"Yes. The procedure would involve reconstructing the damaged tissue and addressing the areas that may be preventing the gland from functioning properly. Depending on what we find and how the tissue responds, we may be able to restore some degree of pheromone production."
Dr Blois paused, allowing Acheron a moment to absorb the explanation.
"The procedure would be fairly complex. However, if successful, it could improve your gland's function and bring it closer to a more normal level of activity. That may also encourage your heat cycle to resume and potentially help stabilise your bonding and reproductive functions."
Acheron's fingers twitched in his lap. He could hardly believe what he was hearing.
For months, he had tried not to think too much about the possibility of never experiencing a heat again. He had pushed those thoughts aside whenever they surfaced, telling himself that there were more important things to worry about. He had learned to live with the absence of his pheromones, even if he hadn't entirely accepted it.
And now, suddenly, there was a chance.
A small one, perhaps. But a chance nonetheless. He felt the corners of his mouth lift before he could stop them. His heart fluttered with a timid excitement he hadn't allowed himself to feel in a long time.
"But," Dr Blois added, "there are no guarantees."
The excitement vanished almost instantly.
Acheron's smile faltered. The little spark that had begun to kindle inside him was extinguished before it could properly take hold.
There were no guarantees.
Of course there weren't. He had lived long enough to know better than to get his hopes up. He had already spent so much time believing his body would remain permanently damaged, and now he had briefly allowed himself to imagine otherwise.
The disappointment felt almost embarrassing.
He lowered his eyes, worrying at the edge of his sleeve with his fingertips.
The office fell quiet. Dr Blois seemed to be giving them time to consider everything he had explained. Eamon remained beside Acheron, his expression thoughtful, while Acheron struggled to make sense of the jumble of emotions swirling inside him.
Hope. Fear. Relief. Disappointment.
He couldn't quite decide which one hurt the most.
"Would it look normal?" The question slipped out before he could stop it.
Acheron immediately regretted asking. His cheeks warmed, and he found himself unable to look directly at Dr Blois. He stared at the floor instead, wishing he could somehow pull the words back into his mouth.
"The scar will remain," Dr Blois answered matter-of-factly.
Acheron's fingers twisted together.
"I meant..." He swallowed, his voice growing smaller. "Would I be normal?"
The question seemed to hang in the air between them, but Eamon responded almost immediately.
"You're not abnormal now, Acheron."
Acheron's head turned slightly towards him. Eamon's expression had softened, but there was no hesitation in his voice. He looked almost troubled by the idea that Acheron could think otherwise.
Dr Blois nodded gently. "Eamon is right. You're not abnormal. We're only discussing whether we can improve your gland's function."
Acheron looked down at his hands again.
He knew that. At least, he thought he knew that. But there were days when the scar felt like more than an injury. It was a reminder of everything that had happened, everything he had lost, and all the things his body could no longer do. He sometimes wondered whether people would look at him differently if they knew.
Whether they already did.
His fingers began twisting together more tightly. He didn't know how to explain any of it. The thoughts were too tangled, too difficult to put into words. He could barely make sense of them himself.
After a moment, he shifted in his chair and turned towards Eamon.
"Would you want me to do it?" His voice was barely above a whisper.
Eamon's expression changed slightly. For a moment, he seemed caught off guard by the question.
Then he reached for Acheron's hand. His fingers closed gently around it, and his thumb began rubbing over Acheron's knuckles, just as he had earlier when the doctor's words had threatened to overwhelm him.
"Acheron," he began quietly, "this isn't about what I want, or what anyone else wants. It's about what would give you the life you want." He paused.
Eamon had never been particularly good at pretending he didn't care. He could remain composed in a courtroom, negotiate with difficult clients, and keep his emotions carefully tucked away when necessary. But sitting beside Acheron, watching him struggle with the possibility that his body might never recover, made it difficult to remain entirely detached.
He considered his next words for a moment. But deciding that Acheron deserved an honest answer, he continued.
"Gland or not, you're still you." His thumb brushed gently over Acheron's knuckles. "And I would want either one."
Acheron's head shot up. For a moment, he simply stared at Eamon.
He hadn't expected that.
There had always been something unspoken between them, something neither seemed quite ready to name. Acheron had spent so much time wondering what Eamon thought of him, what their relationship might eventually become, and whether he was reading too much into the little gestures and moments of tenderness.
But Eamon had just said it.
He would want him either way.
The words settled somewhere deep inside Acheron, warmer than he knew what to do with. His cheeks began to heat, and he quickly lowered his gaze again, suddenly very interested in the pattern of his own fingers.
He was fairly certain his heart had forgotten how to beat.
"Eamon..." he murmured, having no idea what he wanted to say next.
For once, the silence between them didn't feel uncomfortable. It felt delicate, as though either of them might accidentally disturb something neither had quite figured out how to hold.
