Eugene made it to the end of the day and home without either breaking down or getting into any more weird conversations, even with the janitor.

And he had settled down on one his lounge chairs with a cigarette and no plans for the evening (he might not even make dinner) when he heard the door upstairs open.

Which.

No one had keys to this place. No one except himself and his parents, who lived a few states away and, while they occasionally called to make sure he was taking care of himself, never visited. And the door upstairs? That was the one that automatically locked. It only unlocked when he pressed a buzzer that, situated as it was on the second floor, effectively meant no one had used that door since the accident.

He blew out a long puff of smoke and tried to remember what to do in the case of home invaders. Before the accident he could have beaten up nearly anyone as long as they didn't have a knife or a gun, and he'd had some basic self defense training for even those scenarios. Common sense when you were a celebrity, an Olympic swimmer with a rich family. But he hadn't learned how to protect himself since paralyzing his legs, and it would be a bit harder to do any fighting in a wheelchair. Which he wasn't even in currently, and if the person who had just come in had functioning ears, they would hear him getting into it. He wasn't all that graceful.

Footsteps upstairs now. The door hadn't been his imagination. A pause directly above his head.

Vaguely, he wondered who would break into his house. It was nice, and in a nice neighborhood. And if anyone had been casing the neighborhood for a while they would have noticed that he was the only one living here, and relatively helpless against a robber.

He should have gotten a better security system but had been feeling too apathetic since long before buying the house to consider such safeguards. He should have bought a gun, perhaps, but that would have been too much of a temptation to keep around the house and he hadn't decided to leave the Earth again. Not yet.

He took a deep breath, inhaling smoke again, and repressed a coughing fit. That was the last thing he needed. Maybe if he was very quiet and sat very still…

…Then the robber wouldn't come downstairs or wouldn't notice him sitting in plain sight?

Footsteps on the stairs now. Eugene scrunched his eyes shut and then opened them again—he could already see the outline of a man's shape between the slats—and picked up the ashtray from the table next to him. Glass and fairly heavy. Also fairly expensive, but there was nothing else nearby, so it was this or nothing.

The man emerged from the stairwell.

Eugene hurled the ashtray full force at his head.

The ash tray smashed against the back of the stairwell with a crash of glass and a yell from the man, who had dodged at the last minute but now had stumbled to the ground from the shock and had his hands up over his face to block any future projectiles. Eugene could see a few places where shards of glass had hit the mark after all, a couple where they had even drawn blood (though most had harmlessly bounced off the man's suit) and he swallowed. He was out of ammunition, the man was still mostly uninjured, and his mild injuries would likely just make him madder.

After a moment with both sitting extremely still, the man slowly raised himself to his feet and lowered his arms. He scanned the room, eyes focusing on Eugene. He looked at Eugene's hands (empty), then raised his gaze and met his eyes.

Eugene winced.

Not because the man's gaze was angry (which it was). Not because he currently stood two feet taller than Eugene and had actual mobility and could easily hurl something back, although that was also true. But because now that the man's face was visible, it was all too familiar. He knew this man.

"Jerome Morrow. You do this to all your guests?"

Finding his tongue, Eugene said, "Only the ones that break in, German."

German smiled a small, irritated smile. "You almost cracked my skull. As it is, I still have a couple cuts to clean." He shook his head. "I'll say this, you still have a good arm. You have a sink around here?"

Damn right Eugene had a good arm. "Get out of my house, German."

"Gonna make me?" German asked, raising his eyebrows. He gently patted the left side of his suit coat, which had a slight bulge.

He'd shown Eugene his gun the last time they'd had one of these little talks.

Eugene swallowed. "What, are you going to shoot the cripple? Because you're a big bad gangster?" He tilted his chin up. "You think I'm afraid of you?"

German laughed and walked down the hall, checking a couple doors until he found the bathroom. Eugene could hear the water turning on. Cursing (loudly enough that he hoped German could hear him) he heaved himself into his wheelchair, which was still sitting next to the lounge chair, and wheeled himself to the bathroom. He paused at the doorway. Maybe he should have brought another projectile with him for good measure, but what use would that be against a gun? He didn't want to make German twitchy.

Decided, he went in. German was rinsing out a cut on his left hand. Eugene cleared his throat.

"Just a moment," German said. "I would have talked with you right away but you threw a glass…something at my head. So you can wait."

"You could have rung the doorbell," Eugene said."I do have one."

"Yes, but we both know you aren't big on stairs these days. I was doing you a favor."

