Imperfection is perhaps the quality that makes us all the more human, suspects vulnerable to our own humanity. It is the quality that markes the line between humanity and perfection.
* * *
Perfection Calls for Imperfection:
* * *
Eugene slid along the smooth floor of the posh, modern laboratory. Even when it came to opportunities he couldn't succeed. Somehow he found the situation immensely funny and bitter laughter threatened to erupt from his throat. This was the chance he was looking for, an escape from his own miserable hell, but he just couldn't do it. How...ironic?
He slid back onto his wheelchair, if a bit ungracefully. He circled the complex, sinking deeper into his thoughts. His duty was done, and his life was at an end, with someone else picking up the reigns to continue. Then why was he still here? What was he waiting for? He didn't know. Truthfully, he was more confused about his current situation. Something was keeping him back. Whether it was his incompetence or cowardice he did not know. He was second best to everything...even himself. How strange that it was an *invalid* that managed to make *Jerome* something, more precisely, *someone*.
He turned toward one of the many stainless steel tables and picked up the lonely bottle of vodka, taking a long swig. He lifted the bottle to the ceiling. "To Jerome...home where you belong." He realized his toast was a little absurd, but that didn't stop him. He gave a brief, mirthless laugh before taking another swig.
The liquor within the clear bottle began to diminish. "Even science cannot effectively clear the imperfection of humanity." He was *supposed* to be the superior being, the child of science created through generous amounts of money. Somewhere along the way, everything went wrong. His life turned upside down and he was drawn to alcohol like honey drew bees. But his addiction made him *feel* human. His imperfection made him realize that he was still human, nothing like the mindless drones of the *valid*. But then again...it could have been delusion or denial creeping along his veins.
He felt warm and slow. Alcohol was finally taking effect. His mind seemed to blur, like an old dream that he kept trying to picture. He dimly recalled a conversation he had with Vincent...no, *Jerome*.
* * *
He was drunk, again, and Vincent/Jerome, was also giddy with alcohol. His head lolled about the wheelchair, and he knew he would undeniably pass out sooner or later. Jerome slid onto the leather chair, the material creaking under his weight.
"Eugene...?" Jerome asked hesitantly.
"What?"
"Were you ever...in love?"
It seemed like a simple question, but the words felt like acid against his skin. *Was he ever in love?* Infatuation, perhaps, but love? He did not know how to respond to this innocent question. Plainly the man was in love to ask such a random question.
"I don't know." he answered honestly.
"How can you not know?"
"I...met this woman once. *Met* isn't exactly the word. I...insulted her and she slapped me. She attended the same institute."
"And..."
The man obviously knew there was more to the story. He felt his chest tighten. There was *much* more to the story, and most of it was painful. Painful memories that he locked away and buried deep inside his mind. He felt the dam breaking and the flood of memories rushing in, drowning him, almost.
"She was an *invalid*."
Jerome froze after hearing the god-forsaken word. *Eugene and an invalid?*
"What happened?" Jerome asked quietly.
"My family didn't approve, obviously. It was a scandalous affair. I broke...I broke her heart."
*I broke her heart...*
He felt a prickle within his eyes and felt his chest constricting in pain. There was so much more to the story. It wasn't really as simple as it sounded. He passed out.
* * *
He shut his eyes. The conversation seemed so long ago, far away. He kept most of the information under wraps. Even then he was a private man.
* * *
Oh god how he was in love. But even then he didn't succeed in that category. He insulted her, true. He was ignorant beyond belief and arrogant as well. The combination was not surprising for a son born to a prominent family. He made a snide remark about *invalids* and she slapped him across the face. The sting was refreshing.
Angry, he turned to face the source and was surprised by the sight of an angry female. There was a small laminated card and a pin on her blouse, indicating her special permit as an *invalid*. He found it odd. Why would an *invalid* be in the institute?
She froze as she realized what she had done and stammered her apologies. Her anger went unchecked. And that was how he met *her*. The relationship blossomed and withered under the careful precision of his family.
* * *
He drank the rest of the contents in the bottle and threw it away. He recklessly glided across the smooth, polished floors. He fingered the medal, tracing the contours and edges of the *silver* medal. Everything was a painful reminder of his incompetence.
