"You've been busy," Vincent said.
He'd finally found another chance to talk to Eugene the Monday after the rumors started. Not that he'd been searching for such a chance, but he'd been half hoping to run into him just to verify what exactly had happened the other day. He was as curious as anyone. So when he saw Eugene alone at lunch break, wending his way to the cafeteria very, very slowly, he decided Caesar wouldn't mind if Vincent left his work for a minute if it meant new fruit on the grapevine.
Eugene glanced up, unsurprised at Vincent appearing at his side. He did stop wheeling forward, though. "I'm a physicist at Gattaca," he said. "Is that so odd?"
Vincent laughed awkwardly. Eugene's eyes had settled on him full force, and Vincent had forgotten how intimidating his gaze could be when irked. And apparently Vincent had irked him.
Sensitive jerk.
"Well," Vincent said. "The first couple weeks you were here we kept on running into each other all the time. I guess I figured it would keep on happening, but we haven't met in…" He stopped there, because he did know exactly how long it had been, but Eugene didn't need to know that.
"Maybe I just learned how to navigate the hallways," Eugene said with a small smile. It wasn't a smirk and it wasn't a frown, so Vincent figured it was a good sign.
"They're very confusing," he said, circling around to stand in front of Eugene instead of at his side so he wouldn't have to crane his neck. "I got lost a couple times my first week here too."
"But now you are the janitor extraordinaire," Eugene said.
"Yeah, I guess."
Not like that was something to boast about.
"I guess you really have been busy though," Vincent said to fill the awkward silence. "People have been talking about you a lot. Most of them seem pretty impressed."
"Yes, well," Eugene said. "I am impressive, after all. What do they say?"
"They say you're pretty good at your work," Vincent said, searching his mind for the least awkward rumors he could remember. He should never have brought this subject up. "Oh! Miguel mentioned you used to be an Olympic swimmer. Is that true?" He wouldn't have guessed it from the conversations he'd had with Eugene, but then, they hadn't talked about much. It might be a sore subject too, since Eugene couldn't swim anymore.
Actually, bringing it up had been a horrible idea.
"It's true," Eugene said. "But that was years ago."
"Can't have been too many years ago," Vincent said. "The last summer Olympics was what, three years ago now?" He didn't keep track of sports. All the athletes were valid, especially in the Olympics, and he found them generally to be an disgusting show of the elites trying to one up each other even though they were all already too healthy to ever need to be worried about dying at thirty, or finding themselves unemployed any time before them. But that wasn't something he needed to discuss with Eugene either.
"Was that the Olympics you were in?" Vincent asked..
"Yes."
"Miguel said you got gold in…" Something. He couldn't remember what anymore, and he doubted it could be just swimming. Swimming was far too large a category.
"Silver," Eugene said, with a pained smile.
"Silver, then," Vincent said. "Sorry." He was sure Miguel had said gold, but sometimes Miguel exaggerated. And then, Vincent didn't really commit every single rumor to memory either.
"Don't apologize," Eugene said. "It's certainly not your fault."
His tone was a little tenser than Vincent would have expected, and his hands had clenched on the armrests of the wheelchair. No, definitely not a good subject. Vincent cleared his throat. "Anyway, that's what they say about you. That's pretty cool. Winning the Olympics."
"Placing second. Not winning."
Vincent shrugged. Gold, silver. In the Olympics such matters were determined by seconds and inches, and it barely mattered.
"The dream is gold," Eugene said. He leaned forward. "First place. No one cares who gets silver."
Vincent nodded hastily.
It occurred to him that perhaps he ought to apologize. After realizing Eugene had no particular dream to become an astronaut and go to the stars and distant planets, he had begun to think of Eugene as a person who lived with no dreams whatsoever. From his tone now, however, he was beginning to realize this was not so. Eugene wasn't the kind of person who never dreamed. Eugene was the kind of person whose dream had been ripped away from them. He was grounded as thoroughly as Vincent, except the universe had been kind or cruel enough to give him a taste of it first.
Before he could stop himself, he asked, "Do you miss it?"
Eugene blinked. He looked thrown. "Miss what?"
Honestly, it was like they were having two entirely different conversations. "Do you miss swimming? If that was your dream."
