Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Nothing. See? I told you! He doesn't give a shit where I am."

Forty-five minutes of stressful driving in the dark later ("This thing's brakes blow!") and Walter White found himself, against all odds and personal desires, sitting in the booth of a Denny's across from Jesse Pinkman, watching him inhale a pile of pancakes heaped with berries and drizzled in what he would have charitably described as 'red goo.'

Jesse snapped his phone shut again.

Far from being reassured, the fact that Gus hadn't reached out only made Walt more uneasy. There was a part of him that didn't believe Jesse was telling him the truth about that, but given their recent tête-à-tête regarding partnerships and trust, he didn't think snatching his partner's cell phone from across the table to check it himself would be the right move. Maybe when Jesse went to the bathroom…

"Well, better you know for certain. And he still could call, so you need to be prepared for that. Now, if he does, what are you going to say?"

"That I am his loyal bitch who is coming to work tomorrow, whatever." Jesse shoveled more repulsively smothered in cherry syrup pancakes in his mouth. "What about you? Heard anything?"

He stared at his phone. Thirteen missed calls from Skyler. Three from Marie. Two from Saul, the only ones he might actually answer.

"All quiet on the Western Front."

Jesse dropped his fork and pushed Walt's untouched Grand Slam closer to him. He had never wanted it, it had been ordered for him. Was there no crisis that curtailed Jesse's appetite?

"You are so full of shit. You could at least text her to let her know you're alive."

He picked at his hash-browns. The thing was, he didn't want Skyler to know he was alive. He was quite content with her assuming the worst, because the worst was very likely to happen, and why give his wife false hopes?

He pressed a few random buttons on the phone and shoved it in his pocket before Jesse had a chance to scrutinize.

"There. Done."

He pretended to be very interested in his eggs for a minute, to avoid Jesse's scrutiny.

"Well, I guess we've got my plan sorted out. Now we got to figure out you. What's your next move?"

He had to resist the urge to get acerbic in his reply—or at least less acerbic than he would've initially liked to get.

"Difficult to say. My options are limited." He glared at Jesse. "Even more limited now that I no longer have a car."

"Yo, we have your wife's. Quit acting like you had a hard on for that rental."

"You need to take that car back to Albuquerque with you, and that is the last place that I will be going."

Jesse took a long slurp from his cup of tepid coffee, and studied Walt from across the table. He looked as though he wanted to say some thing, perhaps register a different opinion on that subject, but in a rare moment of restraint, he said nothing.

"Whatever you say, man. Are you planning on just going on the run, or what?"

"That was an option, but unfortunately it's—not anymore."

"What are you talking about?"

He explained about Saul's guy who could disappear people, and give them a whole new identity.

"Holy shit. That type of person exists? And Saul knows him?"

"He's never met the man. He only knows how to get in touch with him."

Walt pulled the vacuum cleaner repair card out of his pocket and showed it to Jesse. He didn't bother explaining how it worked, and Jesse, to his credit, didn't bother asking. He tossed the card back on the table.

"So—why is that not an option for you anymore?"

"I don't have enough money. Not for all four of us, and I'm certainly not doing it by myself."

He tried to imagine getting a new identity, moving across the country by himself, spending the last of his days as an anonymous figure among strangers, always desperately waiting to hear word that the worst that happened to Skyler, Hank and the kids, but incapable of doing anything about it. Saul had said his guy didn't allow any contact.

"What are you talking about, no money? How much does this cost?"

"Half a million," he said stirring his cup of coffee idly.

"That's it?" Jesse scoffed—oh, how far they'd come from the days of high-fiving over a 1.2 million in the RV. "Where the hell is your money?"

"…Skyler gave six hundred and twenty two thousand of it to Ted Beneke."

"Who the hell is that?"

"He's her—former boss." The words had to be forcibly pried from his mouth, it was clenched so tightly shut. "He had some outstanding IRS fines and tax irregularities. She was his bookkeeper at the time and signed off on all of it. My wife was worried that we'd come under scrutiny if he was audited." In all honesty, the sheer absurdity of her having given their money to Beneke had made the reasoning and logic of it a matter of supreme indifference to Walter—at least in the moment. "Between that and the carwash, I'm all but cleaned out."

"So your wife was cooking the books for this guy? To the tune of 600 grand?" Walt forced himself to nod. "Why would she do that?"

An involuntary black cloud crossed Walt's face.

"You would have to ask her."

This attempt to stonewall Jesse's insatiable curiosity worked about as well as getting him to do what you wanted without talking back.

"Wait…when I got out of rehab and you were in that shitty Beachcomber place…and then you got fired from J.P. Wynne and were like, super depressed and kind of channeling big loser energy, was your wife—"

"—I'm not talking about this with you right now."

His snap was apparently all that was needed.

"No fucking way! With her boss?" He buried his face in his hands and tried to massage Jesse's voice into oblivion. "Shit, that is a major dick move, Mr. White."

He couldn't tell what was worse—the glib little laugh, which reminded him of the old Jesse, before Jane and Gale, when he was still just a naive, drugged-out idiot that Walt felt an almost irrational protectiveness over—or that sliver of awkward, heartfelt sympathy. Pretty soon Jesse would be talking about opossums who lived in his aunt's floor whose wives had also fucked Ted.

"How did you guess?" A new suspicion crossed his mind. "You haven't been talking to Saul, have you?"

"No—it's just…it's on your face, yo." Jesse pointed a fork at him. "Wait, how does Saul know about this?"

