All Natural and Cage Free

Mrs. Vanilla’s kitchen was about the coziest place Amy had ever been.

Though pristinely clean, every inch of potential space was covered. Countless jars of herbs, spices, and other dry goods lined the backsplash along the counter. The walls were coated with small decorations: a pastoral scene painted on a smooth piece of driftwood, a wooden cuckoo clock shaped like a birdhouse, a sun and moon made from sculpting repurposed license plates. Nothing matched. Every mug in her copious collection was unique. Every spoon and plate and bowl the long-lost spare from a hundred sets.

The oven was always occupied, the aroma of fresh breads and pastries infusing the air. Conveniently packaged leftovers infested the refrigerator, ready to be given away at the slightest provocation. A nest of hand knitted scarves lurked by the door, ready to spring on an unsuspecting visitor trying to escape into the cold outer world. Mrs. Vanilla made an honest attempt to mother the world.

Clutching the mug of tea, calming scents floating up at her, warmth permeating her fingers, Amy felt at ease for the first time that day. Dying sunlight trickled through the lacy curtain covering the small window above the sink, a forest of little succulents crowding the sill. Amy took a careful sip, finding the tea perfectly sweetened with honey (locally sourced and organic, of course) and just a breath cooler than unbearably hot.

Amy loved it here, even when it reminded her of home, of her parents, and of the lie.

With a sigh, she thought of calling home. It had been awhile, but thinking of home, of her parents, of her childhood…There was no way to avoid the resurfacing of horrible memories, so she just avoided her life before college altogether. It wasn’t fair to anyone. But life isn’t fair, Amy thought bitterly.

Mrs. Vanilla entered from deeper in her abode, rescuing Amy from her malaise. “You’ve caught me at a bad time, dear, but I think I can still field a solid defense for you.” The older rabbit placed a large wooden box on the kitchen table and retrieved a baking scale from the counter.

Amy lowered the mug (faded print commemorating a music festival held thirty years prior) to her lap. “Bad time?” She frowned, “Is something wrong?”

“It’s a bit of too much demand and too little supply at the moment. A commonplace commercial malady, really.” Mrs. Vanilla opened a cabinet and retrieved a roll of wax paper. “You’re not alone, I’m afraid. My phone has been off the hook with clients needing this or that.” Sitting down, Mrs. Vanilla began tearing off measured sheets of wax paper. “And at the same time, a number of my vendors have had…well, some trouble with the man as it were.”

Of course, Amy thought, abashed. How could she not realize something so obvious? She wasn’t the only Omega Mrs. Vanilla helped in…natural ways. “Off-cycle heats?” Amy offered, taking another sip of her tea. The warm liquid seemed to spread all through her. A gentle, relaxing flow.

The motherly rabbit’s chest swelled, and her eyes darted to the ceiling briefly. “Everything under the sun. Out of seasons, heavy scenting, heat fatigue, sudden knot shedding. So many poor souls navigating a cold world right now.” Mrs. Vanilla shook her head slowly.

Amy tilted her head. “Knot shedding?”

“Nothing you have to worry about, dear. When an Omega goes too long between knottings, the fanny can grow this protective layer that sheds off once you pick the habit up again.” Mrs. Vanilla began folding the rectangles of wax paper into envelopes. “Makes a right mess on the way out and it isn’t too pleasant a sensation either. Some of my clients have been shedding suddenly, even without partnership.”

That sounds like…Amy blushed but remained silent. She hadn’t told Mrs. Vanilla about her activities the previous evening. The doctor said this would only happen once. Who was right? Who should Amy trust more?

“Normally, I wouldn’t have trouble with an increase in requests, but I’ve had to reduce the number of plants in my garden.” Mrs. Vanilla’s hands worked away with practiced speed and precision. “You can grow acres of nightshade, but god forbid you have one sprig of an actually useful plant too many and it becomes grounds for a warrant.” She huffed.

