(no subject)
TITLE: Indefinite Variables, pt 1, part 2, pt 3, pt 4, pt 5, pt 6, pt 7 (COMPLETE).
RATING: PG-13 for language.
AUTHOR: johnwilmot
CHARACTERS: Eugene Morrow/Robert Capa (GATTACA/Sunshine crossover!)
WORD COUNT: ~4000 and not finished!
DISCLAIMER: Characters/movies not mine, no profit being made, etc.
WARNINGS: Spoilers if you haven't seen GATTACA - which, if you haven't, GO NOW. Change in the ending of it. Takes place before the launch of Icarus II. Also, I haven't posted a fic of any sort in years upon years, but this idea just struck me, so if you read, please comment!
SUMMARY: In the not-so-distant future, man has all but perfected his own genetic code, essentially ruling out the possibility of error. Or so they thought. A mission has failed. Eugene Morrow takes in the young trainee Robert Capa as he prepares for any further mistakes.
The sun was creeping upward over the horizon in its lethargic and reluctant way, just like every morning, when Eugene awoke unexpectedly to the sound of movement. Without alcohol he was a notoriously light sleeper, and even with scotch in his system, the loving genetics implanted in him had made his metabolism fast enough that a hangover was neigh impossible, which also meant maybe a good five hours of drunken sleep before he was awake again, especially these days when he still had scattered dreams of Vincent's face smiling toward the latest launch, Vincent's body floating aimlessly, drifting into the darkest corners of space, lit up with the impossible, his cells conforming perfectly with their brothers and sisters of stardust rather than freezing and crystallising like all science expected. Science had been wrong about Vincent before.
Only lately his dreams leaned less toward the blackness and more toward the heat, a heat he was sure he could almost feel as he reached for Vincent's hand as the man fell closer and closer into the dying sun, so far away and looking at him, Eugene, as his last hope, and yet at the same time reassuring him with a kind, enlightened smile. It's okay, Eugene. This is where I belong.
He was in a cold sweat when he finally stirred from it, his hoarse throat shouting "Vincent!" in his half-slumber when he heard the bustle in the next room. It took several seconds of cold, waking sobriety to remember that it was not Vincent that was his houseguest anymore, and the lead that dropped in the middle of his chest was momentarily too heavy for him to lift himself properly out of bed and into the ever-reliable wheelchair beside it. Whether he'd been heard or not, he wasn't sure, but he was frustrated with the dream, frustrated and perturbed in a way that he didn't want to admit. His dreams had always been decidedly of the Earthly nature until fucking Vincent had made his way into his life and left him starry-eyed, filled his head with the untouchable in an entirely different sense than a man of the genetic elite was used to. And anyway, there was no hope of falling back to sleep now, not even a desire to after a dream like that.
When he'd finally managed himself into his robe and struggled into the wheelchair, he wheeled himself into the next room, the living quarters adjoined to the kitchen, dangerously close to his workspace, where he found the cause for the noise: Robert Capa, physicist extraordinaire, was doing push-ups on the hardwood floor, although doing was a generous verb for it. More like he was making more noise in his struggle than he had in the few weeks of his stay. It was like he was a mouse, tiptoeing around Eugene's metaphorical trap - his wicked, lashing tongue - and Eugene liked it that way, respected that he slipped in at early hours and worked late ones upstairs, the area that they had wordlessly agreed would be his, for obvious reasons. Again, it reeked of Vincent, the way he poured over his books and calculations, only he held a sort of anxiety about him that was different from Vincent's worry of being caught. Eugene got the sense that he was capable of his abilities - someone so young and with an IQ most certainly bred to be of the utmost importance to humanity couldn't help but be - and yet it never seemed to be enough. There were perpetual worry lines around his eyes, a sort of engraved way that his mouth turned down into a frown, either from too much concentration or simply an internal anguish that Eugene could only guess at. After all, he had less certainty to cling to. GATTACA was no longer the prestigious, rocket-launching powerhouse that it used to be but instead a gamble, just like the rest of life, and while Eugene found a perverse satisfaction in its failure after such overconfidence, he could see the effect it was having on its newest trainees.