Walt decided that he preferred to get this over with rather than prolonging it, because Jesse was the kind of little shit who'd actually call Saul and ask.

"He had Mike put bugs in the walls of my house."

"So Mike knows, too? Does Gus?"

"Oh, God—probably."

"And they were doing it in your house?"

Walt closed his eyes, physically pained at the thought.

"They were not—this was very brief thing that happened—after she found out, she brought divorce papers over to the apartment, and when I refused to sign them, this was her way of getting back at me, I suppose. Maybe getting back at me for everything. Well, I hope she's happy, because it worked."

He sighed and rubbed his head. God, what he would have done for some of those cancer meds.

"I just—couldn't see a point in going on without her and—the kids. I moved back into the house. I pushed her and she—pushed back. And now we have no money."

He shoveled the food around his plate.

"I'm really sorry. That sucks."

"Which part?"

"All of it. Getting cheated on, yo."

He let out a little laugh, imagining that he was about to be the recipient of some story of Jesse's high school girlfriends stepping out on him, but luckily, the boy thought better of trying to provide a comparable example.

"Why don't you tell me any of this at the time?"

"Why would I, Jesse?" Walt snapped—it really was an idiotic question. "What are you, now, my therapist?"

"No!" said Jesse, defensively. "But I'm your partner."

"You weren't at the time. We had gone our separate ways, and we were hardly on the best of terms, you will recall."

"Yeah, because you were being a major dick to me about cooking without you."

Walter couldn't argue with that logic. But even if they had been working together at the time, he would've never willingly admitted to Jesse that Skyler was sleeping with Ted. Having Jesse's respect mattered too much to him. The only thing more valuable to Walt was his loyalty.

See where valuing that had gotten him. To Denny's.

"So your plan was to pay Saul's guy for all four of you?"

"I realize there are issues with that plan—particularly having to explain it to my son—but yes, that was my exit strategy. It was a last resort."

"I could give you the money." Walt rolled his eyes and buried his face in his hands. "I'm serious! I've got it all in my trunk right now. If you still want to go through with it, I'll help you get your wife and kids away from the brother-in-law."

"I'm not taking your money, Jesse."

"Are you seriously too proud for this? Do you think I give a shit about the money? I barely know what to do with it as it is." Jesse drained his coffee cup. "You're always saying I'm useless and would be nothing without you, why don't you just tell yourself that, if it makes it easier. It's not even a lie."

"Don't talk about yourself that way. And stop being dramatic."

Jesse scowled at him.

"Let's just—walk ourselves through this. Hypothetically, if I took your money, and we were able to convince Skyler and my kids to meet me somewhere Gus didn't know about, and we get to Saul's disappearer…don't you think Gus will realize you helped me?"

"I'm planning on telling him to his face, so yes. He knows where we stand, and you living is part of the deal."

"When you were the one who had gone on the run, and I was left behind to continue working with him, you do remember what happened, right?"

"Why don't we just accept working with him I'm screwed either way, and just focus on you and your people."

"There's still the issue of Hank. I don't know how long this DEA protection is really going to work. Either Gus kills my brother-in-law, or he manages to survive long enough to find the lab and expose Gus's whole operation. Which will, of course, mean that you are exposed along with him."

"That's on you, man. You should've done a better job throwing him off the scent."

"Don't you think I've been trying? I totaled my car keeping him from the laundry. Look, I understand why keeping him alive is probably not a high priority for you—"

"—Just because I think the guy is a total dick, doesn't mean I wanna see him dead."

Walt looked into Jesse's eyes, and saw, in spite of what he would've assumed, that his partner was being sincere. Jesse didn't have a vengeful streak.

"Really. It matters to you?"

"It matters to you," said Jesse, simply. "You'd flip shit if that gimp died. You think I want to deal with that? I'd have to tie you to a tree to keep you from running Gus over with your shitty Aztec."

"It's in the shop," he replied, dryly.

Walt's mouth flattened into a thin line at the mental image.

"In any case…even if we were able to pull that plan off, either Hank will be killed or you will be caught—and if you're not arrested first, Gus will kill you. He'll blame me for this, and he won't want you as a loose end exposing more of his operation than the raid would." Walt shook his head. "No, I can't do that, it's unacceptable."

"Well, what would be acceptable?"

"A plan that keeps my entire family safe," Walter snapped, impatiently.

Jesse set his fork down.

"…Your entire what?"

"Family, obviously! Hank, Skyler, the kids, you. Everybody." Jesse stared at him, as if he'd said some utter profundity and not the obvious—but why should he be surprised, this was Jesse. He had to think, think—there had to be a way to save them and stay out of prison. "No, I was right in my initial assessment. Gus has to die. I realize you have some compunctions about this, but I would like to remind you of what he did to Victor right in front of us. Just picture that every time you have a scruple, Jesse, because I'm definitely going to need your help to do it—"

"—You think of me as family?"

The part of Walter's brain that had been mapping Gus's movements, considering when would be the best moment to strike, flipped off. He stared at Jesse blankly, at a loss for words.

To him it was so clear. He had thought of Jesse as family longer than he had consciously known it himself. The idea, the grouping of priorities—Skyler, the kids, Hank and Marie, Jesse—all of that in the last year had become like a second nature to him. And he even admitted it to Jesse himself, in a moment of weakness and guilt.

"He told me not to give up on family. And I didn't."