While Amy stood to rinse her mug in the sink, the older rabbit continued. “The bounty of mother earth has provided succor for thousands of years, but suddenly anything ‘unregulated’” She spat the word with derision, “is suddenly’ unsafe’ by a faceless horde of bureaucrats, who couldn’t identify a sprig of calendula if it was choking them, by the way.” Mrs. Vanilla shook her head. “Steams my carrots.”

“I can see that.” Amy grinned, lowering into her chair once more. “Did you say a warrant?” The thought of kind Mrs. Vanilla having trouble with the law turned her stomach. There really wasn’t any justice in the world. Maybe she should bring up this sort of thing to Rouge.

“Don’t worry dear. One of Vector’s friends gave him a tip, and we were able to sort everything out. The hydroponics in the basement are safe.” She grinned slyly and winked. “But enough about me and my woes. What can I do for you, Amy?”

With a sigh, Amy explained her list of complaints for the third time that day. Mrs. Vanilla listened intently, her brows meeting in an arch over her sympathetic eyes, little ‘oh’s and ‘poor dear’s slipping out of her lips at appropriate intervals. When Amy was finished, Mrs. Vanilla reached forward and grasped Amy’s hand and stared into her eyes compassionately. “I am so sorry, Amy. That sounds awful! You must be so tired.”

Amy found herself choking up. She nodded. Mrs. Vanilla pulled away and brought over a box of tissues incased in a knitted cover. “Let it out if you need too. Tears are just the body’s way of helping the mind handle emotions. Let it help you while I take a look at what I can do for you.”

Amy rubbed her nose and took a tissue. She didn’t want to cry. She was cross with her body. The thought made her eyes sting even worse and a few tears escaped. Swallowing, Amy dabbed them from the fur of her cheeks with the tissue.

Mrs. Vanilla lifted the lid of the wooden box. Brown eyes scanned over the contents.

“First, you need a very good night’s sleep.” The scale came forward and a measure of dried herbs fell into one of the wax paper pouches. “Make a tea of this. It’s my personal blend. Here’s enough for three cups but try less for the first cup to see how you take it.” Mrs. Vanilla sealed the pouch and then wrote the instructions on it with a grease pencil, her elegant script looping over the paper.

Amy watched, fascinated, as the older rabbit made several more pouches. For the bleeding, for the pain, for the anxiety. Take this with that, take this then, dilute this, keep this off your skin. The complexity of the instructions gave the pile of pouches a mystical quality, as if Amy was being taught how to mix potions. Normally she left Mrs. Vanilla’s with only one or two pouches. This was…get expensive.

“I can’t afford this.” Amy frowned.

Mrs. Vanilla did not slow. “Oh honey, don’t worry about money.” Writing instructions without looking, the older woman scanned Amy’s face. “How about this? I’ve a need for someone with photography skills soon. Perhaps we could make a trade? Some good old in-kind exchange.”

Amy brightened. “Really?”

“I need someone to take me and Cream’s picture for my Winter Solstice cards this year. The woman I normally go to retired this year and moved south.” She clasped her hands together and closed her eyes for a moment “God protect her soul from those heathens.”

“And,” she continued, “in the spring, Cream has her junior prom. I don’t particularly care for that bee, he’s a little on the,” She gesticulated incoherently, “side, but it’s not like I’ve got much say in the manner with that girl.”

Amy forced away the jaded feeling that Mrs. Vanilla was grasping at straws to make them ‘even’. Resisting the urge to look this gift horse in the mouth she said, “Sure, I would love to take portraits for you and Cream.” Crap. The doubt was too strong. “But do you really think that’s enough? You always help me so much.”

Mrs. Vanilla smiled, the edges of her eyes crinkling, and tilted her head, “I’ll just take the balance out of your next paycheck from Vector.” She closed the box.

Amy blinked. “Oh, t-that works too.”

“I’m glad we could reach an agreement.” Mrs. Vanilla’s smile remained as she stood. “Now, how about we pick out some scents for you?” She took the box with her as she left the kitchen.

Amy stared at the pile of small packets in front of her.

