The sound of a heart rate monitor beeping filled the air, constant, grating. It was worse than nails on a chalkboard in Soap's opinion, especially when it belonged to his fated mate.

Guilt weighed heavily in his gut, made him taste bile as his stomach rolled uncertainly. The moment was seared into his memory, something he'd never be able to escape.

Finding ones scent match was a one in a billion chance. It was known that most would never, ever meet theirs, and those that did were extremely lucky. Soap and his pack certainly never thought they'd meet theirs, so they hadn't bothered. They found a pretty lass, a perfect omega, and the rest was history.

Claiming marks bit into her neck, hers into theirs. Johnny's neck itched at the memory now.

And things were good for a while. A long while, actually. They were happy. They had an omega, the alphas were successful in their careers. What more could they want? And then as if to taunt them, fate led them to you. A chance encounter. A breeze blowing your scent at them.

Instantly, they knew who you were– what you were to them. Mate, destined only for them. Perfectly fit for them– him.

Except they already had an omega. Except they were already in a relationship. And there was no undoing a mating bite.

But Soap was greedy. Even when the others decided it was best to ignore you, act like you didn't exist, he wanted to at least talk to you. Didn't you deserve that? It was bad enough you met all of your scent matches only to realise all of them belonged to another, didn't you deserve to at least talk to one of them?

But his omega misunderstood. Omegas were extremely territorial, so he should've known she would– that she had accused you and then she slapped you–

The pack had grabbed her and walked away, her sharp words hanging in the air. He turned his back away from you for one second.

He'd felt a sense of doom, his inner alpha begging him to turn around, that this was wrong, that this wasn't how it was meant to be, that you wouldn't be able to handle upset after upset–

And then a gunshot rang out.

From there it was a blur. He remembers the way his heart stopped, the way he just knew.

Of course. How could they expect you to take hit after hit and not be affected? Omegas were territorial, sensitive to scents and emotions. Especially in regards to their scent matches. God only knew what you were going through before them, and now you had to deal with your fated mates belonging to another, to never having those made for you be with you.

Soap's alpha wouldn't let him leave you as you were rushed to the hospital, consequences be dammed. He knew it would break something in him if you died alone, without anyone by your side. He barely payed attention to his pack or mate, focusing on you– you who desperately needed his attention right now.

And now he waited. Sitting there, vigil at your side, he waited for you to awaken, to stir, for the doctors to come in and say the worst was over, anything.

Soap waited, wishing things didn't come to this.