Jesse, of course, had no idea that he was referring to him. Apparently he still had no idea.

"Family. You can't give up on them—ever. I mean, what else is there?"

Poor Donald Margolis had lived that credo to the last, in the end. But he hadn't been wrong. The things that Walter had done for and to Jesse…were the sorts of things you only did for family. Darkening your soul, piece by piece—that could only be worth it if you were doing it for family.

"The things I've done to earn it…the things I've had to do. I've got to live with them."

"You really are an idiot sometimes."

It was a feeble dodge at best. Jesse didn't see through it completely—but he saw enough of the truth to jam in his proverbial foot in the door.

"What, am I just supposed to know that? How? You're not exactly Mr. 'Talks about his feelings' guy."

He met Jesse's eye, and he saw that this was not just a statement of fact—his partner was expecting a corrective.

It shouldn't have been a big deal, especially since Walt still considered his life as forfeit. Hell, if it was really the end, honesty should have been his first priority, but for some reason admitting this to Jesse Pinkman felt like handing an enemy a weapon. Displaying a chink in his armor for the world to see.

"Let's just say that I didn't —" He lowered his voice. "—Take care of those two gangbangers simply because I enjoy your sparkling personality."

"Really? You don't?"

He was smiling. The little shithead was smiling.

"Really—I don't. In fact, I don't even particularly like you. You've been a pain in my ass since you walked into my fourth period chemistry class eight years ago."

"Nine."

"Nine, whatever. You are a walking, talking spanner in the works, more or less. Exhibit A—this afternoon. Do you understand what I'm saying to you?"

"I think so." Jesse tilted his head and squinted. "Tell me, are you this big of a douchebag to everybody in your family, or am I just the lucky one?"

He kept his expression neutral, but Walt knew that he did, understand. He understood far too well.

Jesse's phone began to ring on the table in front of them. He picked it up and looked at the number.

"Who is it? Is it Gus?" Jesse didn't reply. "Are you going to pick it up? Remember, no mention of being with me, reassure him, make sure he believes you are on his side—"

"Yo, it's me." There was a pause, Walter mouthed the words "Who is it?" at his partner. He expected Jesse to at least do him a courtesy of mouthing back an answer, but the kid didn't extend him that courtesy. He ignored him, focusing on whoever was on the other line. "Yeah, I did. Yeah…yeah. It was just like you said."

"Is it Gus?"

Jesse shook his head.

"Saul?"

"At Denny's…I was hungry. We're brainstorming. You know, coming up with a plan, of course. I don't know, it was the closest restaurant…I'm figuring that part out, hence the brainstorming." Jesse rolled his eyes. "He's sitting right across from me right now. I'm looking at him. Okay, fine—"

He held the open flip phone out to Walter.

"It's your wife, do you want to talk to her? Reassure her you're alive? Because I know that thing about sending the text was bullshit."

Walter looked at the cell phone as if it had been coated in ricin. He mouthed the word 'no' and made a series of slashing gestures at his neck. His partner attempted to forcibly push the cell phone into his hands, to which Walter stood up in the booth and lifted his hands into the air as if Jesse were holding him at gunpoint.

Rolling his eyes further, Jesse put his ear back to the receiver.

"Yeah, he won't take it. Well, I'm not lying…I don't know, I guess he's afraid I'm going to think he's whipped if he talks to you in front of me, which is pretty dumb, because I already know that for a fact…how are things at your dickhead brother-in-law's, by the way?… Dickhead, yeah. What do you expect me to call him? The dude put me in the hospital. For something that was your asshole husband's idea, by the way! And you're welcome for not suing his ass—"

Walt snatched the cell phone away.

"Skyler? Skyler, honey—"

"—Walt? Is that you?"

She sounded frantic.

"Yes. It's me. Are you and the kids alright? Did you make it to Hank's okay? And how is he?"

"Yes. We're—we're all fine, Walt."

He closed his eyes with relief. It was something.

"Good—that's very good. I'm glad." Walt tried to keep his voice light, the casual, reassuring tone that he had cultivated after many months of lying to her. "Look, honey, I'm in the middle of something here, so—"

Jesse made a vulgar hand gesture.

"—I can call you back later, I promise as soon as I can I will—"

His wife started to cry, the sound of her attempt to stifle it audible over the phone.

"Are you really okay? You're not—hurt or anything?"

"Of course not." Walt's voice softened with concern and genuine puzzlement. "I am…why would I be hurt?"

"I don't know, Walt. Why did you go up into the mountains with a gun I didn't even know you owned and leave behind a goodbye note in our house? Can you explain that to me?"

He squeezed his eyes shut. There would be no getting out of this one, but hell if he wouldn't try.

"I just needed to be alone somewhere peaceful to…think."

"With a gun? How long have you owned a gun, Walter?"

"Look, I don't know what Saul told you, but it's—it's not what you think."

"You left a note. What were you planning on doing?"

"Look, it doesn't matter."

"How am I supposed to believe that? Believe you?"

"I don't have it anymore." He glared across the table. "Your little hired interventionist threw it into the river."

Jesse leaned back in the booth, like an insouciant cat licking cream from a bowl.

"Really. So, if you gave the phone back to him, he would confirm that?"

"Excuse me?"

"Give the phone back to him. I want to ask him."

His fingers tightened around his cell.

"I'm not giving the phone back to Jesse. There's nothing you need to say to him. And I have no doubt he has said more than enough to you."