She wasn’t entirely sure all the herbs worked exactly like Mrs. Vanilla said they would, but being here certainly helped. Perhaps that was part of the whole effect. In a vacuum each packet was useless, but together with the ritual of following the instructions and having Mrs. Vanilla’s comforting presence the outcome was profound. She never felt like meat in Mrs. Vanilla’s kitchen. It was a relief to be treated as a single entity, like her mind and body were one solid being, especially when Amy couldn’t bring herself to.

An ugly thought bubbled up. Mrs. Vanilla returned with a bundle of gingham cloth. As the rabbit undid the tie on the bundle, Amy frowned and asked, “Mrs. Vanilla, do you think I’m getting too old?”

The older woman snorted. “Too old for what, dear?” The cloth opened to reveal a wide selection of tightly bound bundles of cotton articles. Scent patches. Each was a set of bandanas or similar objects scented by an Alpha in Mrs. Vanilia’s allyship network. These worked way better than anything Amy had ever found in a pharmacy or bodega. The calming relief of the scent of an Alpha without the trouble of actually being near one.

Mrs. Vanilla handed Amy a bundle as she asked. “Too old to be unbound?” Amy pressed the cloth to her nose, closing her eyes. A wave of calm ghosted over her, and she sighed contentedly. The scent was deep and musky…but felt uncomplete somehow. She shook her head and handed it back.

“Amy, whatever gave you that idea? You’re still such a young and beautiful woman.” She handed Amy another bundle that she rejected quickly. “And besides, the right Alpha for you will love you not matter what. Real love is holistic and unconditional.”

Amy returned another bundle. For all her wisdom, Mrs. Vanilla had a romantic notion of the Alpha/Omega dynamic that Amy could never bring herself to contradict. Maybe she’d watched too many romantic dramas. “But what if I die of heat death first?”

Mrs. Vanilla straightened, and her eyes went wide. “Amy! Who told you that?” Her hands went to hips.

Amy’s ears pressed back, and she shrank away from the older woman’s sudden intensity. “A doctor at the Omega clinic.”

Mrs. Vanilla rounded the kitchen table in a flurry of her skirts and wrapped her arms around Amy, pressing pink face and quills into her apron clad bosom. Amy hissed at the burning touch but fought the urge to rip herself away. Mrs. Vanilla was the last person on the planet to mean to hurt her, but her body rejected the contact nonetheless.

Luckily, Mirs. Vanilla didn’t notice Amy’s rigid form. “Honey, no! Don’t you believe a word any of those fools say. Heat death is just propaganda for the modern medical industrial complex.” Uh-oh. Amy should have known she wouldn’t escape the comfy kitchen without at least one tirade.

Mrs. Vanilla pushed Amy back to look deeply into her green eyes. Amy tried to focus on her words to distract from the burning sensation crawling along her arms. “Just think about it logically. How could heat death be helpful for the survival of the species? Omegas can still have children by Betas, but that’s somehow not good enough? And think of how precise the population mix would have to be. A one for one ratio of Alphas to Omegas? That’s just unpractical at any scale.” Mrs. Vanilla shook her head. “Nature can be brutal, but it’s not spitefully cruel, Amy.”

That made a lot of sense, actually…

The front door opened, saving Amy from any further lessons. “I’m home!” A cheery voice called.

“Welcome home, dear!” Mrs. Vanilla released Amy (finally!) and went to the entrance of the kitchen. “I’m with a client.”

A young rabbit, almost the spitting image of Mrs. Vanilla appeared, a backpack slung over one shoulder. “Miss Amy!” Cream smiled. “How are you this evening?”

“Oh, you know.” Amy forced her face into a smile. “Hanging in there.” She rubbed her arms where she’d been held.

Cream glanced at the table and her eyes lit up. She pushed past her mother and dropped her backpack into a chair. “Trying out scent swatches?” She asked, excitedly.

