"The Pact"

Written By: The Plotting Housewife

Disclaimer: Gundam Wing belongs to Bandai, Sotsu and associated Parties. This work is written for pleasure not profit.

Rating: NC 17

Warnings: Smut, Porn With Plot, OT5, Fluff, Mild Angst, Humor, Fivesome, Angst, Newtypes, Possessive Behavior, Alternate Universe - Dark, Non-Graphic Violence

Pairings: 3x5x2x4x1

Summary: Formerly Intervention (retitled because the story detoured and went its own way).After seducing Quatre, the other four ex-pilots brave the uncharted waters of their new abilities and learn to cope with the unintentional gifts they were given. But as always, power requires responsibility and the humbling acknowledgement of humanity's weaknesses. The struggle to stay true to themselves becomes a dangerous and terrifying endeavor as they skirt the boundary where conscience bleeds into chaos and the dark abyss of temptation.

"The Pact"

Chapter 6: Harsh Realities

The vodka sour was a perfect blend of sweet and tart with just enough liquor to melt Quatre's frazzled nerves like a network of wires coated in honey. He glowered at Iria from across the table as she plucked the maraschino cherries from the plastic sword that rested on the top of his glass and popped all three into her mouth at once. "Those were mine, you thief."

"Suck it up, kiddo. The world isn't fair," she quipped, sliding the orange wedge from the tiny spear and wrapping her lips around the fruit's flesh.

"Have you always been this irritating?"

"Not really. Only after I ended up with twenty nine bratty younger siblings."

"Touché," he muttered, poking at the floating ice cubes in his glass with the tip of his straw.

"And you, my dearest baby brother," she continued. "Were the worst of the bunch."

"Oh, thanks."

"I mean, the worst -"

"Duly noted, sis -"

"I don't think you could even wipe your own ass until you were old enough for school -"

"Okay, Iria!" He glanced around frantically, making sure no one had overheard that. "I was a brat. I get it."

"You still are."

"M'not," he mumbled and sipped his drink.

"See? You're pouting."

"I'm not pout - damn it. Okay, look. Could you cut me a little slack here? It's not every day someone gets news like...like the kind I got today, you know?"

"Honestly, Quatre. It's not the end of the world."

"Maybe not technically, but it's not like I was given a choice in this. This omega...whatever it is, just laid out my entire life for me. Including my romantic life. Not to mention the lives of my four best friends. They didn't get a choice either."

Iria paused in her task of decimating a defenseless bread stick and pointed the mangled half still in her hand at her brother. "One thing you need to learn and learn quick is that the Omega does not care what you want, or don't want. Nor does it care about what anyone else wants. The sooner you accept that, the better off you'll be."

"What is it, though? Where does it come from?"

"We don't really know for sure. The first case was documented in January of AC 99. People then thought it was just a fluke, some freak thing that couldn't be explained and dismissed it. It wasn't until the year 118 that they began to notice this anomaly popping up in more and more people."

"All colonists."

"Yes. It was just after the phenomenon known among some as Newtypes began to circulate. They found that there was a correlation between those who were suspected of being a Newtype having this Omega trait. The question is, which came first? The chicken, or the egg?"

"Does it matter?"

"If we want to get the bottom of it and accurately identify these anomalies and what their origins are, then yes."

"How do you know so much about this?"

Iria shifted in her seat and glanced around before leaning over the table, her voice a hushed whisper when she said, "I'm part of the research team."

"What?!"

"Keep your voice down," she hissed.

"You knew about this? All this time? And you never said anything?"

"I couldn't, Quatre, and I'm sorry about that. You had yet to be confirmed to have the Omega gene until today. This is classified information."

"But you knew I was a Newtype and you said Mother was one, too. Isn't there a blood, or DNA test you could have done?"

"The only way an Omega is confirmed one way, or the other is either by activating it, which you did, or it's made known after death via autopsy by discovering the dormant Eroyica gland."

