Page 55 of Heat Clickbait
"Is-Is that Rex Hamilton's scent?" I asked, wondering if she would or could tell me.
"Rex's scent is actually quite compatible with yours on paper," Dr. Yates said, watching my neutral response. "But your brain shows mild aversion. Interesting."
"He abandoned me mid-heat," I told her.
"Yes, but that's learned response. This..." she gestured to the scan, "this suggests your body knew he was wrong before your mind did."
After the brain scans came blood work, hormone panels, and pheromone analysis that involved me sweating into collection pads (dignified, really). Throughout it all, Dr. Yates maintained clinical detachment while somehow remaining warm.
"Now," she said once I was back in regular clothes, feeling like a science experiment, "we wait for your pack to arrive. I need comparison readings."
"You said you'd see me alone?—"
"I am. But I need to scan them separately, then together with you. The interaction patterns are crucial data."
They arrived exactly on time, which I was sure was Nova's influence. They flooded the clinical space with their combined scents and barely contained anxiety as soon as they walked in.
Crash bounced in place while Ghost hung back, Milo carried stress-baked goods, Blitz filled the doorframe, and Nova immediately catalogued every detail of the room.
"Gentlemen," Dr. Yates greeted them with professional warmth. "Individual scans first. Mr. Moreno, you're up."
Milo disappeared into the examination room while the rest of us waited. Crash drummed against his thighs, the rhythm increasingly frantic.
"What if we're not actually compatible?" he blurted suddenly. "What if it's just really intense chemistry that'll burn out?"
"Then we deal with it," Ghost said quietly, surprising everyone by speaking up. "Together."
One by one, they underwent the same testing I had. When Dr. Yates finally called us all back, her expression was carefully neutral in that way medical professionals perfected when processing significant information.
"First, let me show you individual results." She pulled up brain scans on the wall display. "Each of you shows heightened neural activity when exposed to stimuli related to other pack members. But look at the patterns."
She traced areas of the brain with her finger. "Callie, your response centers in both the limbic system, that's instinct and biology, and the prefrontal cortex, which is your conscious choice, emotional evaluation. You're not just responding to pheromones. You're actively choosing to bond."
"And us?" Nova asked, his business voice barely covering anxiety.
"Similar patterns, with variations." She pulled up Nova's scan. "Mr. Masters, your analytical centers are firing simultaneously with biological responses. You're literally calculating while bonding. Mr. Bailey—" Crash's scan appeared, "—shows the highest dopamine response, but also increased activity in areas associated with long-term attachment, not just immediate gratification."
She went through each scan, showing how each of them responded.
"But here's the fascinating part." She pulled up a new display showing all our scans simultaneously. "When you're together..."
The individual scans suddenly synchronized, patterns aligning in ways that made even my untrained eye recognizethe connection. It was like watching six separate instruments suddenly harmonize into a symphony.
"This is extraordinarily rare," Dr. Yates said softly. "Not just scent matching, not just biological compatibility. Your emotional regulation, stress responses, even cognitive patterns, they complement and stabilize each other. You're not losing yourselves in the bond. You're... optimizing each other."
"Is that why my ADHD has been more manageable?" Crash asked, uncharacteristically still.
"Likely, yes. And why Ghost has been more verbal, why Milo's anxiety has decreased, why Nova's been able to relax control." She turned to me. "And why you've been able to maintain independence while accepting connection. Your pack bonds aren't overriding your individual traits, they're supporting them."
"So we're real?" I asked, needing the simple answer everyone craved.
Dr. Yates smiled, the expression warm but complex. "You're something better than real. You're conscious. Every day, your brains are choosing each other, not just responding to biological drives. The public wants to separate biology and choice, but you're proof they're not opposites. They're partners."
She pulled up one final display. Hormone levels over time. "Your compatibility is increasing, not decreasing. Most purely biological attractions fade as bodies adapt. Yours are strengthening through conscious reinforcement. You're literally training your brains to love each other more deeply."
"The comments are still brutal," I admitted. "People saying I've betrayed my message, that I'm weak for needing them?—"
"Show them this." Dr. Yates handed me a printout of my brain scan. "Your independence centers are more active now than in your baseline from your medical records of two yearsago. You haven't lost yourself, Callie. You've expanded yourself. And that terrifies people who need simple narratives."