He threw the medal into the confining metal box. He threw a few of his old clothes as well; his school uniforms, team wear, etc., they all went in the furnace. Old memories burned into cinders, changing into nothing.
He left the laboratory and spent the rest of the day upstairs. Bored out of his mind, he flipped on the television. He carelessly flipped across the channels. He froze. He thought he saw someone he recognized. He flipped back to the channel on world news. His heart nearly stopped.
* * *
There was a photograph of *her* on the screen. She was leading the research team in a crusade against paralysis. Strange, how very strange. He was intrigued by her current occupation. What had motivated her toward her current situation. Certainly not him, that much he knew, but... He shook his head. Boyish fancies would get him nowhere. She was on the raid to find the cure. He barely held onto hope that she would find the cure.
He continued watching the program. Evidently, she's been part of the team for months, possibly years, searching for the cure. She was among the lucky few *invalids* to break the barrier and lead a life of special permits and promises. For them, a few doors were open, very few. He wished her well. He wondered idly if the luck was for her or for his greedy self.
There as little news on the progress ofJerome's mission. So far, the team managed to do little research. The origin of life still eluded the team. In a week or so, the team would begin full research and start recording notes and observations. Eugene had no doubt that Jerome would eventually find the answers. He *was* where he belonged after all.
But where did *he* belong? He didn't belong here, confined in the miserable chair. If there were such things as compassion or mercy, he would be off the chair, walking, dancing, or swimming. For all the money he had, he possessed nothing of value. He regretted so many things, but this was not the time for self-pity.
He called German and opened the hidden doorway. The black market was doing very well this time of year. German eyed Eugene skeptically. German knew every trick in the book. The man's manner unnerved him, somewhat.
"Eugene, what can I do for you?"
"I...I want you to get me all the information you can on Genevieve White."
The man nodded, as if he understood. "The researcher for paralysis. Of course."
Eugene let the man make assumptions. The only options he had left were to wait. How boring! He sighed as he listened to German.
"What am I going to do now?" Eugene asked patiently.
"Well...we could get you a maid to take care of the complex while you live. How else are you going to take care of yourself? This agreement can last a year until Jerome comes back."
Eugene silently nodded in agreement. It would be best if he just waited. The idea was daunting.
* * *
The maid came next week. She was young, but reality made her seem older. She, too, was an *invalid*, hardened from her tainted blood. She was qualified for the job, and would keep silent if enough money went around. He trusted her enough to leave her alone upstairs, but he restricted the second floor. Too many precious evidence was left there. He couldn't risk it.
Idly, he flipped through pictures of his *earlier* days. He felt bitter remorse as each page was turned. He stopped turning when he landed on a picture of Genevieve. He wondered why he still kept her picture. Sentimental value, perhaps. He knew the real reason was much deeper. Love was steadfast.
"German has asked to see you." the maid said quietly. He nodded and German was let in. The man carried documents of all sorts in his hand.
"What have you learned?" Eugene asked.
"All the information you need is in this packet." German was given a hefty sum before he was sent away. All the information he needed was in the packet. Eugene felt nervous, but eager. Eugene carefully opened the manila envelope. Varied documents, articles, etc. scattered across the stainless steel table. He skimmed across those he already knew until he came across a few he did not. There were a few rumors of her past. She was taken to an adoption center where it became her home. Her remarkable abilities both mentally and physically went unnoticed, a strange gift for an *invalid*. Eventually, she succeeded in education in the field of medicine. It took her years to find a research center willing to allow an *invalid* to work in their vicinity. She soon became a valuable asset to the research center.
Ah yes...Genevieve. He truly did love her, and regretted the decisions he had made in the past, but it was too late for that. Being a Morrow meant priority. He briefly wondered what his family would think of him now, Navigator First Class of the mission 951 Gaspra in the Outer Astroid Belt. It would come as a shock to know an *invalid* was passing as himself. His ancestors would roll over in their graves. The thought brought little joy.
Every day he awaited for more news on Jerome and Genevieve, the two most important links to himself, although somewhat indirectly.