"You could have called ahead," Eugene said. "I would have had it unlocked by the time you got here." Even though no one had actually used that door in months, he could have found a way. "How did you get in anyway?"

"Picking locks isn't an uncommon skill. You need a better lock on your door, for the record," German said. "And the last time I called, I believe you hung up on me."

"Maybe that's a clue that I don't want to talk to you," Eugene said.

German stepped back from the sink. "I'm well aware you don't want to talk to me." He smiled. "I'm persistent."

He reached past Eugene to get a towel off a rack to dry his hands. Eugene grabbed his arm. "Don't make yourself at home. I. Don't. Want you here."

"And it's cute that you think I care," German said. He grabbed a towel with the other arm and dried his hands. "Shall we continue this discussion in the living room?"

"Or you could leave," Eugene said, wheeling after German as he walked back down the hall.

German sat down in the lounge chair Eugene had been using earlier, leaning back comfortably. "We haven't spoken in about four months now. Shame, really."

"Shame you couldn't make it longer. Get out."

"Not until you've heard my proposition."

"I've heard it before. Not interested," Eugene said. "If you don't leave now I'm going to call the police."

German took a deep breath and smiled again, icier than ever. "Jerome. We can play this one of two ways. The first is that you settle down and we talk about this reasonably. The second is that you keep on hassling me, maybe you try to call the police. I have to take out my gun, things get awkward, maybe someone gets hurt. I don't want trouble. I just want to talk business with a friend."

Eugene crossed his arms.

The thing about German was that he was a little bit frightening. It wasn't like Eugene had no experience with violence. He'd gotten into some drunken arguments that ended with a lot of bruises. He'd been attacked once or twice by faith birth fanatics who targeted him as a famous example of genetic perfection achieved by "meddling with nature". And then, of course, he'd walked his way into a hit and run that one time. He was accustomed to violence, to an extent. It was comfortable.

But Eugene used to be able to defend himself a lot better than he could now. And the car crash he had intended from the beginning, had controlled. And the fanatics and the drunken idiots he'd had to deal with in the past had all been emotional, enraged. He had been on equal terms with the idiots, who had never intended him any real harm in the first place. And the fanatics, while a bit scarier, had attacked him at public events, where he had help from the police in instants. Violence he could control, violence he could master.

Nothing like German. German who came to him in his home and spoke to him as coolly as if he were a child who didn't understand a lesson. German who the last time he'd visited actually had pointed the gun at Eugene (it hadn't been a good night) and had seemed as comfortable with it as if it were a ruler he was flourishing at said child to make a point. German who had no particular grudge against Eugene, no particular emotion towards him at all, and probably would feel only a little regret if he decided to shoot Eugene down in cold blood. German who could talk about these things with a smile on his face.

"Make your proposition then," Eugene said. "But you're wasting both our time."

Now German's icy smile widened into a genuine grin, and he leaned forward in his chair. "Well, Jerome. It's been two years since the accident. I believe the anniversary was fairly recent?"

As if he didn't know it had been yesterday. As if his appearance today was a coincidence. Eugene rolled his eyes and didn't answer.

"And you've been coping admirably," German said. "Just about finished the preliminary physical therapy, and gotten your head out of the bottle. I half expected to show up and find you drunk, like last time." He shook his head. "You know, I had nearly given up on you."

"Please do go ahead and give up."

"There are some people who can't take it, psychologically," German said. "Having a change in fortunes, losing control of their lives. Valids especially. Half of the people I approach are too far gone to be worth the investment." He plucked a cigarette from the case Eugene had left on the table and lit it. "I can't connect my invalid clients to people who are too unstable, you know? Ladder borrowing is a partnership. You have to be able to trust your lender with your life."

He sucked in a breath of smoke and blew it out again, straight into Eugene's face. Eugene waved it away and glared.

German said, "If the valid's always getting drunk, he can't provide clean samples. If he's too apathetic, he might lose motivation to collect samples at all. Or he might make a stupid mistake and get himself and his invalid partner arrested." He leaned back in his chair. "I have to be careful with my clients. It's a responsibility."

Eugene rolled his eyes. Lectures on the heavy burdens of responsibility that accompanied involvement in what was basically a black market. Lovely.

"Four months ago, I thought I might have to write you off. You were a mess," German said. "But I gave you a chance, called you a few times, kept my feelers out, and what do you know? You worked it out. I'm proud of you."

"Thank you, but I didn't do it to become your merchandise," Eugene said.

German's smile dimmed. "Now, is that what you think I think of you?"

