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The packed sand was cold under his cheek. The water was still an inky black, but the sky was just beginning to soften around the edges as dawn approached. Anton didn’t dare do the math on how long he had laid there, curled into a ball, coat draped over his shivering body, the sand sapping away any residual heat he had left.
Vincent had dragged him the long miles back to shore, never saying another word. He had pulled Anton up onto the sand, covered him with the detective’s coat, and had sat there for a while, silently, as if to make sure Anton would be alright. When the younger brother had stayed breathing but never moved a muscle for close to an hour, Vincent had dressed and left, leaving Anton alone with his thoughts.
While Vincent had been there, all Anton had wished was that he would go away. Sitting there, his breathing returning to normal, an Invalid and yet not sprawled on the sand like the Valid was… he was the living manifestation of the knowledge that no matter how well Anton was engineered, he would never hold a candle to his older brother. But then he had left, and the feeling of warmth that another human being brings was gone as well. It was then that Anton had curled into a ball, dragging his leaden limbs into his chest, shivering from the cold and the agony of his own mind.
As the sky lightened, Anton’s heart sank further. He couldn’t move, couldn’t make himself take up any more space or oxygen than the bare minimum. For a while he had kept his breathing as shallow as possible, choking down the need for air until his head spun and his body refused the control, heaving and coughing into the wet sand. He had grinned wryly at himself. He didn’t even have the capabilities to control his breathing.
He was pathetic.
That day, long ago, when they were still boys and Vincent had beaten Anton for the first time, things had changed. There was no outward change; in fact, no one knew about it beyond the two brothers. But there had been a shift, a dangerous one, like the first rub of a fault line that will one day cause a devastating earthquake. And yet Anton had built his life upon that fault line, brick by brick. He had ignored the incident, but it always sat there, and no matter what he accomplished he could almost feel Vincent watching him, amused, saying “The only reason you are here now is because of me.”
He kept track of his brother. Watched each failed attempt to get a job, each lie, each refused gene test. Anton himself was rocketing through the ranks of law enforcement, and watching his brother fail gave him a sick sense of validation. He hated himself for it, and yet couldn’t make himself stop. He read every development in Vincent’s life carefully, absorbing every word and then rereading it and rereading it and rereading it again. He refused to believe he was looking after his brother, and instead pretended he was doing it for his parents.
And then Vincent had dropped off the map. Yes, it had hurt, and watching his parents’ pain was awful, but at night when the sky was dark and his mind wandered between conscious and unconscious thought, he recognized the weight that had been taken off him. With his brother’s presumed death, he was free from his own failure. He stopped seeing Vincent out of the corner of his eye, stopped hearing his contemptuous laugh ringing in his ears at every mistake despite him never having heard it when they were actually living together, stopped thinking about the fact that he had lost. Despite the doubt that maybe Vincent wasn't dead, Anton grew comfortable with himself, and progressed even faster. After his parents died, his last constraints to his old self were gone, and he was senior detective before he knew it. Not even thirty and running a whole division.
But it didn’t last. There was a murder at Gattaca, and now he was lying on the sand, shaking, cold, wet, and alone. The fault line ripped his entire life apart, leaving him sitting in the rubble surrounded by everything he had built himself upon. Vincent was back to haunt him, but better and stronger than Anton had ever considered to imagine.
Vincent was going to Titan. Anton was freezing to death on a beach. The irony sickened him, but he couldn’t help the laugh that escaped his raw throat.
The sky was beautiful, with golden rays touching the clouds and deep pinks and purples in the shadows. Anton knew early risers would be out walking along the beach soon, and he did not want to have to explain himself to them. With monumental effort, he dragged himself to a sitting position, then to his feet. He slowly dressed, the pain in his body making him clench his teeth.
No, he would not report Vincent. The older man deserved everything he had. Anton could only hope to one day be worthy of being called his brother. He would build his home away from the fault line, on solid ground, and when Vincent got back, maybe he would build a room for him.
The sun made its first appearance, gently touching the world and bathing it in gold. With an amount of energy that shocked him, especially considering the events of the night, he walked away from the ocean and toward the future. Life had a funny way of coming full circle, but for the first time, he was excited at the prospect.