"I don't trust that you're telling me the truth. And do not try to argue I have no reason for feeling that way."

"Do you think you can trust him? Over me, your own husband?"

"Are you saying he'll lie to me for you?"

He glanced at Jesse. In different circumstances, yes, he could very easily imagine that. Right now, brimming with confidence and the energy that eating syrup soaked tepid bread could only bring to a 25-year-old, he did not think managing what Jesse said to his wife would be the easiest of tasks.

Jesse tried to snatch back the phone. Walter scooted down the bench, and used both feet to repel him under the table.

"By the way, is what he just said about Hank true? Are you the one who had someone call and tell him that Marie was in the hospital?"

He glare daggers at Jesse across the table. Look what you've done now.

"I had no choice. Jesse and I were in the RV. Hank was on the other side of the door, three feet away from me, waiting for a warrant so he could break down the door, and I knew there was nothing else that could get him to leave. I certainly didn't expect him to do that to Jesse."

"That's your priority in this situation?"

"You didn't see his face! I didn't think Hank was capable of that—" He tried to lower his voice, as if Jesse couldn't hear him from across the table. "—And you will recall you came to the condo and asked me—asked me to deal with it, which I did. I'm free, Hank still has a job, Jesse is—"

Now living under threat of death from a twisted chicken restauranteur turned drug kingpin, thanks to me bringing him back into the business, traumatized from killing Gale—

"—Fine. Relatively speaking. As much as he ever is. I cannot believe you let him borrow your car, by the way. I hope you're not counting on it to come back in one piece —"

A sharp jab to the kneecap sent the phone skittering onto the table top.

"Yo, Mrs. White—it's me again." He raised his voice over the sound of Walt's cursing. "Yeah, yeah, that was true…floating downstream, I guess…I don't know, but he can't anymore. Not completely, but now…yes, it's bad."

There was a longer pause now—whatever Skyler said to him, Jesse's heart—the one he wore on his sleeve so often—moved him.

"I'm not gonna let anything happen, like I told you. And I—look, I just wanna say—I know it's none of my business or anything, but—for what it's worth, I know he feels bad about everything."

Walt heard the indistinct chatter of his wife, presumably, laying into Jesse for the sheer impudence of this claim.

"He sucks at admitting it, but he does. You remember that long weekend when you dropped him off at the airport?…Yeah, he was—okay, you figured that—right. Well, like, I don't know if he ever told you, but we almost died that weekend. The battery of the RV died and we had no water, and we were like—fifteen miles from anything. I really thought we were done for, for awhile. So we're lying in the Crystal Ship, dying from heatstroke, and he just starts talking about how he deserves this, for all the shit he's done—mostly for lying to you. It's guilt city, man. I thought it was kind of pathetic, and I had to snap him out of it or we really would have died, but looking back…maybe moments like that, when you think it might be the end, is uh, when you admit how it really is. You feel me?"

Jesse held up his hand, but Walt stopped trying to get the cell back from him. He wondered what it was that Skyler was saying to his partner.

"I've heard him say before that he wishes he had dropped dead before you found out about all this, that it would be better that way for your family. And I don't know, I'm not married, but it just seems like life's too short, and you wouldn't have preferred…less time. But maybe, I don't know, he needs to hear that from you…"

Walter stopped trying to take the phone away.

"I'm not saying you're not justified, you know, in feeling the way you do. I just think that…maybe it would be better if you blamed me for some of it. Since you don't know me at all, and some of it is my fault, that might make you feel better. Look, I'm gonna hang up my phone, but he's going to call you back on his, okay?… All right, have a good night, Mrs. White. We'll let you know when we're heading home."

He shut his phone and stuck it in his pocket. Walter stared at him.

Jesse pulled the salvaged pack of cigarettes out of his inner pocket.

"One left." He got up and slid out of the booth. "I'm gonna go for a smoke. You can call her back and say whatever you want to say in private. Or be a coward and don't, whatever floats your boat."

"There might be another pack in the glove compartment." He lifted his eyes and met Jesse's. "Skyler picked it up again."

He patted Walt on the shoulder, a careless, familiar gesture. Walter found it both intrusive and comforting in the same moment.

He watched through the window of the Denny's as Jesse leaned against Skyler's Wagoneer. His partner carelessly lit up a cigarette, and then Walter turned away, looked back towards the inside of the restaurant. The dinner rush had gone, and there was only one older woman within his sight line, sitting at the counter next to a burly man who was probably the driver of the semi in the lot.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and pressed the name.

She picked up after three rings.

"…Honey? It's me." Nothing. "You should go somewhere we can really talk."

He heard her padding down the hall of Hank and Marie's house and into another room. It was probably the bathroom.

"Skyler—"

"—You really didn't want the chemo to work, did you?"

It took him a moment to calibrate his mind to that particular line of questioning.

"It's…not that I didn't want it to work. It's that I didn't think it would. I didn't calculate for it or operate under the assumption that—I would have more time than a few months. Skyler, I never meant you to find out about—any of this. I'm sorry you did."

"I know you are. But I'm not. The lies were the worst part for me, Walt…you've never understood that."

Maybe he hadn't. Or maybe he just thought everything else was at least as bad as the lies—the truth, worst of all.

"Do you know what it feels like to have to go to a stranger for the truth about your own husband?"

"No. I can't imagine."

"I hope you realize how pathetic it is that the burnout stoner has made a better case for you than you have for yourself."

His pride stun, but the inherent humor of it also had an effect.