“Yes, but none of them are hitting for me tonight for some reason.” Amy tossed yet another bundle back into the pile. All of the scents just felt…wrong. Empty. Missing something, but she wasn’t sure what. Amy was getting frustrated. In the past she’d never been this picky, almost always taking the very first scent.

“Well, when you finally find your perfect scent, you’re gonna want one of these!” Cream pulled a colorful mass from her backpack. She started to lay out her goods. Scent Masks. Homemade, reusable, masks made from the cutest patterned cotton Amy had ever seen.

“Cream.” Her mother chuckled, leaning against the door frame, her tone dotting.

“Oh my god, these are adorable!” Amy picked up one covered with a variety of happy cupcakes having a tea party, their cute little eyes and mouths cartoonishly big. “Did you make these yourself?”

“Yes, I totally did!” The young rabbit beamed. “I’ve been selling them to Omega’s at school and every sale comes with a free semester long subscription of-” She pulled out a large pencil bag and unzipped it. Out came a stack of small, rectangular swatches of cotton cloth perfectly sized to fit into the pouch of the masks. “My scent swatches!”

“I hope you keep it on the down low, sugar beet. Last time I had to spring you from detention, that vice principal had some words with me that I didn’t care for.” Mrs. Vanilla cautioned.

“I am, I promise!” Cream took one of the swatches and lifted her chin. She vigorously rubbed it all over the nape of her neck, infusing it with her Alpha scent. “Here, you can have this one for free, Miss Amy.”

“Thank you, Cream.” Amy took the swatch and gave it a sniff, the comforting aroma of cinnamon and nutmeg filling her. It still didn’t quite hit the spot, but Cream’s was the closest Amy had tried. “That’s so nice of you.” The swatch was covered in beautiful interlacing yellow and red roses.

“Do you see a mask you like? Do you want one of those too? I put extra batting in the boarder so it’s super soft on your nose. Look!” She plucked one up and squeezed the edge. “My friend Azalea said that the plastic ones, the ones you get at the grocery store or whatever, like, they rub your snout raw. Oh! And the strings have these little clips on them so you can change how they sit on your head, you know, if your ears get chaffed or something.”

“Oh, my little entrepreneur!” Mrs. Vanila beamed.

Amy couldn’t help absorbing Cream’s exuberance. “Wow, these are really nice, Cream! I think you’ve put more thought into these that I ever have.”

“Would you like one?” Her light brown eyes looked at Amy expectantly.

“Oh, sure. How much are they?” Shit, she only had enough cash for bus fare home. Amy would figure something out…How could she say no to Cream when the young Alpha worked so hard?

“They’re super cheap! They’re-“

“Cream.” Her mother’s voice held an edge to it that Amy chose to willfully ignore.

Cream didn’t miss a beat, “-on the house for all of mom’s favorite customers! Uh, yeah!” She broke eye contact with Amy to turn and look at her mother.

“That’s really generous of you, Cream.” Mrs. Vanilla cooed.

Uninterested in inserting herself into whatever subtext she was witnessing, Amy just said, “Thank you.” She held up the cupcake mask. “I love this one. It’s so cute.”

“I’m glad!” Cream beamed. “I made them all myself. Mother taught me how to use her sewing machine, and I pet sat for our neighbor and helped Mr. Vector sort all his case files to make the money to buy the fabric and notions.”

“That’s really resourceful of you, Cream.”

Mrs. Vanilla straightened from checking the banana bread I the oven and crossed her arms. “My baby is building herself a community. I’m so proud.”

“I’m not a baby anymore, mother.” Cream huffed. She returned her goods to her backpack. “I need to go start working on my homework. I might, uh, be a bit behind on a history report.” Just as she was about to leave the kitchen, Cream turned to Amy, a huge smile cutting across her soft face. “Have a great evening and feel better!”

Amy’s eyes dilated and she choked as her body seized. “Amy!” She faintly heard Vanilla shriek as an intense ringing heralded a splitting headache. Alpha Voice. But something was wrong. Her body couldn’t understand enough to obey. The failure ripped through her, clouding her vision, raising her hackles, and spreading a cold sweat across her brow.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I didn’t to mean to!” Cream sobbed.

