Eugene had avoided Vincent for an entire week.

Vincent had noticed this.

Monday and Tuesday and even to some extent Wednesday could have been coincidental. He and Eugene didn't talk ever day anyhow, and especially after their last awkward conversation he was in no hurry to seek Eugene out. Not to mention he was feeling some slight residual guilt over having gone on a date with Eugene's sort-of girlfriend (though he couldn't quite regret it—Irene was a babe).

On Wednesday, though, it became quite obvious that Eugene was avoiding Vincent on purpose. Vincent caught sight of him towards the end of the day and even caught his attention. Their eyes met for a moment. But as soon as Vincent stepped forward to meet Eugene, only a few yards away, Eugene hurried off into a crowd. So fast that he knocked people over and left a bit of a tangle in his wake.

Enough of a tangle that Vincent couldn't follow him. Nor would he have. He'd never seen Eugene run away before, not from him or anyone else. There was definitely something going on.

What could scare Eugene about Vincent, though…that was a question. Even if their last conversation had ended awkwardly, that was true of practically all their conversations, both of them stumbling over their own tongues in a weird balance between small talk and philosophical ponderings, unsure of where they were going. Their last conversation had only been about a failed job interview. It was not enough to warrant this.

Maybe Eugene had heard about the pseudo-date with Irene? Maybe he was jealous?

Whatever it was, it left Vincent frustrated. It wasn't like he needed friendship with a valid snob, but he'd enjoyed it. And he'd never been good at giving people space.

He decided he would give Eugene as much space as he needed, though, whether he liked it or not. It was what a good friend would do.

And then Monday came and Eugene's attitude changed entirely.

Vincent was cleaning the windows when he came over. He wasn't even watching a launch, and it was very early in the morning, before lunch, before work was even in full swing. He rolled over to Vincent's side and cleared his throat loudly. Vincent turned around.

"Are we talking to each other now?"

Eugene gave him a puzzled look. As if he'd never been avoiding Vincent in the first place.

Fine, then. That was something they weren't going to talk about.

"If you hadn't noticed, I'm a little busy." His rag was dripping on the floor even as he spoke, and some poor soul was going to have to mop it up later, quite possibly Miguel. "What's this about?"

Because Eugene clearly wanted to talk for a reason. His entire body was tense—well, his entire body above the waist, all of his body that he could actually control. And his eyes were lit and focused in a way they rarely were.

Eugene said, "Do you know my address?"

What? Shit. If he'd found out about Vincent looking up his genetic records…but that had been months ago. Would explain why he'd been avoiding Vincent, though. People did it all the time but it was still not exactly acceptable behavior.

Better to play dumb. "How would I know your address, Eugene?" Vincent crossed his arms, ignoring how the rag was now getting his uniform wet as well. Stance was important in situations like this. Asserting dominance.

Eugene shrugged impatiently. Then he rustled around in his pocket for a minute before pulling out a small piece of paper and a pen. He wrote something on the back of it and handed it to Vincent. "Here."

Eugene's address was in the outskirts of town, nearing on the suburbs, a very expensive and slightly isolated area. Not exactly surprising. The card also had a phone number written on it, which Vincent assumed was Eugene's own. "What am I supposed to do with this?" he asked.

"That's my house and my home phone."

"I guessed that. What am I…"

"This isn't a good place to talk. Come over to my house tonight. There's a…a proposition." Eugene wet his lips. He smiled nervously. "Just come by after work. Any time, you know I get out earlier than you. I won't keep you up too late."

He sounded like a boy trying to convince a conservative girl to go on a date with him. Or, with the proposition part, perhaps not so conservative. Vincent gave him a look. "If there's something you want to discuss…"

"This isn't the place for it. If you can't come tonight, tomorrow. Or call me and we can find a time." Eugene jerked his head. "I have to get to work. I'll see you."

He wheeled away before Vincent could call him back and tell him he needed to explain himself. Obviously on purpose. If he'd really been concerned about getting to work on time he would have met with Vincent later in the day, during a break, instead of at the earliest opportunity when both of them had things they had to do. He really didn't want to talk about whatever it was at Gattaca. That seemed fairly ominous.

The word proposition was what made it shady. That hardly ever meant anything good, not when a valid was talking to an invalid. If he were a woman he would have thought Eugene wanted to hook up but he was pretty sure Eugene didn't swing his way, not with his obvious interest in Irene. Other types of propositions: Cheap, under the table labor; drug dealing; gang involvement—none of them really seemed like Eugene but what did Vincent know? Actually, considering how little Eugene cared about his health and that one time he had showed up intoxicated maybe he was into drugs. He wouldn't be the first valid to use a high end position to cover up some less-than-legal business, nor the last. But why would he try to involve Vincent in something like that?

