German wanted to talk in person.

Logically, Eugene knew that was a good thing. It meant German was taking his proposition seriously, meant that he would have a better chance of selling it. It was a good thing.

He really hadn't wanted to see German again anytime soon.

But it was Friday evening and German showed up in his flat again, though this time he consented to enter in the back way, which Eugene could open for him, instead of breaking in the front way. He had an indulgent look in his eyes when Eugene opened the door and waved him in, which Eugene elected to ignore. He also still had a conspicuous bulge in his coat pocket, which Eugene ignored as well—though that was a bit harder.

"I never thought I'd see the day Jerome Morrow would invite me into his house," he said, sitting down on the comfortable lounge chair that was usually Eugene's seat of choice. "Especially not after the way you greeted me last time. You were very mean."

"This isn't about that," Eugene said.

"Mm," German said. "You said so on the phone. But you still called me."

"It's about a friend."

German leaned forward. "Yes, of course. I'm always interested in new clients. Have to admit, I didn't think you'd end up being that kind of connection. Have you been making friends now? That's good."

As if Irene being concerned about his social life wasn't enough. Eugene scowled. He wheeled himself closer to German's chair. "My friends are none of your business."

"Except this one, who you want to be my business," German said. "Is he trustworthy?"

"Absolutely."

"He can keep his mouth shut?"

Was Vincent good at keeping secrets? Eugene had no idea. They talked about philosophy and gossip, sure, but that didn't mean he had some sort of chart of Vincent's talents. The man knew his physics and astronomy and could clean windows—that much he knew. "Of course," he said in the most offended voice he could manage.

German looked skeptical. "I'll have to meet him myself. I'm sure you think you know character, but you understand I'm not in a position where I can trust just anyone."

He leaned forward and rested a hand on Eugene's shoulder. He could do that, even sitting in a lounge chair. Eugene stiffened.

"Vincent will do fine," he said. "He's very intelligent and he'll be willing to do whatever you want, I'm sure."

"You're sure."

Eugene nodded.

German leaned back. Taking his hand off Eugene's shoulder, thank God. "A man working at Gattaca is a difficult proposition, you understand. I'm sure his genetics are top notch—they recruit more rigorously than I do, even—but Gattaca's a very specialized line. A hiring company might be curious why he'd leave that kind of position and take up something so different. People in the same area probably already know what he look like…whole field's practically incestuous with how they all know each other…of course, I was willing to do it for you, but for someone else…these things are tricky."

Eugene smiled. "That shouldn't be a problem."

"Won't it?"

Eugene very much wished he had a cigarette out. He'd left his pack in the other room. "You see, he's not a professional in the field yet. He's a janitor."

German stared at him.

Eugene continued to smile. Tightly.

"So you're saying your friend is an invalid?"

"A faith birth, yes," Eugene said. "But he's fully functioning. He could pretend to be a valid easily. Very intelligent, a great intellect, and his body…"

"You're telling me you brought me out here to talk to me about an invalid?" German repeated.

Eugene crossed his arms. "I understood invalids were half your clientele."

"Yeah, half of the people I serve are invalids, sure. And I have three invalids waiting for an opening for every valid I know," German said. "You brought me here for an invalid?"

"I would have been willing to discuss the matter on the phone."

"You didn't mention a faith birth on the phone."

No, he hadn't. He'd hoped the conversation would go like this, but he'd suspected otherwise. Another reason it was good that German was here in person. Though it didn't feel good, with German's cold, incredulous eyes boring into him, and that bulge still in his jacket pocket. He didn't want to make German too frustrated. Only because he needed the man on his side for Vincent, he reminded himself. There could be no other reason than that.

Jerome Eugene Morrow was afraid of no one.

"I mentioned a friend could use your services," he said. "I don't believe I mentioned a valid friend either."

"Yeah," German said. "I guess you didn't. But you knew what I thought, and you let me come out here anyways."

"He requires your services and I would like to recommend him to you," Eugene said. "That's your business, isn't it?"