"How many is that, five?" He said irritably as he wheeled closer, watching the man struggle to push himself upward in his grey sleeveless undershirt, already marked with the beginnings of sweat. Capa grunted at the insult but said nothing, continued his efforts as if Eugene weren't there.
"I thought astronauts were supposed to be physically capable," Eugene pressed, wanting to push some sort of button. There was something about Capa's calm demeanour and deflection of cheap shots that, on a bad day, made him want to rouse a reaction from him. And he recalled Vincent and his limitations and how hard he had worked, the tireless hours he had spent building up the muscle needed when the exertion could very well kill him, send his heart into overload and bursting. That would have been a more poetic way for him to die, Eugene thought. His heart simply giving out from the wealth of passion it held. Maybe it had, the moment he'd laid eyes on his beloved universe. It was a nice thought.
"I'm not an astronaut," Capa huffed with the usual restraint, the slightest irritation to his voice, but still distracted, still more concentrated at the task at hand. "I'm a physicist."
"You're going to be both soon," Eugene said, acknowledging wordlessly his certainty that Icarus I would fail. Capa said nothing, only grunted with effort as he strained for his twentieth push-up. Eugene wheeled over to a shelf, picking up one of Vincent's old and very heavy copies on astrophysics and, returning with it in tow, planted it neatly on Capa's upper back, between the shoulders. The man instantly collapsed, giving an understated 'oof' of displeasure, face contorting with physical strain rather than the usual restrained emotion.
"Why'd you do that?!" He snapped, the closest he'd come to actually verbally standing up to his impromptu roommate.
"You'll need it if you're going to get anywhere." Eugene replied, a bit unfairly, wheeling himself toward the kitchen area to find his bottle of scotch - or whiskey, whichever was closer - and pour himself an early morning drink. "Jerome could do it, easily. Every morning." It was the first verbal acknowledgment of Jerome - Vincent - since Capa had come to stay with him.
Capa rolled over onto his back, the book pushed off of him, laying flat on the floor and watching Eugene fix his drink. He had heard about Jerome Morrow, of course, about the massive catastrophe surrounding the mission to Titan, and Irene had been vague, almost clinically so, about his stay with this crippled man, Eugene, a man he knew nothing about and had the wherewithall not to ask when she didn't seem inclined to give information. He had money, that was all Capa knew, and perhaps had been involved in the programme at some point, before his accident. So now he was some sort of benefactor, although the term seemed laughable given his demeanour and utter resistance to the idea of any mission to the heavens at all.
"Jerome Morrow," he said evenly, matter-of-factly, but with that slightest edge of curiosity, of cautiously poking at the jowls of the beast and hoping to come back with a hand intact. "The man who went to Titan. The man who stayed with you before."
"Yes," Eugene said in a testy tone that implied he didn't want to prod into the subject. Instead he began fussing with kitchen utensils, as if to put himself to a task although he was utterly useless at any form of cooking. He managed open the door of the refrigerator, pulling out eggs and assembling them near a frying pan. "He was probably more limited than you -" even now, he had a sworn allegiance to not give away Vincent's secret, to not take away his honour and declare him a degenerate to the whole world, but rather let his memory live carrying the illusion of his own genetic structure, "-and could still manage probably twice as many push-ups with one arm behind his back." He tried to crack an egg and failed, cursing at the shell falling into the pan.
"Here, let me," Capa stood, crossing into the neat, near-metallic kitchenette and taking the frying pan in hand, neatly disposing of the wasted egg and then cracking two more, wordlessly flipping them as Eugene sank back, watching him, even neglecting the drink resting in his hand as he studied the physicist's features as he cooked. "I'm not one of them." He said, unceremoniously, his eyes on the pan.