"Are you both ready to order?"

They jumped back, away from each other like two opposing sides of a magnet and blinked up at the waiter who waited patiently, his pen poised over the thick stack of orders in his hand.

"Uh...yes," Iria said, shaking the surprise away and glancing down at her menu. "I'll have the Pasta Primavera, please."

"Soup, or salad?"

"Salad. Italian. Quat?"

"Huh?" He turned his stunned expression on his sister who gave him a pointed look. "Oh. I don't - I don't really care. Whatever she's having, or maybe just a plate of lettuce, or whatever..." His appetite had disappeared right around the time Iria told him he was a freak of nature and it had not been seen since. He lifted his glass and gently shook it. "I'll take another one of these, though."

"Right. I'll just get these out of your way and go put the orders in."

Iria had to yank Quatre's menu out from under his elbows as it seemed he was lacking basic motor control at the moment and handed their menus to the waiter with an apologetic smile. "Thank you."

"I'll be back shortly with your drink, Sir."

A sharp kick to the shin beneath the table jarred Quatre from his musings. He yelped, indignant, and rubbed the sore spot with his fingers. "Ow! What's the matter with you?"

"Me? What's the matter with you?" Iria glanced at the waiter as he left and then leveled a stern look at her brother. "He probably thinks you're stoned, for Christ's sake."

"...Is that an option?"

"No! Allah, why are you being such a baby about this?"

"Well, excuse me for not being a pillar of gentlemanly etiquette after finding out something that changes not only my life, but the lives of other people. And to top it off, I find out my own sister had a hand in it and never told me!"

"Quatre," she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Please understand that I could not tell you. You of all people should know the importance of Top Secret affairs."

"Did Father know?"

"Of course. He funded the research. Still does through his estate."

Quatre leaned back and folded his arms across his chest. "So he was Mother's Alpha."

"Yes."

"Did either of them know beforehand?"

"No. It happened by accident, just as it did with you."

He chewed his lip, not even sure he wanted to know the answer to the next question. "Did she have other Alphas?"

"No. Just Father."

"So what determines how many Alphas an Omega has? The Omega?"

"We think so. There could be other reasons why an Omega has only one, or in cases such as yours, multiple Alphas."

"What reasons would those be?"

"Well, just remember that I'm only speculating here. We're still kind of flying by the seat of our pants on this so a lot of what I'm telling you is guesswork."

He huffed, but nodded in acquiesce. As much as he would have liked definitive answers, this was as good as it was going to get. At least for now. "Fine."

"Okay. I don't know if there's any real rhyme, or reason, but as a scientist, I know that there is usually an explanation, even when we don't know what it is. My best guess is that it has to do with risk factors. The more at risk an Omega is, the higher the need for more Alphas. Mother was a low-risk Omega. She was a domesticated woman and was well-protected by a man with the power and the resources to keep her safe. She only needed one Alpha."

He idly tapped his lip as he weighed the merits of this theory in his mind. It did make sense.

"You," Iria continued, "are a high-risk Omega. You were a soldier. You are in a position where you are almost constantly in the public eye which puts you in danger, not only of exposure, but to threats by business rivals, political enemies.." She hesitated there and turned her gaze towards the window.

He waited to see if she would go on and gently prompted her when she seemed to space out. "And...what else?"

She cleared her throat, her face pained as she turned back to him. "And assassins," she added, wincing at the mere thought of such a thing. "And...other Alphas. The fact that you -"

"Wait." He stopped her and leaned forward, intrigued. "What do you mean "other Alphas"?"

She smiled, though it was bitter and lacked any semblance of humor. "You are highly sought after, little brother. You know that. Even if you take away the Omega aspect, you are extremely desirable. Factor in the Omega, if you're not careful, established Alphas will sniff you out and claim you before you even know what's happening."

"What the hell do you mean by "claim me"?"