German reached into his coat pocket. Eugene tensed, but he only pulled out a box of cigarettes, from which he extracted one slender cigarette which he placed in his mouth. He took his time lighting it and blowing out the first puff of smoke. Trying to stay patient, maybe. Eugene bit his lip.

It didn't matter whether he agreed to the deal or not, he reminded himself. Not to Eugene personally. Vincent's professional difficulties were nothing to Eugene really, even if he was trying to do a charitable thing and give the man a hand. Although he doubted most people would count illegal connections as charitable contributions.

As the smoke gathered in a small cloud in the air, German finally spoke again. "So you called me to talk about this invalid of yours."

"Yes."

"Because he's your friend."

"Yes." It still felt odd to use the word, but it was true.

"I like you, Jerome," German said. "I told you last time. You aren't a snob, no matter how much you act like one. An invalid friend, huh?" He let out another puff of smoke. "Okay. What's he worth?"

"What?"

"What's it worth to you?" German said. "He was worth calling me up, wasn't he? Well, there are an awful lot of invalids out there begging for my help and I can't help all of them. You're a nice guy, great reference, but you don't understand the demand for my services. It's high, Jerome. Demand for guys like you, not faith births." He removed the cigarette from his mouth, holding it between two fingers. "So. Make it worth my while."

"He wants a job at Gattaca," Eugene said. "Not for the money. For the job itself. I'm sure he'd be willing to pay a large amount of his salary, depending on what the donor agreed to."

"So would anyone," German said. "Between you and me, invalids don't know business. What else?"

Eugene shook his head. "If you'll meet with him, I'm sure you can work something out."

"Really?" German said. "What, is he loaded?"

"If you get him the job…"

"I get anyone a job, they'll have money," German said. "He's a janitor. He can't pay me. Not right now. Demand isn't high for janitors, Jerome. It's very high for valids with good genes, high IQs and excellent reputations. So let me ask you again. What is this friend worth to you?"

Eugene leaned back in his wheelchair. German leaned back as well, his cigarette back in his mouth. The smoke continued to accumulate. Eugene wished the nicotine hit were good enough secondhand to steady his nerves. Not so much.

"I'm not selling you my body," he finally said.

German raised an eyebrow. And of course that was what he wanted. It was all he'd ever wanted, every time they'd talked. It had been stupid to go to him, but Eugene had been a little bit off his game, and he'd been willing to hope that maybe he could make him see reason. That maybe German meant at least a little bit of what he said about wanting to help people.

"I'm not," Eugene repeated. He wheeled himself back, slightly. "This is a different piece of business. I have no interest in that."

"And yet, you called me," German said.

"For a friend."

"I told you to call me if you changed your mind, and you called me," German said. He crossed his legs. "I'm not the one who brought it up, Jerome."

"You implied."

"I implied nothing," German said. "But if that's what it's worth to you…"

"It's not."

"It was the first thing you thought of."

"It's the only thing you want!"

German sighed and shook his head. "You make it sound like I'm obsessed. Look, Morrow. I'm interested in business. Good business. A valid like you is good business. A guy like this Victor isn't."

"Vincent," Eugene said.

"Who cares?" German uncrossed his legs. "Look, if that's what it's worth to you—if you'd be willing to lend your ladder in exchange for this guy getting to borrow someone else's—I wouldn't turn you down. I'd charge your friend the same fees as normal, charge you maybe a little less. I like you, Jerome. I'd be willing to do it as a favor."

"No."

"And why not?"

"You know why not."

"You clearly agree that this is a valuable service," German said. "You want me to help your friend. It's only fair to help someone else out in exchange. Like karma."

"No."

A slight pause.

German got to his feet. "Fine. I understand." His voice was quiet, smooth. "You're afraid. You don't want to lose your identity. You worry that without your genes, you're nothing. They're all you've ever been."

Eugene's jaw clenched. Don't yell, don't yell, don't yell. Keep your mouth shut. For Vincent.

"If you care about your friend, you'll do what you have to," German continued. "You'll see in time that it will make you happier too." He walked to the stairs. "I'll let myself out, hm?"

Eugene smiled bitterly. "Go ahead. It's clear you don't actually want to help."