"One of what?"
"A vetro. A 'made man'."
There was a long pause, Eugene turning this over in his head, as if weighing whether he believed it or not. Indeed, a glance from Capa in his direction at his expression proved his disbelief, his total skepticism of this truth.
"No one worked out what was going to be part of my genetic make-up like you and Jerome." It was Capa's best defense mechanism, a sort of passive response to Eugene's criticisms rather than a full-blown attack.
"You're telling me your IQ, your rising up to GATTACA's standards at your youth and getting into the programme, all of that was complete chance?"
Capa looked over at him and smiled, the same half-smile that he always offered that seemed to strain his features as much as anything else, as if deep frowns of concentration were easier because they were more likely. "Not complete chance. My father was a scientist. I inherited a lot from him. All major diseases were ruled out and the rest was left up to natural biology." He handed Eugene a plate of eggs, eggs Eugene didn't remember asking for, and then took his own and sat himself down at the bar counter casually.
"How the hell did you manage to slip through, with risks like that tied to you?"
A modest shrug. "You tell me. A good thesis? GATTACA's desperation to get Icarus II prepared as quickly as possible, just in case?" It was like a stand-in for a play or a benchwarmer at an athletics event, as far as Capa was concerned. No real certainty that he would ever make the trip - a severe hope that he wouldn't have to, even. The first crew that had been chosen had much more promising genes than he did. After that brief pause for thought, he chanced another glance at Eugene. "Luck? Fate, even?" The latter was said with intention, drawing upon the conversation of their first meeting, and he thought he saw a flicker in the man's eyes, a man who he had no way of knowing how to begin to understand. The pause seemed to stretch on, and he ate in silence for a few moments, until finally...
"Your parents must have spent all of their money on those eyes of yours." Eugene said without looking at him, wheeling himself instead toward the utensils drawer. The statement bit with the slightest hint of jealousy, and yet Capa saw the compliment lying underneath it, and smiled as the morning sun slowly rose for its daily routine, reaching its place outside the nearby window where it could make itself known, and filled the room with its light.
RATING: PG-13 for language.
AUTHOR: johnwilmot
CHARACTERS: Eugene Morrow/Robert Capa (GATTACA/Sunshine crossover!)
WORD COUNT: ~4000 and not finished!
DISCLAIMER: Characters/movies not mine, no profit being made, etc.
WARNINGS: Spoilers if you haven't seen GATTACA - which, if you haven't, GO NOW. Change in the ending of it. Takes place before the launch of Icarus II. Also, I haven't posted a fic of any sort in years upon years, but this idea just struck me, so if you read, please comment!
SUMMARY: In the not-so-distant future, man has all but perfected his own genetic code, essentially ruling out the possibility of error. Or so they thought. A mission has failed. Eugene Morrow takes in the young trainee Robert Capa as he prepares for any further mistakes.
The sun was creeping upward over the horizon in its lethargic and reluctant way, just like every morning, when Eugene awoke unexpectedly to the sound of movement. Without alcohol he was a notoriously light sleeper, and even with scotch in his system, the loving genetics implanted in him had made his metabolism fast enough that a hangover was neigh impossible, which also meant maybe a good five hours of drunken sleep before he was awake again, especially these days when he still had scattered dreams of Vincent's face smiling toward the latest launch, Vincent's body floating aimlessly, drifting into the darkest corners of space, lit up with the impossible, his cells conforming perfectly with their brothers and sisters of stardust rather than freezing and crystallising like all science expected. Science had been wrong about Vincent before.
Only lately his dreams leaned less toward the blackness and more toward the heat, a heat he was sure he could almost feel as he reached for Vincent's hand as the man fell closer and closer into the dying sun, so far away and looking at him, Eugene, as his last hope, and yet at the same time reassuring him with a kind, enlightened smile. It's okay, Eugene. This is where I belong.