"The -" Iria began, but stopped abruptly and pressed her lips together as the waiter arrived to bring Quatre's drink. Both she and the waiter watched in stunned silence when he grabbed the straw, threw it over his shoulder, and tipped the drink back, guzzling down two thirds of it within five seconds. He nodded in affirmation, wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, and tapped the glass for the waiter to bring him another.

"Yes...Sir. Of course, Sir. I'll get you another." The young man's expression could only be described as "weirded out" as he spun on his heel and walked away. It wasn't every day that the prestigious Quatre Winner showed up at a restaurant and displayed less than perfect manners.

"Have you lost your mind?" Iria hissed once they were alone again.

Quatre leveled a stony look on her. "Is this a rhetorical question?"

"You are not getting wasted in front of all these people."

He shrugged. "Fine. I'll just do it when I get home." He turned their discussion back to the issue at hand despite her answering scowl. "What did you mean by "claim me"?"

She huffed, planted her elbows onto the table hard enough to rattle the silver, and rubbed her temples. "Your Alphas have already claimed you. But another can reclaim you, if you let them, or if..."

He put the pieces together easily enough even through the fuzziness of the alcohol sloshing around in his brain. "Or if they rape me."

"You have got to be careful, Quatre. You have to take at least as many precautions as you do now, or did during the war. You already have a target on your head -"

"Now I have one on my ass," he grumbled. "Literally."

"You are susceptible to your Alphas' call. They share your gift now and they will have to learn to keep that in check. It won't be easy."

He thought back to the moment after the first round of sex when Trowa had put him to sleep with a mere thought alone. "What exactly are they capable of now?"

"Everything you are. But in addition to that, as Alphas, their nature is protective and territorial. There will be times when they will have difficulty controlling themselves around you, at least in the beginning. Things will get better, become more stable once all of you have acclimated into your new lives. But initially, there will be some bumps in the road while you adjust. That goes for them, too."

"But you said they couldn't hurt me."

"Technically, no. They aren't capable of that. The Omega would never allow it, but what the Omega will want and what you will want may conflict at times."

"Could you elaborate?"

"Think of it as a young child. It operates on instinct alone. It knows what it wants and it knows what needs to be done to accomplish that. It's not going to care if you're tired, or not in the mood. It is intricately connected to your Alphas at all times, even when you are not aware of it. And it will tell them what it wants, when and where it wants it, regardless of what your feelings on the matter are."

"Wonderful. So this parasite gets to control everything I do and what gets done to me."

"Believe me, sweetie. Once it gets your Alphas going, you won't care. You'll be in the same boat they are."

He groaned and buried his face in his hands. "I don't believe this. So, what are we supposed to do? How do we make this work? None of us live together. We all have separate lives, careers. Trowa's on L3. Duo's on L2. Heero and Wufei are on Earth."

"I'll be honest with you. I've never encountered any Omegas that didn't live with their Alphas. I'm sure at some point, that will happen. They will need to be close to you. Separation does not bode well for Alphas."

"Is there nothing that can break this? What happens if I die first?"

"You'd better not be thinking anything along those lines, young man. If you die first, they will follow. It's inevitable."

"That's bullshit! That's not fair." A profound sense of fear, anger, and helplessness surged within his chest and manifested as a bitter sting behind his eyes. This was so wrong. They didn't deserve this fate.

She reached for his hand. "I don't make the rules, hon, and I'm sorry that this has happened. If I knew of a way that could break the bond safely, I would do it in a heartbeat."

He rubbed his eyes and blew out a heavy sigh. "Now I know why you and Father kept this from me."

She smiled sadly and squeezed his hand. "What's done is done. There's no going back. The only thing we can do now is make the best of what's been laid out for us. It can work, Quat. You can be happy and so can they. The Omega in you chose them for a reason. It knows how much you love them and how much they love you."

"I'm scared, Iria," he confessed. And there it was. The ominous feeling at the root of all this, simmering beneath. Unease, uncertainty, and trepidation licking up into him like flickering flames heating the twisted tension in his gut.