"I do want to help you, Jerome," German said. "You just don't know how to help yourself. When you figure it out, call me. But not until you have a better offer than this."

/…/…/

Over the weekend, Vincent tried to forget about the interview. He tried to forget that McGowan had been considering hiring him in the first place. Difficult when it had been just about all he'd been thinking about for the past week and a half.

Work on Monday was just depressing. Bad enough on Friday, when he'd only had to get through the day. But on Monday he couldn't stop thinking about how he'd have to come back in to work every day that week, and every week that year (janitors got very limited vacation time) and every year for the rest of his life stretching far out into the future unless something changed pretty majorly. And at this rate, that kind of change didn't seem all that likely.

Tina and Miguel were overly cheerful, clearly trying to distract him from his gloom. Tina even suggested that they all go watch a movie this evening, even though they rarely hung out together outside of work. Vincent agreed to make her happy, and it did cheer him up a bit. Still, on Tuesday he was still in something of a funk. He hummed as he worked on his window cleaning and thought about what other places he could apply to, anything so he wouldn't think about his recent failure.

He got off work a bit early that day, and would have been happy to go home and probably just go to bed, except he was intercepted on his way out by a voice.

"Vincent."

The voice was unfamiliar and nothing like Eugene's but still, as he turned, Vincent half expected to find himself facing an annoyed Brit in a wheelchair. Instead, he found a woman, young and blonde and thin, her hair tied back in a tidy bun and her makeup prim but subdued. Her facial expression was equally neutral.

"I'm sorry," Vincent said. "Did you speak to me?"

The woman extended a hand. Her fingers were long and well manicured and golden-skinned. He had no idea why a woman like this would be accosting a janitor. "My name is Irene Cassini. I believe you are Vincent Freeman."

And apparently she actually wanted to shake hands with him. He reached forward and hesitantly clasped her hand, while with his other hand he tried to smooth his wild hair down a little. No luck. Well, it wasn't as if he'd be impressing a woman this beautiful anyway, especially if she was a Gattaca employee—it might be his dream to be one of them, but even he wasn't blind to their snobbery.

"That's me," he said. "Have we met?"

"No," she said. "I looked your name up in the system. Found your picture. I wanted to talk to you."

Vincent flushed. "It's, um. It's not a very good picture." As if he looked much better in person, after a long day's work.

Irene ignored the comment. "You know a friend of mine."

"I do?" Of course. He'd known something was familiar about her name. "You mean Eugene."

A single thin blond eyebrow raised in question. "Eugene?" Irene said.

"I mean, Jerome Morrow," Vincent corrected himself. Most people seemed to call Eugene that after all (and it was a far better name, honestly—that idiot). "Sorry. I call him Eugene. I meant Jerome."

"Ah. Yes," Irene said. "I wanted to talk to you about Jerome."

"Well." At least it had nothing to do with the interview. It would be a good distraction, especially since he hadn't actually seen Eugene in a few days. Not since he told him the bad news and Eugene barely accepted it. He wondered if things would be tense the next time they talked.

He cleared his throat. "Do you want to go somewhere? We're closing up here." Even if they weren't, the halls of Gattaca were no place to talk, honestly. Even if they were where he spoke to Eugene, that was only because of happenstance. If his co-workers saw him talking to a pretty physicist they would gossip for days.

All right, he might have been slightly motivated by the fact that she was, in fact, very pretty.

"There's a nice café just down the street," he added hopefully.

Irene nodded. "That might be good."

They took her car, even though it was just a block. Vincent, who usually took the train, was impressed. A nice car, too, with the top rolled down and fresh, unscratched paint. Compact—not big and showy like some of the men who worked here—but still very chic, very nice.

Definitely more than he'd ever be able to afford. Probably more than even Caesar could afford, honestly.

But at the café, when he offered to pay for coffee for both of them, she didn't object. That didn't make it a date, of course. They were there to talk about Eugene, and Vincent was pretty sure she and Eugene were, if not dating, still pretty close to it. Still, it made it…something. It made Vincent irrationally happy considering that was a good twenty dollars wasted on ridiculously expensive lattes.

