Chapter Text
The Match Mater office decor was aggressively cheerful as if they could plaster enough pictures of happy couples and families on the walls to make up for the fact that they were a government agency that all unmated alphas and omegas over the age of 30 had to register with. The logic behind the law was understandable. Dominance fights were a significant problem, and the science backing up the health risks for unmated persons of both gender designations was sound. The answer to these issues is the Agency of Alpha and Omega Affairs.
Founded during the baby boomer era in response to the population increase, the agency began opening up offices touting their fool proof system to match the most compatible mates. Nowadays, they used a combination of genetic testing, personality questionnaire, and lifestyle preferences to generate a compatibility quotient. High match scores are then introduced to each other. Sometimes people had to wait a while before a high enough compatibility match is found, and sometimes people have multiple matches high enough for mating and could pick which one they preferred. For those alphas and omegas who wanted to voluntarily sign up with a matchmaker, it was a great service. It was the government mandated part that made the department so controversial. Every few years there were calls by gender rights activists for reform, but other than a few superficial adjustments, offices like Match Mater still stand.
Will, despite being a government employee himself, did not like Big Brother telling him who he had to mate and by when. Still, the law is the law and it’s really difficult to fly under the radar when he works for the FBI, so the day after his 30th birthday, he submits to the barrage of tests with ill grace. He manages to make it five years without pinging a match high enough for mandatory mating (he completely refuses to meet with any of the lower matches). It is enough to make him relax his guard, consider that maybe he is too defective for a mate (which really shouldn’t be a relieving thought) when his number comes up.
An impressively high number if the overly eager matchmaker smiling brightly across her desk in the Stepfordesque office was to be believed.
“There has only been three documented cases of matches scoring in the 99th percentile, and you and your mate are the highest genetic match anyone has ever seen!”
“I don’t have a mate.” Will stares at the woman’s teeth. He wonders how often she bleaches them, the light bouncing off of them was near mesmerizing.
She laughs, though Will can’t tell at what, causing those teeth to flash. “Not yet. We’ve contacted your match and have scheduled your meeting for next Monday so you will need to inform your employer. They are required by law to give you a full week off. They will administer a suppressant flush prior to the meeting, but it’ll be less of a strain on your body if you go ahead and stop taking them now. It is your choice whether you continue to utilize birth control, but they will need to know the type. It is best if you get a good night’s sleep the night before the meeting and eat something light that morning. We also need you to fill out an emergency contact form as well as a few other documents, which you can get from Linda at the front desk. You’ll bring them with you to the facility where the meeting is to be held. Do you have any questions?”
Were you an auctioneer in a former life? Will thinks. It is possible he may be in shock.
“What’s their name?”
“I’m sorry, I am not allowed to give you that information right now. It is to prevent the couple from meeting before the scheduled time.”
“If we are suppose to mate anyway, why does it matter when we first meet?” Why does the government care who we mate anyway? Why can’t my body and life be mine?
The woman’s bright, bright smile doesn’t falter, but he catches the tightening at the corners. “It is the Agency’s policy, sir.”
“Can you tell me anything at all about them?”
“Certainly, I have a dossier that you can take with you that has some basic information from your mate’s profile.”
She hands him a manila envelope that feels far too light for something so life altering.
“Please be at the Baltimore Match Mater Facility at 9 am next Monday. Directions are in the packet. If you fail to appear, you can be subject to legal repercussions including detainment.” She stands and opens the door to usher him out of the office. “Don’t forget to pick up those documents at the front desk. Have a great day and congratulations!”
He does not have a great day. He alternates between disbelief and panic, sometimes staring numbly at a spot on the wall and other times planning a oneway trip to Amsterdam. It is not until the next day that he can bring himself to look at the file on his match. It is just before dawn, and he has finally given up on sleep, sitting at his kitchen counter with a cup of coffee.
The contents of the unassuming envelope don’t tell him much. Alpha male, 6’0”, 170lbs, 45 years old, 99.6% match. That was it, not even as much information as a driver’s license. He is pretty sure he has written up more details for a profile from a murder scene. His age is somewhat of a surprise. If his intended mate is ten years older, why hadn’t Will been matched to him as soon as he registered five years ago? Maybe the man had a former mate who passed away, and he decided to reregister. It wasn’t unheard of, but it was not required by law. Will hoped this was not the case. This situation was stressful enough without the shadow of a deceased spouse.
The match number does not mean much to him until he does a little googling. Apparently the average match percentage is 75.2. The agency does not consider a match mating viable unless it is a score of above 60%. A score of 80% is considered a very high match. Above 90% is nearly unheard of. So the toothy woman hadn’t been exaggerating. A little more research tells him that couples with higher matches tend to feel a stronger draw to each other when they first meet. He shuts his computer and goes and sits out on the porch watching the sun rise and trying very hard not to think.