blayne!” Ford whispers, eyes wide.
Millan smiles and turns to see Weston’s childish pout.
“We don’t lack agility.” Weston mumbles.
Millan smiles, reaches a hand up to Weston’s face, tapping a cheek patronizingly.
“There, there.” Millan says making Weston snort in amusement.
“What are you doing here?” Millan asks beside a still star struck Ford.
“I just wanted to check out how training is going. You know, as a leader, I should keep an eye on these things.”
There’s a twinkle in Weston’s eyes and Millan doesn’t need to search their soul bond to know that Weston just wanted to see him work.
“Mmh. I see.” Millan says, “Well, try not to disturb our work, Head Alpha Blayne.” He winks and turns back to an intimidated Ford, intent on continuing their lesson.
Weston has taken the habit of coming to see Millan work whenever he can get away from his duties. It used to put the trainees on edge and it still stresses the newer recruits, but the more experienced ones have grown accustomed to it. Besides, joke as he will, it IS useful for the Head Alpha to be seen by his military forces once in a while.
Millan isn’t complaining.
*****
Millan has never thought of himself as an optimist.
His former pack was chaotic, ruthless, and tyrannical. Peace and understanding was a weakness, a foreign thing, something out of their reach or understanding.
He hadn’t understood the kindness Andy had shown the first time they met. It all seemed over the top and unnecessary to Millan.
Now, in that exact moment, Millan thinks he understands.
Weston is sitting beside him, on a bench in the garden, one arm draped over his shoulders on the back of Millan's chair. Nyla tucked carefully in her favorite blanket, a minuscule hand wrapped around one of Millan's fingers.
The garden provides for a myriad of colors, evening sun illuminating the flowers through the overhanging trees, emanating a contagious aura of pure tranquility.
It reaches Millan who glances at Weston with a fond expression, receiving the same look from Weston. Joining the natural sounds of the garden, an airy music commences softly from the Plaza Center.
Millan had seen Nara stress over his health, he had even argued with her about it, but he hadn’t understood why it was so important to them before. Now though, with the string quartet playing softly in the background as the Plaza a few feet away from them comes alive, Millan understands.
Every little decision, every detail comes together in a single moment, a single exhale.
The fraction of a second where Millan locks eyes with his alpha, the smiles they share, the sparks in their eyes, all reflected in the beauty surrounding them. Time seems to pause, giving that moment time to breathe and exist, time to engrave memories.
As he looked into Weston’s loving eyes, the little hand wrapped around Millan's finger loosens and Nyla lets out a small sigh, falling asleep, lulled by her father’s arms.
Even through their exhaustion, taking care of a newborn whilst going back to work, Millan feels Weston’s happiness mixing with his own in their bond.
Who would have thought that a rogue like him will ever find a home?
Not even him.
But now, it turned out that his fourteen days stay at the Blayne Pack had turned in to forever.
Who would have thought?
Not him. Definitely not him, and for sure, if you ask Weston, his answer will be the same.
But if it is fate, then it will be.
The End.