Eugene turned his head, stared out the window. His eyes were wistful, longing. Vincent almost expected, following his gaze, to see a launch going up. But no. There was nothing out the window except warm blue sky, dotted with the occasional cloud like foam in the sea. Not even an airplane broke the plane of endless color.
"I don't know," Eugene said. "Sometimes I do. Sometimes I can barely remember it." He shook his head. "I don't think I'd want to go back."
Vincent's eyes widened. "Why not?"
Eugene smiled and it was the fake smile again, the patented valid smile that always looked obnoxious but especially so on Eugene's face. "Maybe I just decided not to live in dreams anymore." He laughed. "I grew up. Did you think it was the accident that made me quit swimming?"
Well, yes.
"I never planned to do another Olympics," Eugene said. "Even before I broke my back, I already knew it was over."
He turned and began to wheel his chair forward again, towards the cafeteria.
Vincent kept pace with him. "But why?"
"Correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't think it's any of your business," Eugene said. "Sorry to disappoint you. I guess you janitors will just have to talk about something else."
And on that parting note, he turned a sharp corner, and Vincent didn't follow him.
Partly because of Eugene's last taunt, partly because of a feeling in his own gut, Vincent didn't end up telling anyone much about the conversation. He did correct Miguel, inform him that it had been a silver medal, not gold. Miguel didn't care, although it got him on another rant about the impressive videos he had seen online. Vincent was half tempted to look them up—it felt a bit like stalking, but was probably still less creepy than stealing Eugene's genetic material had been. Only, there was a difference between analyzing someone's DNA and watching them as they lived their dreams. There was nothing personal about DNA, however much some might disagree. But a dream, especially a lost dream, was the most personal thing a person could have.
And probably not the best thing to harp about when said dream really was lost.
For some reason, being around Eugene always made Vincent act like a jerk.
Well, the next time they talked, he would have to find some way to apologize. Better yet, he could pretend the conversation never happened and find something better to talk about. Like…physicist things. Finding out whether gossip among Gattaca's elite was similar to gossip among their janitors. What Eugene had done to beef up his application when he first was hired by Gattaca (hey, even if they all knew it was a matter of genes, Vincent could always pretend otherwise for politeness' sake). Something like that. Something casual.
Which meant he was probably never going to get Eugene's side of the story about the drunken rampage, but oh well. Sacrifices had to be made.
/…/…/
Eugene never really expected Irene Cassini to speak to him again. Himself, he had no plans to seek her out after the awkward failure that was their last conversation. But somehow at the end of the day she showed up next to his desk, and they ended up leaving work together.
It wasn't his usual.
Still, it wasn't unpleasant either.
They made small talk about work on a new flight plan, this plan involving some ship to Mars, nothing very special—ships were sent to Mars all the time these days. They were even beginning to work out a colonization plan up there. Eugene wondered if it might be something Vincent would be interested in, if Vincent were even slightly qualified. He still didn't completely understand why Vincent was so obsessed with going to the stars, although he supposed he could understand attempting to leave the Earth. After all, Eugene himself had attempted a trip to the heavens, though it had been a bit of a low budget effort. Still, if Vincent wanted off, a colony on Mars was probably about the best a man could do—although of course all candidates would probably possess even higher quality genomes than Eugene himself.
He didn't voice these ponderings. Gattaca employees didn't like talking about the aspirations of their janitors, even when they were as nice (or at least seemed as nice) as Irene. Instead, he kept to the topic of practical details in the plans and avoided the subject of just why someone might want to go to Mars, apart from the scientific reasons that were the team's official purpose.
Irene kept equally to the subject, her face as expressionless as ever, her tone bland and professional. She didn't seem to be enjoying herself much, and she certainly wasn't saying anything all that personal. Eugene was beginning to wonder why she wanted to talk to him in the first place. Especially when he turned down the hallway that led to the wheelchair accessible exit, not the main one.
But none of his coworkers had really been talking to him since the fiasco last week, and Irene had never talked to him in the first place, and he didn't want to jinx it. So he didn't ask.
When they got to the door out of the building, he said, "Well, I guess I'll see you tomorrow, Irene. It was nice talking."
She smiled slightly now, the first expression she'd shown since joining him in the hall. "See, I knew you could hold an entire conversation without being rude or nearly running over me."