* * *
"Ms. White's contribution to medical research is invaluable. It is truly remarkable on her recent discoveries based on paralysis. Originally, her research began on the cure of paraplegia. Eventually, it went whole scale. The team is still running tests. They're confident that the cure will be found soon. I don't doub them." a man said.
"It's strange. An *invalid* leading the elite team of researchers. Perhaps this is a sign...?"
"Well of course. She's too bloody stubborn for her own good." he said softly. Eugene realized he snorted lightly. It was laced thinly with fondness and humor.
He turned off the television. Everything was going smoothly somehow. *An invalid.* *Invalids* deserved more credit he realized. He knew two of them, both remarkable in different ways.
* * *
*Genevieve White.* She condemned conformity, and her every action was a rebellion, defiance against the set system. He nearly laughed at the conjured images. *Ms.* Genevieve White. She was not yet married. Perhaps single. He couldn't get his hopes up too high. He threw his head back and laughed. He wondered why his laugh sounded rich and full.
He could be *cured*. He thought his legs itched. A faint smile threatened to reveal itself. When Jerome comes back down...he would...he didn't know. If Jerome did come back, many surprises would come. Perhaps Jerome already knew of the good news...but Jerome thought he was dead. And what of *Genevieve*? She would be more than surprised to see him again.
He wasn't ready for both confrontations. He would take it slowly. He laughed again. He felt giddy, and it was enhanced further by the alcohol. A year for him to prepare. *A year!* He felt high. Eventually, the alcohol's effect began to slow and came to a stop. He made a stop in the bathroom, releasing the harmful substance. His body minutely cleansed, he crawled into the inviting bed. Sober, with alcohol no longer in his system, he drifted off into sleep. Dimly he realized that he was sleeping sober...for once. He laughed out loud and snored softly.
Someday, his puzzled life would come together to form a complete picture. A year of patience and everything would come. One year...his whole life...complete...
* * *
Author's Note:
First of all, I'm a huge fan of Gattaca. I thought the ending to be very sad, and I thought a fanfiction would be the best solution to alter the ending to my liking. I realize that my decision as an author would not please some of the many fans of this movie. I thought that Jerome, well Eugene, deserved a happy ending for such a crappy life.
* * *
Perfection Calls for Imperfection:
* * *
Eugene slid along the smooth floor of the posh, modern laboratory. Even when it came to opportunities he couldn't succeed. Somehow he found the situation immensely funny and bitter laughter threatened to erupt from his throat. This was the chance he was looking for, an escape from his own miserable hell, but he just couldn't do it. How...ironic?
He slid back onto his wheelchair, if a bit ungracefully. He circled the complex, sinking deeper into his thoughts. His duty was done, and his life was at an end, with someone else picking up the reigns to continue. Then why was he still here? What was he waiting for? He didn't know. Truthfully, he was more confused about his current situation. Something was keeping him back. Whether it was his incompetence or cowardice he did not know. He was second best to everything...even himself. How strange that it was an *invalid* that managed to make *Jerome* something, more precisely, *someone*.
He turned toward one of the many stainless steel tables and picked up the lonely bottle of vodka, taking a long swig. He lifted the bottle to the ceiling. "To Jerome...home where you belong." He realized his toast was a little absurd, but that didn't stop him. He gave a brief, mirthless laugh before taking another swig.
The liquor within the clear bottle began to diminish. "Even science cannot effectively clear the imperfection of humanity." He was *supposed* to be the superior being, the child of science created through generous amounts of money. Somewhere along the way, everything went wrong. His life turned upside down and he was drawn to alcohol like honey drew bees. But his addiction made him *feel* human. His imperfection made him realize that he was still human, nothing like the mindless drones of the *valid*. But then again...it could have been delusion or denial creeping along his veins.
He felt warm and slow. Alcohol was finally taking effect. His mind seemed to blur, like an old dream that he kept trying to picture. He dimly recalled a conversation he had with Vincent...no, *Jerome*.
* * *
He was drunk, again, and Vincent/Jerome, was also giddy with alcohol. His head lolled about the wheelchair, and he knew he would undeniably pass out sooner or later. Jerome slid onto the leather chair, the material creaking under his weight.
"Eugene...?" Jerome asked hesitantly.