It was just so out of the blue. Eugene usually seemed, well, a little melancholy but still very respectable in the ways that counted. Proposition.

Vincent sighed. He was over thinking it. Eugene was a good guy, mostly. Word choice didn't necessarily mean anything. A proposition could just as easily be Eugene trying to convince him to apply to a company where he had connections or trying to get him together with some nice invalid girl he knew. Didn't necessarily mean anything bad.

In any case it would be interesting to see Eugene's house. It would be terribly valid, of that he was certain, but he wondered whether it would be neat or disorderly, old and venerable or new and high tech. What sorts of books would he have on the shelves? Would there be any decorations?

Because of course Vincent would be going. If only so he could pass on the gossip to Miguel and Tina, he had to.

Before tucking the card away in his pocket, he turned it over to see what it was—card stock like this wasn't just scrap paper. "GATTACA Mental Health Services: Here to help your healthy psyche." Followed by two phone numbers, an office number and an email address.

Huh. Vincent hadn't even known they had any mental health services here. But then, the insurance covered all sorts of things. Yet more reason to crave a job here.

He turned back to the window, where his last couple swipes had already dried.

/…/…/

Seeing Vincent in his home was strange.

Not that Eugene was one of those snobs who couldn't picture an invalid in his comfort zone. It didn't make him cringe that way, although Vincent almost seemed to think it would—he was being careful not to touch anything and always stayed about four steps behind Eugene—but it still made him feel a bit self conscious.

This was his hideaway, after all, his private hell where he self-anaesthetized and escaped from reality for as much time as possible. But Vincent was the most real person he knew. Under his analytical gaze, things Eugene chose to blur out became solid, relevant: photographs of himself with his family or with his silver medal, artistically winding stairs, even the chairs in the lounge. It was a clash, reality intruding into his private nest. He thought Vincent had to sense something of how Eugene felt about the place, how many drunken nights he'd spent sprawled out on the lounge chairs, how many times he'd been tempted to break the glass of the nicely framed photographs. But Vincent seemed to sense nothing. His gaze was analytical but still admiring. Even when he saw the bottles of vodka on the counter he only smirked.

"You want a drink?" Eugene asked. Anything to ease the tension.

"I'd take one."

Eugene poured them each a mixed drink, vodka and orange juice—they'd want to be sipping for the conversation so shot glasses were no good, but they had to remain mostly sober. He wanted Vincent to loosen up a bit but also to understand what he was saying. And of course if he himself got drunk the night would go all to hell.

"Did you eat anything?" he asked, as Vincent took a small sip. It had not occurred to him, but a janitor got off work late enough that he might not have had dinner. Eugene had already eaten, and he didn't have much food in the house. He was a terrible host.

Vincent didn't answer. Instead, he smirked again as he lowered the glass. "The good stuff."

"What, the vodka? No, I bought it cheap. Sorry." Eugene grimaced apologetically. "Usually when I'm drunk I don't care what I'm drinking."

"You could have let me have my delusions."

They both sipped again. Eugene said, "You remember I mentioned a proposition I wanted to discuss."

"That's why I came over."

"Well." Eugene hesitated. Vincent was dedicated to his dreams but he was also a very wholesome sort of person. How did one broach the subject of illegal activity? "How serious are you about getting into Gattaca?"

Vincent stared for a minute. Then, putting his cup firmly down, he said, "You doubt my commitment?"

"I'm asking you how far you would go."

"You don't know how far I've gone already. I studied physics and astronomy for years out of books on my own because not even online college programs would accept me. I kept myself in peak physical shape even though my heart is supposed to erupt and I have asthma when I exert myself. Because I wanted to be up to Gattaca's standards." Vincent clenched his fists. "I took the job as a janitor at Gattaca just so I could get a peek at what it was like. A peek. For that, I was willing to…"

"I didn't ask what you did," Eugene said shortly. "I asked what you would do now. If you knew you could get into Gattaca."

"Anything."

"Define anything."

Vincent swallowed. "Are you serious right now?"

"As serious as I get." Eugene lifted his cup and took a brief swallow, letting the burn in his throat focus him. He raised his eyebrows. "Tell me. Would you leave your life behind?"

"I'd have to. Life as a Gattaca employee would be totally different—for one, I mean, the social protocol is…"

"Move out of your house. Cut all your connections. That's what I mean by leaving your life," Eugene said. "Dying to who you are now. Would you do that?"

Vincent shrugged. "Who I am now is nobody."

It wasn't true. Eugene wanted to tell him that. Who Vincent was now, janitor or no, was someone very important. He'd made Eugene's life better at least, and Eugene was sure he'd touched many others, and at any rate he was the kind of person who…mattered, somehow, in some intangible way made the world better by living in it. That, however, was somewhat irrelevant to the conversation. And Vincent's attitude was the more productive. The kind of attitude German would appreciate.