Amy gasped for air and slowly Mrs. Vanilla’s face faded into existence before her. The woman was cupping Amy’s cheek (burns!) and carding a hand through the quills covering her forehead. “There you are dear.” She said softly. “You’re a strong one. You’ll be fine in a moment.” The words drifted in the ether between Amy’s ears, but the ringing was fading, taking the stabbing ice pick headache with it. “What happened, dear?”

“Alpha voice.” Amy croaked, shivering and wince against Mrs. Vanilla’s touch again.

The hands left her head as Mrs. Vanilla straightened and rounded on her daughter. “Cream Hazel Cony, what have I told you about using that voice?”

“’Those who usurp the agency of others go to hell.’” Cream recited meekly. “But it was a nice thing!” She insisted. “It shouldn’t have hurt her!”

“Too…complicated.” Amy wheezed. The lightheadedness wasn’t so bad as long as she kept her eyes closed. “And…vague. The command has to be short and do-able right that moment or else…” Amy slowly opened her eyes, the cozy kitchen looking almost normal. “My brain just went crazy.”

“I’m so sorry, Miss Amy. I really didn’t mean to hurt you.” Amy could hear a whine underscoring her voice. Cream’s instincts were reacting to Amy’s distress, but Amy also knew Cream was being sincere. When instincts were involved, Amy always found it hard to trust that the actions and sentiments were real and not hormones hijacking the person’s brain.

“It’s okay.” Amy opened her eyes and gave a weak smile. “Just, please don’t do that again.” Thank goodness she was recovering quickly.

Cream wiped at the tears gathered in her eyes. “I won’t, I promise!”

Mrs. Vanilla placed the fresh cup of tea in front of Amy, who raised it to sniff the calming aroma. “Cream,” Mrs. Vanilla’s voice was chiding, “what am I always saying?”

Cream thought for a second. “ACAB?”

Mrs. Vanilla rolled her eyes, “No, the other thing.”

Cream frowned, her brow furrowed. “There is no ethical consumption under capitalism?”

“No, Cream,” Mrs. Vanilla huffed, “the other other thing.”

“Always be closing?”

The mother rabbit closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. “Don’t you have homework to be doing?”

The teenager rolled her eyes and apologized to Amy once more, before retreating up the stairs to her room. “I’m truly, sorry about that dear. I’ll have a chat with her. It really wasn’t right.”

“It’s not that big of a deal.” Amy’s headache was fading quickly.

Just then, the front door opened again. “Vector?” Mrs. Vanilla poked her head out of the kitchen. Turning back to Amy, she gave a weary smile. “I’m sorry to have so many distractions, Amy. I’ll bag up your things here quick.”

The large green crocodile appeared behind Mrs. Vanilla, grasped her hips to rotate her, and caught the rabbit in a passionate kiss. Amy looked away. After a long moment, Mrs. Vanilla pushed away, giggling. “I’m with a client, dear.”

Golden eyes fell on Amy. “Sorry, Amy. Didn’t see you there.”

“It’s okay.” Amy grinned meekly.

The large green crocodile smiled, his long snout parting to reveal sharp teeth. “This is great, though. Glad you’re here. I can give you the details on that job I texted you about.”

“Oh, sure.” Amy sat up straight. “Thank you of thinking of me for it.” She dug a notebook and pencil out of her bag. Mrs. Vanilla gathered up the scent patches and took them away.

Vector settled heavily into one of the chairs. “Now, I know you said you wanted the job, but let me give you the details first.” Vector pulled out his phone and pulled up his photo archive. He took notes on paper when talking to clients, said it was more personal and ‘stylish’ than clacking away on a keyboard. Later he took a picture of his notes to have a portable copy. Not the best system in Amy’s opinion, but if it works it works, right?