"What?"
"Were you ever...in love?"
It seemed like a simple question, but the words felt like acid against his skin. *Was he ever in love?* Infatuation, perhaps, but love? He did not know how to respond to this innocent question. Plainly the man was in love to ask such a random question.
"I don't know." he answered honestly.
"How can you not know?"
"I...met this woman once. *Met* isn't exactly the word. I...insulted her and she slapped me. She attended the same institute."
"And..."
The man obviously knew there was more to the story. He felt his chest tighten. There was *much* more to the story, and most of it was painful. Painful memories that he locked away and buried deep inside his mind. He felt the dam breaking and the flood of memories rushing in, drowning him, almost.
"She was an *invalid*."
Jerome froze after hearing the god-forsaken word. *Eugene and an invalid?*
"What happened?" Jerome asked quietly.
"My family didn't approve, obviously. It was a scandalous affair. I broke...I broke her heart."
*I broke her heart...*
He felt a prickle within his eyes and felt his chest constricting in pain. There was so much more to the story. It wasn't really as simple as it sounded. He passed out.
* * *
He shut his eyes. The conversation seemed so long ago, far away. He kept most of the information under wraps. Even then he was a private man.
* * *
Oh god how he was in love. But even then he didn't succeed in that category. He insulted her, true. He was ignorant beyond belief and arrogant as well. The combination was not surprising for a son born to a prominent family. He made a snide remark about *invalids* and she slapped him across the face. The sting was refreshing.
Angry, he turned to face the source and was surprised by the sight of an angry female. There was a small laminated card and a pin on her blouse, indicating her special permit as an *invalid*. He found it odd. Why would an *invalid* be in the institute?
She froze as she realized what she had done and stammered her apologies. Her anger went unchecked. And that was how he met *her*. The relationship blossomed and withered under the careful precision of his family.
* * *
He drank the rest of the contents in the bottle and threw it away. He recklessly glided across the smooth, polished floors. He fingered the medal, tracing the contours and edges of the *silver* medal. Everything was a painful reminder of his incompetence.
He threw the medal into the confining metal box. He threw a few of his old clothes as well; his school uniforms, team wear, etc., they all went in the furnace. Old memories burned into cinders, changing into nothing.
He left the laboratory and spent the rest of the day upstairs. Bored out of his mind, he flipped on the television. He carelessly flipped across the channels. He froze. He thought he saw someone he recognized. He flipped back to the channel on world news. His heart nearly stopped.
* * *
There was a photograph of *her* on the screen. She was leading the research team in a crusade against paralysis. Strange, how very strange. He was intrigued by her current occupation. What had motivated her toward her current situation. Certainly not him, that much he knew, but... He shook his head. Boyish fancies would get him nowhere. She was on the raid to find the cure. He barely held onto hope that she would find the cure.
He continued watching the program. Evidently, she's been part of the team for months, possibly years, searching for the cure. She was among the lucky few *invalids* to break the barrier and lead a life of special permits and promises. For them, a few doors were open, very few. He wished her well. He wondered idly if the luck was for her or for his greedy self.
There as little news on the progress ofJerome's mission. So far, the team managed to do little research. The origin of life still eluded the team. In a week or so, the team would begin full research and start recording notes and observations. Eugene had no doubt that Jerome would eventually find the answers. He *was* where he belonged after all.
But where did *he* belong? He didn't belong here, confined in the miserable chair. If there were such things as compassion or mercy, he would be off the chair, walking, dancing, or swimming. For all the money he had, he possessed nothing of value. He regretted so many things, but this was not the time for self-pity.
He called German and opened the hidden doorway. The black market was doing very well this time of year. German eyed Eugene skeptically. German knew every trick in the book. The man's manner unnerved him, somewhat.
"Eugene, what can I do for you?"
"I...I want you to get me all the information you can on Genevieve White."
The man nodded, as if he understood. "The researcher for paralysis. Of course."
Eugene let the man make assumptions. The only options he had left were to wait. How boring! He sighed as he listened to German.
"What am I going to do now?" Eugene asked patiently.
"Well...we could get you a maid to take care of the complex while you live. How else are you going to take care of yourself? This agreement can last a year until Jerome comes back."