"And what would you risk?"

"I've already told you I would give everything up."

"What if it was just a chance to get into Gattaca, a chance that could be easily forfeited? Would you still do the same?"

He watched Vincent consider it carefully. Clearly he knew these were more than just hypothetical questions; Eugene was cooking with gas. Good. Vincent had to be serious about this. If not, Eugene was going out on a limb for nothing.

"I'd still do it," Vincent said at last.

"Would you?"

"A chance is more than I have now. More than I'm likely to ever get."

Eugene nodded slowly.

"Why did you ask me to come here?" Vincent asked. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "A chance? Is that what you wanted to talk about?"

Eugene took a deep breath and let it out again. If he told Vincent he knew about German's little ring, technically he still wasn't admitting to being involved in it—he couldn't be arrested for that. Besides, no one would take Vincent's word over Eugene's if he denied everything, a faith birth's over a valid's. It should be safe. He was crossing the line, but he would still be safe. That was the privilege of his birth.

"What have you heard about borrowed ladders?"

Vincent's eyes widened. He laughed a little. "Are you serious?"

"I said I was, didn't I?" God, he wanted a smoke, but he'd left his pack of cigarettes in the other room.

Vincent composed his face. "Um, criminal. Definitely against the law. They steal identities from valids in order to pass themselves off as more physically fit or sane. Or just to cover up something about their past." He burst out with a laugh again, a little hysterical. "Eugene. Where are you going with this?"

Eugene steepled his fingers. "I could set you up."

"You have to be joking."

"It's not stealing an identity, exactly. You connect with a valid who's willing to let you borrow their name, records and genes for a time. Simple enough. Hardly even immoral."

"And how would I connect with a valid who would be up for that? You're telling me you know someone? How would we even get away with that—there are drug tests at Gattaca every day!"

He was nearly shouting. Eugene leaned forward and hissed, "Calm down. You said you would do anything, didn't you? Or did you mean you'd do anything as long as it was within reasonable boundaries? We both know Gattaca is disgustingly genoist and the law doesn't do anything about it. Why should you care about illegal, then?"

"You're suggesting something that's going to get me arrested."

"You said you were willing to risk your life."

"Tell me your proposition, then."

"I know a man named German." Eugene paused. Was that even German's real name? Well, it hardly mattered. "He's connected with a number of valids who are down on their luck and want someone to take up the fight for them. He'd be willing to connect you with one of them and supply you both with the equipment to fool basically any drug test. In exchange you give him a percentage of your Gattaca salary and promise not to rat him out."

Vincent frowned. He got out of his chair and began to pace. "I have heard about things like this. You hear about them when people are caught."

Eugene let him pace. It was a big decision. German had been hassling him about it for so long that for him, it felt like the danger was more letting German get his way than risking his freedom against the government. But for Vincent, this was all new. Eugene would have liked to give him time to think, but German wanted a decision soon. Probably more because he was still annoyed at Eugene than for any practical reason, but at this point Eugene thought it was best to go with what he said.

At last Vincent stopped. He stopped behind Eugene's wheelchair, so that unless Eugene twisted he couldn't see Vincent's face. He didn't bother. He just waited for Vincent to speak.

"This man could get me into Gattaca."

"Yeah. Easy."

"No one would recognize me?"

"I think all you'd have to do is change into a suit. But he'd give you the works. Everything you'd need. So he keeps on telling me."

"What, he's tried to get you to recruit invalids before?"

Eugene did twist around now and glare at Vincent. "We're talking about you right now, not me. Do you want to meet him or not?"

Vincent sagged. "I guess I do."

"All right then. If you give me your phone number, I'll give it to him, and he'll call you. He said he doesn't want me at the meeting." Probably just because, once again, he was annoyed at Eugene and didn't want to deal with him for a while. Understandable—most days, Eugene didn't want to deal with himself either. And he was just as happy not to talk to German for a while, only he worried Vincent would get swindled without his intervention. But it couldn't be helped.

Vincent wrote the phone number down on a piece of paper Eugene gave him. He shook his head. "You of all people playing the middle man."

"I think I'm doing a great job," Eugene said. He folded up the paper. "So. The proposition's not mine, it's his and yours. I'll tell him to call you soon."

Vincent nodded. "All right." He hesitated, glancing at the door. He'd come in through the back since Eugene still hadn't figured out how to unlock the door on the top floor, and clearly he was wondering if it was time for him to take the same way out.

"Stay for a while," Eugene said. "You probably shouldn't be driving buzzed." Back in the day it had never stopped him, but then again it wasn't like he was all that leery of car crashes at the time. "I'll get some food. I think I have some leftover takeout from the other night."

AN: Well, it's a year later but I might be going back to updating this fic. We'll see if the motivation lasts :)