"So," Vincent said. "Jerome told you about me?" He was well used to calling Eugene either Jerome or Morrow, although he did think it odd Eugene wouldn't have told Irene his name preferences. Maybe he was embarrassed.

"He mentioned you a couple times," Irene said. She hadn't tasted her coffee yet. "He said he had a friend who was a janitor. That surprised me."

Vincent laughed awkwardly.

"Not because of your job," Irene said hurriedly. "Or not mostly. I suppose that did make it stranger. But he doesn't seem like the type to have any friends. He's rather cold."

Vincent, who thought Irene seemed rather cold, said, "Really?"

Irene raised an eyebrow. "Yes. He barely talks to anyone."

"He's always seemed more the rude type to me," Vincent said. Well, at least when they first met each other. "I mean, kind of antisocial? Or awkward I guess. He gets better when you get to know him. Somewhat."

These days when they ran into each other, they tended to say less horribly offensive things and more casual chatter, along the lines of how Vincent would talk to Tina and Miguel except somehow different. Except for the other day, when Eugene had basically refused to admit that Vincent had to give up on McGowan. There had been something in Eugene's attitude then, something so oddly innocent it had almost made Vincent feel bad for him even though Vincent was the one with the bad news. Eugene acted cynical, but at the end of the day he, too, wanted to believe the world was better than it was. Which it wasn't.

The world sucked.

Irene had said something, and Vincent had missed it.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?" he said. "I guess I zoned out a little." He smiled sheepishly, pushing thoughts of Eugene's naiveté aside.

"I said, how long have you known him?"

"I met him the day he arrived at Gattaca. I was the first person he met, actually," Vincent said. Unless you counted the people who had walked past him near the stairs, carefully ignoring his frustration. And who was going to count those jerks? "Since then, we just sort of run into each other."

"I suppose he bowls you over too," Irene said.

"Huh?"

"Nothing." Irene smiled. Her smile had something patently fake and bland about it. Vincent wasn't sure why that annoyed him so much—it had something to do with the coffee, somehow. "Would you say you and he are close?"

Vincent shrugged. "Maybe."

"He can be charming," Irene said. "Only I think some of that is put on. Well, everyone acts a little at Gattaca. But he seems very uncomfortable. Even when he's only around me." She took a sip of coffee. "I was wondering if he ever acted any differently around you."

Vincent said, "I suppose he seems comfortable sometimes. It's hard to tell." He mirrored her, sipping his coffee. "He does seem distant occasionally, but he's friendly enough once you get to know him. And I'm pretty sure he likes you."

"Probably." Irene shook her head. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to ambush you. Only I think I might actually like him too." She smiled, and her smile was suddenly warm this time.

"Then he's lucky," Vincent said.

Irene shrugged the compliment off. "Only he's worrying. It's good to see that he really is friends with you, though. I half thought he'd made you up."

"Yeah. I'm real," Vincent said. "Really very real. Have been my whole life."

"Are you sure?" Irene said gravely.

"Well, you looked my records up, didn't you?" Vincent said. "Those don't lie. Unless, of course, I'm a degenerate." He winked. "Lots of people would kill to have the genes for my position."

He said it as a joke, but as he said it he thought it sounded a bit reminiscent of Eugene. Jerome Eugene Morrow, who hated everything about being a valid and a Gattaca physicist, would probably love to be a janitor instead.

He did not mention this to Irene.

/.../.../

/.../.../

/.../.../

AN: It's been a while since I've updated so if my writing style has changed at all or I broke continuity, sorry. I figured I'd gift an update before I head off into the Nanowrimo wars.

German might be my favorite person in this fic. Vincent's section in this chapter is a bit less interesting, but it was about time he met Irene and I couldn't just leave him hanging. For a little while, the action's focusing on Eugene. (Like for basically the whole fic so far, but whatever. Don't judge.)

What will Eugene do? How can he help Vincent? Will he sell German his soul (aka his valid genes)? Should he? Please review to let me know your opinions, and the update will come probably not soon but eventually.