"Oh, Quat. You'll be fine. I promise. Look, you've got the best Alphas you could possibly have. Four ex-Gundam pilots? And you're one yourself?"

A grin found it's way to his mouth, small as it was. "Does that mean you approve?"

"Are you kidding? Consider this my ringing endorsement. You've got the best of the best looking out for you. And they love you. You'll get through this."

He blew out a breath and worked the stiffness from his shoulders. "Alright. I'll do my best. The question now is, how am I going to explain all this to them?"

"You didn't spend fifteen years of being trained for the public eye for nothing, kiddo. You got this."

He wasn't so sure. This wasn't damage control over a faulty satellite, or schmoozing politicians to get a crucial bill passed. This was deeply personal and involved the four most important people in his life. The feeling, he surmised, wasn't all that different from an oncologist getting ready to deliver bad news to a cancer patient. The weight of anxiety made him queasy and felt heavy across his back. Suddenly, his stomach was making its displeasure over those vodka sours known.

"Just remember...and this is important. You are in a committed relationship now so you need to act like it. Your Alphas are extremely territorial and people have lost their lives due to jealous, or vengeful Alphas. Don't do anything to provoke that. No flirting, no dates, definitely no sex."

"Pretty sure I'm going to have my hands full on that front." Among other things.

"There's no doubt about that. You certainly won't be lacking when it comes to sex."

"You mentioned something about rutting? Does that mean I'll go into heat?"

"Only females have heat cycles. But male Alphas always rut."

"How often?"

"On average, every six months, but everyone's different. Sometimes it's longer, sometimes it's shorter."

"All at once, or separately?"

"You're a unit. You're all connected together so your Alphas will rut at the same time. And when they do, you're going to need to take time off from work because they will need you. You're going to have to give them what they need, when they need it."

He got the peculiar sense that there was more. "Or?"

"Or they will go insane. I'm not even joking," she assured him when his face twisted into mild disbelief. "Trust me, you do not want them climbing the walls and getting violent."

"You make them sound like animals."

She pressed her lips together and leaned back. Alarmed by her lack of response, Quatre narrowed his eyes. "Oh, Allah. Is that how they're going to be? Iria!"

"No! It's - it's not as bad as it sounds."

"Speak for yourself!"

"They're not going to be...well, alright. If we're being honest here. Kind of."

"Kind of? What kind of answer is "kind of"?"

"They'll be...tenacious."

He eyed her suspiciously. "Tenacious."

"Yes."

Memories surfaced, hazy, but still strangely lucid. The pull he'd felt in Heero's mind. The verbal command that triggered his Eroyica gland and the way they'd all responded to it. Sniffing the air like dogs catching wind of prey. How they'd yanked him off the couch, ripped his t-shirt, and went at him with a ferocity that he couldn't bring himself to be frightened of even though he'd had every reason to be scared.

They'd been nothing short of feral and if their ruts were any more intense, he would be in for it. And for some reason that didn't frighten him either. Anything but. He shifted on his chair, a jolt of panic surging up his spine when he felt a slight tickle inside, followed by a trickle of moisture seeping into his briefs. If the mere thought of sex with his Alphas could stimulate his Eroyica gland, he was going to have to exercise monumental self restraint to keep from soaking himself in public.

"Yeah, I wouldn't do that."

He glanced up, caught Iria's knowing look, and blushed to the tips of his ears. He was saved from further embarrassment when the waiter arrived with their food and the sight and smells of fresh pasta and spices managed to bring his appetite back around. More ravenous than he could ever remember being, he picked up his fork and began digging in before the plate was even on the table.

Iria watched him with an amused expression, her water glass resting against her lips. "That's more like it. You need to eat and eat well. Your health is important and you're going to need that energy."

He twirled his noodles around his fork and shoveled it into his mouth, sending her a sharp glare when she winked playfully.

"You're a pervert."

~ * ~

Chapter 7

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