"I did tell you. My manners are usually pristine. And I did apologize for that accident last week."
Irene shrugged. "Well, that's in the past. You weren't entirely yourself. Though I suppose who is?"
Eugene raised an eyebrow.
Irene didn't explain herself. Instead she said, "You seem to be doing better this week, Jerome."
Eugene nodded. "I suppose it's been a good day." Although it was only Monday and the rest of the week could very well still be hellish, today had actually gone quite well. No one had been pressuring him too much, although he could still feel eyes on him pretty much all the time. Director Josef hadn't called him into his office for a chat about either Eugene's recent failing or Eugene's successes and the importance of having workers who excelled in every way at Gattaca. So that was a win.
Still, he knew the actual reason he was in a good mood. "I talked to a friend."
"You have a friend?" Irene said.
Both of her eyebrows were raised. This was more expression than she'd shown during their entire conversation. Eugene was a little offended. "I'm not completely hopeless, you know."
"Of course not."
This was said even more skeptically. Eugene crossed his arms. "What, did you think I never talked to anyone? I just sat at my desk and hated everything?"
"Isn't that what you usually do?"
It was, actually, what he usually did. Still, she didn't have to come out and say it. "I have a social life."
"You don't talk to anyone at lunch," Irene said. "You barely speak to anyone during work hours either, and when I came over to you earlier you seemed shocked."
"That was because you hate me."
"I don't hate you, Jerome," Irene said. "Trust me, if I hated you, you wouldn't know."
Eugene wasn't sure how to respond to that. It sounded a lot like a paradox.
"I'm very nice to people I hate," she said, staring off into the distance. "I don't talk to them much, but I smile and I'm very polite. Most of the time they think I'm a sweet girl, just a little shy and maybe a little dull." She shrugged. "They never bother to find out more. Which is convenient. It means that they can be condescending but at least they don't bother me."
Ah. Eugene smiled. "I know who you're talking about."
"Do you?"
"You're talking about Director Josef," he said cheerfully. "That's all right then. Everyone hates Director Josef." He wasn't actually sure if this was true, but he personally hated the man enough that it felt like a universal truth.
Irene started, then actually laughed. It was the least controlled sound he'd ever heard come out of those quiet, carefully glossed lips.
"I'm right, then," he said.
She said, "You're right. I was thinking about the director."
"Well, I'm glad you don't hate me as much as him. That would be a bit much." He was a snob and a jerk, but never as bad as Director Josef. There were levels.
"I don't hate you at all," Irene said.
"Really?"
"Surprisingly enough."
Eugene grinned. "Lovely. I don't despise you either." He leaned forward, feeling daring. "Would you like to get a drink sometime?"
"Are you asking me out?"
"Are you saying yes?"
"I'm not sure I'd like to get a drink with you. You're a bit much when you're drunk," she said. "How about dinner?"
"Tonight?"
"Not tonight, no. I have plans."
She probably went out with men all the time. That was fine. "How about tomorrow?"
"How about Wednesday?" she countered. "I'm very free on Wednesdays."
"Wednesday would be wonderful," Eugene said.
"It's a date, then," Irene said.
She stepped around him, and he stopped himself from grabbing her arm as she passed. She turned back—he had to crane his neck to see her—and said, "I'm glad you're better, Jerome. Have a good evening."
"Same to you," he called after her. He sat there in the hallway for a couple minutes after she had turned the corner back into the building, probably heading to the main entrance, much closer to the parking lot, much closer to the street.
Overall, he thought that had gone fairly well.
/.../.../
/.../.../
/.../.../
AN: I was actually really out of the groove when I was writing this chapter, but it's probably less of a non sequitur than the last one, no matter how much I love German.
Also, to everyone who doesn't ship Eugene and Irene (which I think is everyone?): Sorry...I ship what I ship, and for now this ship is sailing. Eugene and Irene are a pair of cuties, but who knows if they'll stick together? Anyway, this isn't a romance fic, so maybe they will, maybe they won't-It won't become the most important part of the plot unless that's the way you choose to look at it.
To anyone who does ship Eugene and Irene (is anyone out there?): As far as I know there is no fic of this out there. You should write one. For me.
Reviews are always much appreciated.