Eugene silently nodded in agreement. It would be best if he just waited. The idea was daunting.
* * *
The maid came next week. She was young, but reality made her seem older. She, too, was an *invalid*, hardened from her tainted blood. She was qualified for the job, and would keep silent if enough money went around. He trusted her enough to leave her alone upstairs, but he restricted the second floor. Too many precious evidence was left there. He couldn't risk it.
Idly, he flipped through pictures of his *earlier* days. He felt bitter remorse as each page was turned. He stopped turning when he landed on a picture of Genevieve. He wondered why he still kept her picture. Sentimental value, perhaps. He knew the real reason was much deeper. Love was steadfast.
"German has asked to see you." the maid said quietly. He nodded and German was let in. The man carried documents of all sorts in his hand.
"What have you learned?" Eugene asked.
"All the information you need is in this packet." German was given a hefty sum before he was sent away. All the information he needed was in the packet. Eugene felt nervous, but eager. Eugene carefully opened the manila envelope. Varied documents, articles, etc. scattered across the stainless steel table. He skimmed across those he already knew until he came across a few he did not. There were a few rumors of her past. She was taken to an adoption center where it became her home. Her remarkable abilities both mentally and physically went unnoticed, a strange gift for an *invalid*. Eventually, she succeeded in education in the field of medicine. It took her years to find a research center willing to allow an *invalid* to work in their vicinity. She soon became a valuable asset to the research center.
Ah yes...Genevieve. He truly did love her, and regretted the decisions he had made in the past, but it was too late for that. Being a Morrow meant priority. He briefly wondered what his family would think of him now, Navigator First Class of the mission 951 Gaspra in the Outer Astroid Belt. It would come as a shock to know an *invalid* was passing as himself. His ancestors would roll over in their graves. The thought brought little joy.
Every day he awaited for more news on Jerome and Genevieve, the two most important links to himself, although somewhat indirectly.
* * *
"Ms. White's contribution to medical research is invaluable. It is truly remarkable on her recent discoveries based on paralysis. Originally, her research began on the cure of paraplegia. Eventually, it went whole scale. The team is still running tests. They're confident that the cure will be found soon. I don't doub them." a man said.
"It's strange. An *invalid* leading the elite team of researchers. Perhaps this is a sign...?"
"Well of course. She's too bloody stubborn for her own good." he said softly. Eugene realized he snorted lightly. It was laced thinly with fondness and humor.
He turned off the television. Everything was going smoothly somehow. *An invalid.* *Invalids* deserved more credit he realized. He knew two of them, both remarkable in different ways.
* * *
*Genevieve White.* She condemned conformity, and her every action was a rebellion, defiance against the set system. He nearly laughed at the conjured images. *Ms.* Genevieve White. She was not yet married. Perhaps single. He couldn't get his hopes up too high. He threw his head back and laughed. He wondered why his laugh sounded rich and full.
He could be *cured*. He thought his legs itched. A faint smile threatened to reveal itself. When Jerome comes back down...he would...he didn't know. If Jerome did come back, many surprises would come. Perhaps Jerome already knew of the good news...but Jerome thought he was dead. And what of *Genevieve*? She would be more than surprised to see him again.
He wasn't ready for both confrontations. He would take it slowly. He laughed again. He felt giddy, and it was enhanced further by the alcohol. A year for him to prepare. *A year!* He felt high. Eventually, the alcohol's effect began to slow and came to a stop. He made a stop in the bathroom, releasing the harmful substance. His body minutely cleansed, he crawled into the inviting bed. Sober, with alcohol no longer in his system, he drifted off into sleep. Dimly he realized that he was sleeping sober...for once. He laughed out loud and snored softly.
Someday, his puzzled life would come together to form a complete picture. A year of patience and everything would come. One year...his whole life...complete...
* * *
Author's Note:
First of all, I'm a huge fan of Gattaca. I thought the ending to be very sad, and I thought a fanfiction would be the best solution to alter the ending to my liking. I realize that my decision as an author would not please some of the many fans of this movie. I thought that Jerome, well Eugene, deserved a happy ending for such a crappy life.