"The way a pimp thinks of a prostitute," Eugene said. "I'm not interested. My body's mine."

German shook his head. "Jerome. Jerome, you know that's not true."

"I know I don't want to rent myself out so some invalid can get his kicks."

German raised a hand. "You can cool it with the self righteous rage, son. I don't need you to prove to me that you're a valid." He lowered his voice. "I don't need you to prove your worth."

Eugene's breath caught. He opened his mouth to retort but German gave him a look.

"You're a good guy, Jerome," German said. "Of course no one can deny your genes are excellent. Silver medal in the Olympics. I'd like to see a faith child handle that. And your GPA in college matches your IQ. You've proven yourself in those areas more than once." He blew out a ring of smoke. "And somehow you're still a good guy beneath all that. Back in the day, you gave some good interviews. Some very anti-genoist comments. You even donated to some organizations combating genoism. So not just talk."

Speaking against genoism? That gave him credit? Eugene laughed. That was about standards, and in the world of the famous, interviews had little to do with actual beliefs. He couldn't even remember what he had said in his interviews anymore.

"So I think you're a good guy," German said. "I want to help you out."

"Help me out of my identity. No thanks."

"You say that very certainly," German said. "But it's wearing on you, isn't it? It was earlier. You've never been depressed about your broken back. Never when I've talked to you. It's everything else that bothers you. I can't heal your broken back, but everything else? That can go away."

Eugene closed his eyes.

It sounded restful.

It sounded like death.

"You let me pair you up with someone, you lend out your ladder," German said. "All of this goes away. No more expectations. You won't have to live up to your genes." He leaned forward. "Do you think all my valid clients come to me because of accidents like yours? They come because they don't want the pressure. Helping my invalid clients helps them too."

"And you just want to help me," Eugene said.

"I want to help you."

Eugene said, "My medical records include my back injury now. You're wasting your time."

"There are still some who would be interested. I've had paraplegics approach me before," German said. "Usually I can't help them out. But you've already proved people would be willing to overlook your disability for your genes."

"Lucky me."

"I have some clients who are desperate, who I've never been able to help. Your genes could help them. Paraplegics from birth or early childhood, invalids with even worse luck than most. You could escape this life and give it to someone who actually wants it," German said. He blew out a mouthful of smoke. "So?"

Eugene paused.

It was true that Gattaca was no paradise, not his paradise at least. It was true that there were others who most likely deserved his genome far more than him. German certainly knew where to hit.

But he only paused to satisfy German, honestly. Because he was trying to pull his life together, not throw it away. He'd only pulled himself out of a rut recently, and he had no desire to seek out a life where he'd end up shut up in the house all the time again, giving his life away to an invalid for cold profit. He knew there were invalids who deserved his life more than he did. He'd known it since he was young.

He just wasn't that selfless.

"I'm not interested," he said at last. "And I'd like it if you left my home now."

German smiled. "Of course." He stood up. "I just thought I'd drop by and see how you were doing. Tell you the offer was still open."

Eugene rolled his eyes. "Much appreciated."

"It will stay open," German said. He walked to the staircase, pausing when he reached it. "You do seem a lot better. It's good."

"Thank you."

"But you'll change your mind sooner or later. Call me."

"Goodbye, German," Eugene said loudly.

German chuckled. "Goodbye, Jerome."

Footsteps on the stairs, and then the upstairs door opened and closed again. Eugene let out a sigh. German. One man he hadn't thought about in a while.

"Call you," he muttered. "Call the police on you, more likely." But he knew he wouldn't—even his threat earlier had been a bluff. German had never hurt Eugene, but he was frightening enough, and rumor had it that others in the black market of borrowed ladders were far worse. Some of them did consider themselves to be warriors against genoism, almost public servants. Some of them were also ruthless killers who wouldn't hesitate to act against someone who threatened their secrets or their business. Trying to sic the police on them would probably hurt Eugene more than German.

And they did good work, he supposed, for the invalid community. He just wished they would leave him alone.

/.../.../

/.../.../

/.../.../

AN: For those of you who don't remember, German's that gangster dude who brings Eugene and Vincent together in the movie. I don't think his name is mentioned in the movie, but you can find it online. Anyways, I enjoyed his character, though he's probably way OOC here. I just like gangsters, okay? So German just kind of showed up. He'll be showing up again, I think, but not too soon.

I swear I haven't forgotten Vincent, although he's definitely not as central to this story as Eugene as things currently stand. He'll be around in the next chapter. In the meantime, reviews would be much appreciated. Let me know what you think of German, and what you want to happen next.