He squinted at his screen before using his finger to zoom into the image. “So, the target is an Alpha ex-con just out the joint.” He looked pointedly at her. “You got that taser I gave you still, right?”

“Yes.” Amy nodded. It was in her closet somewhere. Vector had given it to her for her very first tailing job. She hadn’t yet needed it.

“Good. Carry it. I don’t want you within fifty feet of this guy but it’s good to be prepared. You remember how to use it?”

No, she didn’t. “Of course, I do.”

“Great. Remember, if you ever feel like you want a refresher, come by the office. I’ve always got a bounty lying around that’ll give you grounds to shock a shit-head bail jumper until he pisses himself.” Vector chuckled.

Mrs. Vanilla returned and began bundling all of Amy’s packets into a single package.

Amy gave a lopsided smile. “Uh, yeah, I’ll keep that in mind.” She gripped Cream’s scent patch. Amy frowned, suddenly feeling a little trepidation. “What did the target do?”

Vector leaned back. “The big attempted M.” He raised his brow as he spoke. “So, if you take this job, you got to promise me you give this jerk a wide berth. Normally, I wouldn’t give you work with this sort of target, but the client wants near constant eyes on him and I just don’t got the manpower.”

“Dear.” Mrs. Vanilla’s voice was quiet and calm as she worked.

“Er, uh. Personpower, I mean.” Vector corrected sheepishly.

“Thank you.” Mrs. Vanilla leaned down and kissed him on the cheek. Vector leaned into her and Amy averted her eyes again. Was she being polite, or did she just not like looking at things she couldn’t have?

Vector’s attention returned to Amy. “Anyway. As bonus, the client is some rich fuck, so it’s cart blanch on billable hours and I know you got rent to pay same as all of us.” No question there.

“How long was he in jail?” Attempted murder must have a pretty long minimum sentence. Maybe the target was a wither old man. No threat at all.

“Ten years there abouts. Got out way ahead of schedule, which is strange and I’m looking into that. If it’s on good behavior then he’s probably not looking to reoffend.” Vector pointed at Amy. “Don’t give him a reason, though, that’s for damn sure.”

Not an old man then. Amy thought about it. She was good at blending in, but she didn’t have access to a car. All her tailing work was done on foot, while concealing her camera with a telephoto lens. “How old is he then?”

Vector shrugged. “I’m still working on the full background details, but this guy was early twenties when he got thrown in, so early thirties there abouts now. A shit-for-brains kid then and now an ex-con with fuck all for a life. The system doesn’t make people better sure as shit stinks, but maybe he went and did it on his own.” Vector shrugged. “But don’t count on it. You want the job?”

An Alpha with a history of violence. Amy looked at her hands as she pulled at the fabric of her gloves absently. Vector knew she was an Omega…he was a detective after all, and Vanilla had a particular type of clientele. He was like Rouge, willing to treat Amy like she was a Beta. Willing to give her a chance to be something other than what her body and society wanted her to be.

“Yes, I do.”

“Good. I’ll send you more details.” Vector stored his phone. “I want you to start your clock the moment you walk out your front door and don’t stop it until you’re back inside. Keep receipts for every little damn thing while you’re on the job. If you buy a stick of gum, I want to see an expense report. It’s not every day you get a client who so thoroughly does not give a fuck about the bill, so suck that teat dry while you can.”

“Uh, sure. Yes, I will.” Amy didn’t spend much when she was on a stakeout. There was bus fare and maybe a cup of coffee. She always brought a peanut butter and jelly sandwich from home. Or three depending on how long she’d be sitting on a park bench or leaning against the wall under a convenience store awning, eyeing a closed door or window for any sign of her target.

“Here you are, dear.” Mrs. Vanilla placed a nicely wrapped package in front of her. “Oh, and take some of these as well!”

Amy found herself back at the bus stop, balancing a covered paper plate of fresh home-made carrot and cinnamon muffs on top of her paper bound cache of unregulated and potential illegal herbs. As if summoned by miracle, the Omega bus rolled up and Amy squeezed into to the packed interior.