"Given the circumstances, this will sound absurd, but relatively speaking, at least… Jesse is a good kid."

"'A good kid'? That's how you describe your partner in the drug business?"

"Yes. Questionable judgement aside, his—heart is in the right place."

"Really. Well, if only the same could be said for you."

It hurt, to hear the truth. But there was also a small part of him that heard the crack of a door in those words, and in the expression of them—some infinitesimal softening. Perhaps not all was lost.

"So what happens now?"

"Do you remember when you asked me how long it was going to take me to work this out?" She whispered that she did. "This is me—working it out, Skyler. This is what that…looks like."

He resisted the urge to remind her this was what she wanted.

"…In a Denny's?"

"It wasn't my first choice. I didn't even want to eat, actually. I'm staring at a plate of stone cold eggs as we speak, again—not my choice."

"When was the last time you ate, Walt?"

There it was, that old familiar nagging sound in her voice. For so many years, it made him feel emasculated, less than. Now all he cared about was that she cared.

"Yesterday, I think? Jesse asked me the same question. I really can't remember."

"Maybe that's a sign, and you should eat the eggs. It might help with your brainstorming exercise. Unless you'd rather smoke a joint with your 'weed dealer.'"

"The sarcasm is not necessary. I will eat something, okay?" He's shoveled the unappetizing eggs into his mouth. "I'm doing it right now. I'm eating. Nourishment is entering the body."

"Good."

Even though it was unappetizing, it actually did make him feel a little better.

"When was the last time you ate?"

"Marie made us lasagna for dinner. What are the chances of you actually coming up with a plan?"

"Not very high. On my own I had very few options, with Jesse to bounce ideas off—there are a few more possibilities."

"That's your brain trust?"

"Yes. Believe it or not, he's—better about this sort of thing than you'd think. I mean, he's come through in situations like this before."

"Situations where your life is in danger?"

He squinted at the floor.

"…Yes."

She sat with that for a minute.

"Have you considered…turning yourself in?"

"Skyler—at this point I'm not sure that option is even going to be a sure protection for you and the kids—"

"—If there is no other way, Walt. If you can't come up with another solution to this, and police protection is the only thing we can do…will you turn yourself in?"

She sounded so calm, so sanguine compared to that last, desperate look they'd shared before she drove away.

"Yes. Yes, of course I will."

He told her that he loved her and hung up the phone. As he stared at it, some small weight left his shoulders.

He realized that he actually meant it.

He was curious about what brand Mrs. White smoked, and so he decided to check. Marlboro lights. Classic. She was a classic looking lady, so it fit.

There was the faint smell of tobacco in the aged fabric. She must've smoked them in the car. He stared out over the lonely stretch of highway in front of him and tried to picture Mr. White's wife smoking in this car. Somehow the image didn't jive with the bossy ball-and-chain giving him shit for selling her nerd of a husband weed.

If only that had been what he was doing.

When his phone rang, it didn't occur to him till do anything but stay in the car.

"Hello?"

"Where are you right now?"

The icy voice of Gustavo Fring still had the ability to send a chill up Jesse's spine, even after walking six miles to the border with the dude half-dead from poison right next to him.

"In a parking lot, just had dinner." He lit up a cigarette. "So I guess you got my message."

"You make yourself difficult to ignore." Jesse took a drag. "I believe I have been reasonable. I am a businessman—and I allow no one to dictate to me how I conduct my business."

"I think I'm reasonable, too. I haven't asked for a lot from you. Just one thing, as far as I can remember. You do that, we're cool. Until I know for a fact that you've done that, I'm calling in sick from work."

"I have honored your request. I have done nothing to your former partner."

"Then where the hell is he? He's not at his house, or his condo. His car is not there. This morning you made it out like he was just skipping work, but that's not really what happened, is it?"

There was an eerie silence on the other end of the line.

"He came to see me last night, you know. Or maybe you don't—but I have a feeling you do."

"I took your advice, and terminated his employment at the laundry. You should not take me honoring your wishes lightly."

"That's all you did? Fired him?"

"And less than twelve hours later, the DEA comes to our place of business. You see the danger of loose ends."

"Bullshit. If Mr. White had rolled on us, they'd already be knocking down your door. He hasn't told anyone jack shit. He'd have to rat on himself, and he would rather be dead than his son find out, anyway."

"Perhaps Walter has left the city, then."

"Without his family? The dude would not just leave behind his wife and kids."

"I agree. I never suggested he didn't take them with him. Walter is a man who loves his family above all else. I would never question his devotion to them."

Jesse realized that Gus was waiting for him to admit he knew the Whites were with Schrader. He could've found that out from Saul, of course, but he didn't want to draw attention to the unscrupulous lawyer, or what Mrs. White might know about her husband and their operation, so he said nothing. Gus waited for a moment, then, when no admission was forthcoming, continued.

"I can only tell you what I have done and what I know. I have done nothing to Walter, and I do not know where he is. You may consider that his disappearance is meant to appear to you as if I have broken my promise."

"He wants me to think he's dead, huh? So, what happens then? I'm so royally pissed off I turn on you, and he pops back to life like a zombie after I—what, kill you for him? I'm supposed to believe Mr. White thinks I'm going to do something that stupid."

"I doubt Walter knows how you would behave if you believed I was responsible for something...final. I myself am not sure. That is why I have allowed him to live as long as I have against my own better judgment." Gus's voice turned cold. "I don't like unpredictable elements."