He was in a cold sweat when he finally stirred from it, his hoarse throat shouting "Vincent!" in his half-slumber when he heard the bustle in the next room. It took several seconds of cold, waking sobriety to remember that it was not Vincent that was his houseguest anymore, and the lead that dropped in the middle of his chest was momentarily too heavy for him to lift himself properly out of bed and into the ever-reliable wheelchair beside it. Whether he'd been heard or not, he wasn't sure, but he was frustrated with the dream, frustrated and perturbed in a way that he didn't want to admit. His dreams had always been decidedly of the Earthly nature until fucking Vincent had made his way into his life and left him starry-eyed, filled his head with the untouchable in an entirely different sense than a man of the genetic elite was used to. And anyway, there was no hope of falling back to sleep now, not even a desire to after a dream like that.
When he'd finally managed himself into his robe and struggled into the wheelchair, he wheeled himself into the next room, the living quarters adjoined to the kitchen, dangerously close to his workspace, where he found the cause for the noise: Robert Capa, physicist extraordinaire, was doing push-ups on the hardwood floor, although doing was a generous verb for it. More like he was making more noise in his struggle than he had in the few weeks of his stay. It was like he was a mouse, tiptoeing around Eugene's metaphorical trap - his wicked, lashing tongue - and Eugene liked it that way, respected that he slipped in at early hours and worked late ones upstairs, the area that they had wordlessly agreed would be his, for obvious reasons. Again, it reeked of Vincent, the way he poured over his books and calculations, only he held a sort of anxiety about him that was different from Vincent's worry of being caught. Eugene got the sense that he was capable of his abilities - someone so young and with an IQ most certainly bred to be of the utmost importance to humanity couldn't help but be - and yet it never seemed to be enough. There were perpetual worry lines around his eyes, a sort of engraved way that his mouth turned down into a frown, either from too much concentration or simply an internal anguish that Eugene could only guess at. After all, he had less certainty to cling to. GATTACA was no longer the prestigious, rocket-launching powerhouse that it used to be but instead a gamble, just like the rest of life, and while Eugene found a perverse satisfaction in its failure after such overconfidence, he could see the effect it was having on its newest trainees.
"How many is that, five?" He said irritably as he wheeled closer, watching the man struggle to push himself upward in his grey sleeveless undershirt, already marked with the beginnings of sweat. Capa grunted at the insult but said nothing, continued his efforts as if Eugene weren't there.
"I thought astronauts were supposed to be physically capable," Eugene pressed, wanting to push some sort of button. There was something about Capa's calm demeanour and deflection of cheap shots that, on a bad day, made him want to rouse a reaction from him. And he recalled Vincent and his limitations and how hard he had worked, the tireless hours he had spent building up the muscle needed when the exertion could very well kill him, send his heart into overload and bursting. That would have been a more poetic way for him to die, Eugene thought. His heart simply giving out from the wealth of passion it held. Maybe it had, the moment he'd laid eyes on his beloved universe. It was a nice thought.
"I'm not an astronaut," Capa huffed with the usual restraint, the slightest irritation to his voice, but still distracted, still more concentrated at the task at hand. "I'm a physicist."
"You're going to be both soon," Eugene said, acknowledging wordlessly his certainty that Icarus I would fail. Capa said nothing, only grunted with effort as he strained for his twentieth push-up. Eugene wheeled over to a shelf, picking up one of Vincent's old and very heavy copies on astrophysics and, returning with it in tow, planted it neatly on Capa's upper back, between the shoulders. The man instantly collapsed, giving an understated 'oof' of displeasure, face contorting with physical strain rather than the usual restrained emotion.
"Why'd you do that?!" He snapped, the closest he'd come to actually verbally standing up to his impromptu roommate.
"You'll need it if you're going to get anywhere." Eugene replied, a bit unfairly, wheeling himself toward the kitchen area to find his bottle of scotch - or whiskey, whichever was closer - and pour himself an early morning drink. "Jerome could do it, easily. Every morning." It was the first verbal acknowledgment of Jerome - Vincent - since Capa had come to stay with him.