Unfortunately, Acheron barely had time to enjoy the moment before Dr Blois gently cleared his throat.
"Before we rush into making any decisions," he said, drawing their attention back towards the desk, "I think we should discuss the risks involved first."
Acheron snapped back to the present.
Right.
The surgery.
He glanced down at Eamon's hand still holding his own, then reluctantly turned back towards the doctor. Whatever warmth Eamon's words had stirred inside him, the reality of what lay ahead was still waiting, and he needed to find a way to understand it.
"Although the surgery is complicated, it isn't necessarily dangerous. Glands are delicate structures, and yours especially so, given the previous damage and operations." Dr Blois pulled several sheets of paper from a folder, each covered in diagrams and handwritten notes. "Our main concern isn't simply the surgery itself, but how much functioning tissue remains."
He turned the papers towards Acheron and pointed to a few of the illustrations, patiently explaining what each one represented. He took his time, making sure Acheron could follow before moving on. Once he seemed satisfied that Acheron understood the basic procedure, he gathered the sheets into a neat stack and placed them to one side of his desk.
"Let's go through some of the risks you might face. Firstly, there's the possibility of further nerve damage. The numbness around your scar could extend; the surrounding areas might develop tingling or altered sensation, and you could experience persistent neck discomfort."
Acheron shifted slightly in his seat. His fingers moved instinctively towards his collar, stopping just short of touching it.
"Because you already have significant scarring, reopening the area means we'll have to work through existing scar tissue. This makes it considerably more difficult to identify and preserve the smaller nerve connections."
Dr Blois paused briefly before continuing. "There's also a possibility that the scar tissue itself could become thicker and more noticeable. The skin around the gland may heal unevenly, leaving the area more raised or irregular than it is now."
Acheron swallowed. "So then my scar will be worse?"
"I can't promise that it won't," Dr Blois answered honestly. "We would take every precaution to minimise additional scarring, but I don't want to give you an assurance I can't guarantee."
Acheron lowered his eyes. He had spent so long trying not to look at the scar, trying not to think about how it felt beneath his collar. The possibility of it becoming even more prominent was difficult to sit with.
Dr Blois allowed a moment of silence before reaching for his water glass. He took a few sips, giving Acheron time to absorb what he'd been told. There was no point rushing through the risks simply to get to the end of the consultation.
Acheron's hand had tightened around Eamon's. He hadn't even realised how firmly he was holding it until his fingers began to ache. Eamon didn't pull away or comment. He simply adjusted his grip, allowing Acheron to hold on as tightly as he needed.
There was so much information to process, and somehow, none of it seemed to settle properly in his mind. One moment he was thinking about the scar, the next about nerve damage, and then his thoughts would circle back to the possibility that the surgery might not work at all. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to feel. Hopeful? Frightened? Both?
"After the surgery, you may also experience temporary pheromone instability," Dr Blois continued. "This can present in several ways. Your pheromone production might fluctuate, ranging from unusually weak output to sudden, unexpectedly strong releases. These fluctuations can cause headaches, dizziness and general discomfort. You may also find it difficult to control your pheromones initially, and could become particularly sensitive to the pheromones of nearby Alphas."
He picked up a legal pad and began writing down the points they'd discussed, occasionally glancing at Acheron to make sure he was still following.
"I'll make sure you have a written summary of everything before you leave. There's quite a lot to take in, and I don't expect you to remember every detail from one conversation."
Acheron offered a small, grateful nod. He was beginning to suspect that if Dr Blois asked him to repeat everything they'd discussed, he wouldn't manage more than a handful of words.
"There's another possibility we need to discuss," the doctor continued. "If the surgery is successful and encourages your heat cycle to resume, your first heat afterwards may be unpredictable. You could experience sudden or unusually intense symptoms, and the cycle itself may differ from what you remember. Some of these changes could persist until your hormones have had enough time to stabilise."
He paused, considering how best to explain it.
"Think of it as experiencing your very first heat after differentiation."
Acheron shuddered. His first heat had been horrible. He remembered the confusion, the overwhelming physical sensations and the helplessness of not understanding what was happening to his own body. He had been frightened and uncomfortable, and there had been very little anyone could do to ease it. Omegas were generally expected to endure their first heat without suppressants or other hormonal assistance, allowing their bodies to establish a more stable cycle.
The thought of going through something like that again made his stomach tighten.
"Would I have to deal with it without suppressants as well?" he asked quietly.
"For the first one following surgery, yes. Preferably." Dr Blois glanced briefly towards Eamon. "And probably without Alpha assistance, too."
The look was subtle, but Eamon noticed it. He gave a small nod of acknowledgement, his expression remaining composed.
Acheron, however, was too occupied with the doctor's answer to notice the exchange. His fingers had begun to worry at the edge of his sleeve, twisting the fabric between his thumb and forefinger.
"Why?" he asked after a moment. "Wouldn't having an Alpha nearby make it easier?"