It was funny that Gus and Mr. White both thought he was such a loose cannon, so unpredictable. Jesse knew exactly what he'd do if the man on the other end of the phone broke his promise.

Whatever it took to take him down.

"I know, it's why you never wanted to work with me."

"It's why I had misgivings about working with Walter. I believed he showed poor judgment in having you as his partner."

Yeah, thought Jesse, who could ever trust a no good junkie, after all?

"Now I see that you have perhaps been even more unwise in choosing him."

"I didn't choose him! I never wanted to work with him, I don't even like the guy. It's like I said, he's the world's biggest asshole."

"I know. Walter does not respect you as you deserve. He treats you with condescension. Your loyalty he takes for granted. But perhaps he has cause for that. You have given it to him so freely, after all."

Nothing in life was free, Jesse thought. Certainly not his loyalty. Everything wrong in his life he could trace back to that moment, and yet, within all that pain—the constant was pain—there was another constant, too.

"Do you have any idea how worried I was?"

Mr. White, who sometimes seemed to care more about Jesse's life than he himself did. He would never be whole again, never be fixed all the way—he had accepted that. Sometimes it felt like he and Mr. White were broken pieces of two different plates, all mixed up together, jagged edges that didn't fit, held together with the glue of blood, hydrofluoric acid and guilt.

"The first time we met, I asked Walter why he chooses to do business with you. Do you know what he said?"

Jesse's grip tightened on the phone. He really didn't. Jesse honestly couldn't imagine Mr. White defending that choice to someone like Gus—not when he was that desperate for cash.

"He told me and it's because you do what he says."

Gus paused, and Jesse knew that he thought this was a cause of great offense to him, the nail in the coffin of their supremely fucked up partnership. Jesse started to laugh.

"Do you find that amusing?"

"A little. It's more like…such a fucking him thing to say."

What a colossal asshole.

"You don't think it's true?"

He could hear that slight edge of accusation, which was always so delicate from Gus, not at all like Mr. White's rambling, biting strings of insults. When Gus was calling you an idiot, he didn't do it in so many words.

Was it true?

You killed Gale because he told you to. That has been part of it. He had wrestled for so long with his guilt over that act, but sometimes, when he woke up in the middle of the night, he entertained the thought of how he would feel if he had not done it.

It was a worse feeling. He was selfish, no good, because even though Mr. White's death would not have been at his hand, he would have felt just as responsible for it. He would've known that Mr. White's family could never know the truth, Mrs. White might guess at it, but he couldn't tell her anything, because that would put her in danger, and that's the last thing her uptight science teacher husband would've wanted. And even if he went on the run and managed to allude Gus, Jesse would be haunted by what he imagined it had been like. His partner's final moments in the lab, alone, waiting for help that would never come.

Killing Gale had broken something inside of him, but the alternative…it would have shattered him to pieces.

I'm not doing what he wants right now. In fact, I'm doing the exact opposite. I wasn't doing what he wanted this afternoon, to the point where that selfish asshole was practically begging me to let him die. But I wouldn't.

The thought of him and Mr. White having a wrestling match over that stupid gun bolstered his courage. Compared to that jackass, Gus was nothing.

"Did he give you any other reasons?"

"One other."

Jesse waited.

"Aren't you gonna tell me? Or are you that afraid of making him look good?"

"He said that he could trust you."

It was such a small thing, not one that should have caused this strange stirring in the pit of his stomach, this feeling of pride. No shit Mr. White could trust him. He had earned that trust with blood—so many times. So often his partner had made it out as if he didn't trust Jesse, belittled him, had made him feel like he was somebody who needed to be managed and looked after.

Mike said that Gus saw something in him. Loyalty. "Maybe you got it for the wrong guy."

That was probably true. His former chemistry teacher was no good for him. But just because Mr. White was the wrong guy didn't make Gus the right one.

"Can you settle an argument for me?" Gus agreed. "When those two guys came after me and Mike…was that a set up?"

"Why would you ask me that?"

"Mr. White said it was. He seemed to think you wanted me to feel like a big shot, a valued member of the team. I thought he was being a massive prick about it at the time. Like, you know—how he always is. I mean, he literally said 'this is all about me.'"

One thing he did appreciate about Gustavo Fring…there was a lot less rambling bullshit and a lot more telling pauses.

"…Right."

Of course that asshole was right. Well, eff him, Jesse was certainly not going to him. The dude already thought the universe revolved around him.

"So I guess we better talk about my conditions. That is why you called, right?"

There is a dangerously long pause on the phone.

"What is it you want?"

"You're giving me control of the lab. The way I figure it, I should be able to choose my own assistant."

"Absolutely not."

"I'm not stepping foot in that lab again without Mr. White. That's my condition. Take it or leave it."

It was a lot easier to be this brave when he was not looking into Gus's cold eyes, when he was pretty sure that no way Gus knew where he was. But he also had a sense of confidence. They needed him. Mr. White would be dead already, if they didn't.

Gus at least pretended to think about it.

"Even if I were to allow it, you know Walter would never agree to work under your authority. He is an immensely proud man."

"If it's a choice between that, and his entire family getting wasted, I think he'll swallow it."

"Are you so sure?"

Jesse's lip twitched into an involuntary grimace. Gus made a solid case. It was a good thing he really didn't expect this to work.

"Look, convincing him is my problem, not yours. He's not gonna try anything. All those cameras in the lab, plus I'll be watching him. He has cancer, he'll be dead in a year anyway. Just let him ride out the clock."