Capa rolled over onto his back, the book pushed off of him, laying flat on the floor and watching Eugene fix his drink. He had heard about Jerome Morrow, of course, about the massive catastrophe surrounding the mission to Titan, and Irene had been vague, almost clinically so, about his stay with this crippled man, Eugene, a man he knew nothing about and had the wherewithall not to ask when she didn't seem inclined to give information. He had money, that was all Capa knew, and perhaps had been involved in the programme at some point, before his accident. So now he was some sort of benefactor, although the term seemed laughable given his demeanour and utter resistance to the idea of any mission to the heavens at all.
"Jerome Morrow," he said evenly, matter-of-factly, but with that slightest edge of curiosity, of cautiously poking at the jowls of the beast and hoping to come back with a hand intact. "The man who went to Titan. The man who stayed with you before."
"Yes," Eugene said in a testy tone that implied he didn't want to prod into the subject. Instead he began fussing with kitchen utensils, as if to put himself to a task although he was utterly useless at any form of cooking. He managed open the door of the refrigerator, pulling out eggs and assembling them near a frying pan. "He was probably more limited than you -" even now, he had a sworn allegiance to not give away Vincent's secret, to not take away his honour and declare him a degenerate to the whole world, but rather let his memory live carrying the illusion of his own genetic structure, "-and could still manage probably twice as many push-ups with one arm behind his back." He tried to crack an egg and failed, cursing at the shell falling into the pan.
"Here, let me," Capa stood, crossing into the neat, near-metallic kitchenette and taking the frying pan in hand, neatly disposing of the wasted egg and then cracking two more, wordlessly flipping them as Eugene sank back, watching him, even neglecting the drink resting in his hand as he studied the physicist's features as he cooked. "I'm not one of them." He said, unceremoniously, his eyes on the pan.
"One of what?"
"A vetro. A 'made man'."
There was a long pause, Eugene turning this over in his head, as if weighing whether he believed it or not. Indeed, a glance from Capa in his direction at his expression proved his disbelief, his total skepticism of this truth.
"No one worked out what was going to be part of my genetic make-up like you and Jerome." It was Capa's best defense mechanism, a sort of passive response to Eugene's criticisms rather than a full-blown attack.
"You're telling me your IQ, your rising up to GATTACA's standards at your youth and getting into the programme, all of that was complete chance?"
Capa looked over at him and smiled, the same half-smile that he always offered that seemed to strain his features as much as anything else, as if deep frowns of concentration were easier because they were more likely. "Not complete chance. My father was a scientist. I inherited a lot from him. All major diseases were ruled out and the rest was left up to natural biology." He handed Eugene a plate of eggs, eggs Eugene didn't remember asking for, and then took his own and sat himself down at the bar counter casually.
"How the hell did you manage to slip through, with risks like that tied to you?"
A modest shrug. "You tell me. A good thesis? GATTACA's desperation to get Icarus II prepared as quickly as possible, just in case?" It was like a stand-in for a play or a benchwarmer at an athletics event, as far as Capa was concerned. No real certainty that he would ever make the trip - a severe hope that he wouldn't have to, even. The first crew that had been chosen had much more promising genes than he did. After that brief pause for thought, he chanced another glance at Eugene. "Luck? Fate, even?" The latter was said with intention, drawing upon the conversation of their first meeting, and he thought he saw a flicker in the man's eyes, a man who he had no way of knowing how to begin to understand. The pause seemed to stretch on, and he ate in silence for a few moments, until finally...
"Your parents must have spent all of their money on those eyes of yours." Eugene said without looking at him, wheeling himself instead toward the utensils drawer. The statement bit with the slightest hint of jealousy, and yet Capa saw the compliment lying underneath it, and smiled as the morning sun slowly rose for its daily routine, reaching its place outside the nearby window where it could make itself known, and filled the room with its light.