Authors note: I'm still working on The Fire guys, don't fret. This is a short drabble I came up with in the middle of Health and scratched it down on a piece of paper. It IS A SLASH, so if you don't like it then please don't read it. I don't want hate. First Gattaca fanfic.
Jerome always loved the song Hallelujah, preferably the Jeff Buckley version. I never understood his weird fetish with the stupid song. "What do you see in it, anyways? It's old, Jeff Buckley is long gone." I would ask him.
"It's much better than the crap all the fucktards listen to nowadays, now isn't it, Vincent?" he'd always retort back with confidence.
I never understood his love of that song until now…
He'd listen to it while he drank, mostly. He'd always be having deep thoughts, and you could tell this by the way his eyes looked off into the distance, as if he were somewhere else. Anywhere but here. And he was running, always. I could also tell by the small grin that plastered upon his face when I'd ask him what he'd been doing.
Night after night, I remember, he'd drunkenly sing along with it, his own voice overpowering the blaring song. His voice contributed to the walls vibrating some nights.
One night, a few nights before I left for Titan, he wasn't even singing along. I could just hear the music, and I could understand and tolerate it when he sung along; he couldn't help it. He's a drunkard; what more could you expect from a man of the likes of him? Sometimes he'd blare the music just to piss me off. So, acting rash, my patience wore thin that night. I barged into his room, about to throw the radio out of the window when I saw the open windowsill already being occupied by Jerome. He was crying, drinking, and had every intention of falling.
"What are you DOING, MORON!?" I remember running to his side to pick him up from the lonely windowsill and threw him back onto his bed, hoping I didn't break anything. "WHY?! You can't leave me NOW! YOU CAN'T!" I screamed and hollered.
Sobs erupted from Jerome. One of the things I hated more than anything in the world, was the sound of Jerome crying; the sound of Jerome's pain, repressed by cigarettes and alcohol. I swiveled over to him and held him tightly in my embrace. He wailed loudly over the music for the first time. Incoherent words of "DON'T LEAVE ME!" or, "I NEED YOU! I LOVE YOU!" or, my personal favorite, "I hate you for leaving me!" I could tell he was drunk, or maybe half drunk. He beat on my chest to make an attempt to make me let him go, but I held my ground. This was a once in a lifetime experience, I couldn't just let him go.
Hours and the song on repeat, the sobbing reduced to mere whimpers and tears, and that reduced to hiccups and shallow breaths in a failed attempt to calm himself down. I rubbed his back gently, whispering encouraging words to help get him through this. Every now and then he'd start to hum along with the song, and he whined every time I shifted to get more comfortable, as if he actually thought I'd leave him there.
"I…" he began. The sound of his shallow voice made my heart jump. "I'm not entirely drunk… Vincent. Just half, at most. All of the things I said… I meant. I just never had the heart or the balls to tell you before… and…" he sighed and let it go, nuzzling himself deeper into the crook of my neck. He knew I understood.
"I know, Jerome. I know; you don't get angry drunk to the point you say stuff you don't mean. I'm not leaving for forever, you know… I'll be back." Honestly, I couldn't believe I didn't see the sings of suicide… depression… I just didn't think it was in his genes. I guess I was wrong. My crippled best friend just tried to kill himself and I had to save his stupid ass. Why hadn't I noticed it before?
Jerome sniffed and nodded into my shoulder, shivering gently to take a long breath. Tears were again starting to stain my shirt as they had done for hours before.
I kissed the side of his head in hopes to make him feel comfort… to make him feel at home. Because if anyone's kiss were to make him feel better, it'd be mine.
Of course, I always knew he was a homosexual. I knew he wanted me in ways I couldn't describe, and honestly, some nights I'd sit up in bed and wonder if I wanted him, too. Holding him like this made me know my answer. Of course, I didn't realize it first, but Jerome turned into everything I had. Not just because he lent me his body… and his genes and his piss and blood… but because he was my only companion. Literally, my partner in crime.
After all, there's no gene to tell you who you're gonna love, now is there?
He pulled away and looked straight to the depths of my eyes. "You'll think of me when you're up there, wont you?" he managed to whimper out. He sounded like a child almost, but understanding the situation at hand, I guess I'd be afraid, too.
"Well, of course!" I rasped out in surprise. "You helped me get there… you're literally my best friend and all I have!"
He scoffed. "And Irene?"
"Won't care in a year, will she? YOU will." I kissed his forehead this time. "I can't, and never will be able to, forget you… Jerome Eugene Morrow."
He held his face close to mine, panting with something between the lines of excitement and exhilaration. "Say you love me…" he groaned, begging and pleading. "Say. You. Love. Me." His voice heavy with anticipation and adoration.
"I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you." I whispered until his bottom lip quivered and his eyes welled with tears once more.
"I love you too…" he then kissed me and that was all it took for me to succumb to him for the whole night. I spent the remaining dark hours in his arms and under his allusive spell.
I could almost swear, we kissed the whole night. We talked about what we were to do when I left, we talked about why he was on the windowsill ready to die. For some time, we didn't even talk at all. Then, curiously, he asked, "What's the first thing you're gonna do when you get home?" he was sitting up and I resting my head on his chest, tracing my finger along the fine lines of the story his skin told.
I thought for a moment, then retorted simply, "I'm going to get drunk with you." He just nodded and finally, we both fell asleep. Later that day, I called in sick.
That was the first and last time I'd ever kissed Jerome Morrow.
Days later, I left for Titan, and as we soared into the sky, I imagined Jerome's face watching me from his window, watching me soar up, up, and away. I thought it was as simple as that; I'd come back and we'd live again.
A whole year later, I came home. I barged furiously through the door only to find an empty wheelchair and his ashes in the incinerator. And I knew what he meant by the "trip" he was to take. I finally got it. Epiphany. If only it had been sooner.
In that moment, I couldn't believe he didn't wait for me to come home… so I listened to Hallelujah one last time… and finally I understood.
I was his hallelujah, and I had left.
And honestly, what was he to do without me? Without his hope? Or salvation?
I poured myself a glass of the finest vodka in the world that I'd brought home for him and proposed my last toast to the world.
Tears streaking down my face, I climbed into the incinerator, drank my vodka, STILL crying, and imagined his smiling face one last time. After generations it seemed, I pressed the button and closed my eyes.
It felt like years to feel that heat searing my body, when I suddenly reappeared into space. I saw then, in my own personal heaven, Jerome Morrow standing. Maybe this was his heaven, too. He spotted me, and ran, and we embraced for the longest time. I knew then that we had both found our closure, both found our peace.
The day I left, he decided to go with me. Second epiphany that day… he decided to follow his hallelujah. He was there the whole time. And now, he had his hallelujah once more.