"I trust you to manage Walter even less than I trusted him to manage you."

"First sign of trouble, you can fire him. The permanent way that you've always wanted."

"And if I'm compelled to do so? You will work with me? We will have peace?"

Funny how all that time spent with Mr. White, and Jesse still did not have his amazing ability to lie and bullshit through his teeth when it really counted.

"It's a pity," said Gus, finally. "I believe you and Walter are both capable of being reasonable. I could've done business with either one of you—separately." His voice dropped. "Together you are far more trouble than you're worth."

He couldn't think of someone whose personality was less like Gus's than Saul, but it made him think of the lawyer all the same. It was the kind of shit he said all the time, though not in so many words. "I'm your lawyer, not Maury Povich!"

"You started with just him. You could always go back to that. You only need one of us, and you have a better shot of making that work than getting me to change my mind."

"We both know that's not true."

There was a strange pang in his chest. If Gus believed it, and he was willing to say it… I mean, there is nothing to be gained by lying about Mr. White giving a shit about him.

"May I speak to Walter?"

An alarm bell went off, and Jesse's head. Danger, danger.

"You delete his phone number that quick?"

"I wish to discuss this arrangement with him. It would be simplest if you just handed the phone to him. Once I am sure he agrees to my terms, I will speak to you again."

"Yo, he's not with me."

Jesse glanced at the empty seat next to him. Not technically a lie.

"If that's true," said Fring. "You most certainly know where to find him. You know that your partner is safe, wherever he is. If you had truly believed there was a chance I had broken my word, you would not have this degree of composure."

That was probably true. Gus knew enough about Jesse to understand that when it came to people he cared about, he didn't exactly hold back.

"Let's just say I could pass a message along for you. That's the best I can do."

"His brother-in-law's life is forfeit. There is no negotiating this point. He is a threat to our entire operation, and he will be dealt with."

Fair enough. They could hardly expect better. This was Gus, after all. Coming from the guy who had slit Victor's throat with a box cutter right front in front of them, this was practically an ice cream sundae.

"I get that. I'm not stupid, man. I'll sweeten the deal for you. I'll take care of Schrader myself."

The plan emerged fully formed in his brain as he spoke the words. He could tell from Gus's composed silence he was even impressed by it. Jesse himself did not know where it came from, except, perhaps, that proximity to Mr. White had given him some diabolical superhuman power, like radiation from a nuke or a spider bite.

"Aren't you worried about Walter discovering this?"

"I won't let him. Just—think about it."

Gus hung up the phone. Jesse wondered if he would think about it, or just proceed with whatever plan he had to take Schrader out himself. Probably that last line had been a bit too much. Still, worth a try.

One door shut…wasn't there an expression about windows opening up when that happened?

He shoved Mrs. White's Marlboro lights back in the glove compartment, got out of the car and shut the door of the Wagoneer behind him.

He looked back at the Denny's. Through the window, Jesse could clearly see the booth where he and Mr. White had been eating.

The table was empty.

His chest suddenly seized up—an involuntary fear response.

His legs moved faster than his brain, he was in the restaurant, in front of the booth. No jacket, no cell phone, both plates cleared away. No sign of a check or money. Jesse gripped the keys and the gun in his jacket tightly with his fist. Calm down. Calm down.

He had only taken his eyes off that son of a bitch for ten minutes.

When the waitress came by, Jesse turned on her, trying to force his voice to remain calm.

"Um, did you—did you see where the guy at the table went?" She stared at him. "The guy I was eating with, did you see where he went?"

She shook her head, no, honey, and Jesse had seen that look enough times to know that he seemed fucking nuts right now.

He tried to force himself to think logically, like Mr. White would in a situation like this, instead of his way, which was to panic.

He had a cell phone, but no car. No way had a cab come already, he would've seen it driving down the road, and Jesse wasn't even sure they did come all the way up here.

"You got a back door?"

"Through the kitchen, sweetheart. What are you—"

Jesse barged through the swinging doors of the Denny's kitchen before she could finish the sentence. He demanded the lone fry cook on duty tell him whether he had seen a bald middle-aged dude running past. The kid, who looked even younger than Jesse himself, told him in no uncertain terms to get the fuck out, a sentiment echoed by the waitress, who yanked him out of the kitchen with more force than he would've given her credit for. Not that Jesse was fighting her all that hard, not once he'd realized that Mr. White really hadn't gone out that way. His whole body had gone limp.

"Is there anything around here?" He couldn't have gotten that far on foot, and maybe if Jesse had a direction to go in— "Like a gas station, or a—a bus stop, maybe—"

The bathroom door behind her swung open, and Mr. White stepped through it. He was wiping his hand with a paper towel and when he noticed his partner harassing the waitress. As if on cue, Walt gave his protege one of his confused, what-are-you-doing-now-Jesse looks.

"Jesse." Mr. White nodded at the table. "Did you pay?"

He felt his knees involuntarily buckle. He had to grip the table to stay upright.

"W-what?" Jesse croaked.

"The check, Jesse," Walt said, impatiently. "Did you pay for our food? Or do you need another pile of processed carbohydrates soaked in corn syrup to get you through the night?"

Jesse looked at him—this mean-spirited, cruel bastard, with his shaved head and nerdy glasses, waiting with that patented look of exasperated impatience for him to answer the damn question, and he did the only thing that made sense in that moment—the sort of thing that didn't make sense at all, least of all to him, but nobody who had met Jesse Pinkman would ever accuse him of doing things that made sense, anyway.

He wrapped his arms around his old high school chemistry teacher and squeezed.

Jesse felt Mr. White stiffen and murmur a deeply embarrassed apology to the waitress, but the words were indistinct over the sounds of his own muffled sobs. Then there was an awkward pat on the back—a fleeting, familiar sensation—which turned into a brief brush of the hand on the back of Jesse's head. There was always hesitation and brittleness in these gestures between them, as if his partner thought he was made of glass and would crack if he pulled him any closer.

Then Jesse felt himself being guided back to the table, and gently extricated from Mr. White's arms. He pushed him in and slid next to Jesse in the booth.

"Jesse…what is wrong with you?"

It was a question Walter White had asked him many times, in various tones of disbelief, rage, indignation, disappointment, exasperation. Jesse had never heard the question posed so gently.

"I just," he sniffed. "You weren't here when I got back, and I thought…"

"That I had taken off like Harrison Ford in 'The Fugitive'?"

"Shut up! You've done crazier shit than that. Like, in the last week."

Jesse stared down at the table, try to wipe away his tears with the edge of his sweatshirt sleeve. He could feel Mr. White watching him. It was a strange feeling when Mr. White watched him, like being a spider in a glass jar.

"I'm not going anywhere, Jesse," Walt said, finally.

"How come?" Jesse asked, feeling childish, very young, when Mr. White was staring at him with that strangely wistful, far away look that he had seen on his face a handful of times, usually when he was speaking about his family or regrets. He never looked at Jesse Pinkman like that. Never before today.

"Because I have nowhere else to go. No one else to turn to." he said it's a bluntly, so matter-of-factly, like one of those chemistry equations he'd never been able to master, no matter how often Mr. White told him to apply himself. "I'm putting myself entirely in your hands."

The waitress chose that moment to bring over the check.

"Will that be it for you boys?"

She was polite, but he could hear her voice that she would be grateful to see the back of them. That was nothing new. Most people wanted to see the back of Jesse Pinkman and Walter White.

"Jesse?" His partner nudged him. "Jesse."

"What?"

"The bill." He lowered his voice to a hiss. "I already told you I don't have any money. I need you to pay."

He started to laugh, a laugh which quickly turned into a suppressed sob. Jesse pulled a fifty out of his wallet and laid it on the table.

"I didn't realize this was what you meant."

Jesse waited until they were back in the car to tell Mr. White he had gotten him his old job back. He decided against telling him that the new arrangement would have him in charge of the lab, because as funny as his reaction to that would've been, nothing was set in stone. They might not have much time left before the clock ran out, and he didn't want to waste it on a pointless argument.

"How on earth did you convince him to do that?"

"I promised Gus I'd get Schrader for him." His partner started to protest, but Jesse cut him off. "Chill, will you? I just told him that. I needed to give him something to buy us some time. I even came up with a plan."

"To kill my brother-in-law? For Gus."

"Hypothetically, yo." Jesse started up the car. "Want to hear it?"

"Why would I want to hear your plot to kill Hank?"

"Cause you never pass up the chance to tell me my ideas suck."

Walt rolled his eyes.

"My opinion obviously means a lot to you, so fine. I will humor you—tell me your plan."

"I call him, and I tell him the truth." Mr. White snorted. "Seriously. I tell him he's right about Gus, that we called the DEA, that me and my partner Heisenberg are Fring's cooks, and we're being held hostage and my partner's family is being threatened. In exchange for witness protection, we'll flip on him."

"How exactly is this supposed to be a plan to kill my brother-in-law?"

"Easy. I tell Schrader that he has to come meet us somewhere private. I tell Gus I'm going to lure him to an isolated spot and off him, and I'll make it look like the cartel did it to take the heat off him."

"Why on earth would Hank trust you?"

"He's got a hard on for catching you, and I am his only connection to Heisenberg. He knows Gus sells your product, right?"

"This is the most ridiculous—he is under DEA protective custody. You have never met Marie. She's not going to let him out of her sight. Certainly not for something which is so obviously a trap. I hope you didn't actually pitch this idea to Gus."

"You didn't wait for the best part." he pulled Walt's cellphone out of his pocket and held it up to his face. "I tell him if he doesn't do as I say, he'll never see his brother-in-law again. And I call from this."

Walt stared at him.

"Don't you get it? You're my hostage, yo." Jesse tossed the phone into the air—Walt snatched it back. "If calling from your cell phone doesn't work, I think you should say something over the phone to him—some whiny, crybaby 'he's got a gun on me' bullshit."

Mr. White gave him a look of flabbergasted disbelief. Jesse savored it—that brief window of not getting an answer back. It didn't last, of course.

"Alright, I've heard you out." He gave one of his uptight, rigid hand gestures around the face, like they were still in chemistry class, and he was giving one of his stick-up-his-ass after hours lectures. "First of all, Gus knows I would never agree to this plan, and the only way you could maybe sell it is with my cooperation. Second of all, even if I did agree to help, Hank would never come alone to meet you anywhere."

"Not even if it means the difference between his beloved brother-in-law Walter getting his head blown off or not?"

He looked appalled.

"That is just—sick, Jesse. I don't know where you are getting these twisted ideas."

"This from the dude who got the guy to leave a junkyard by telling him his wife was in a car accident."

Walt sighed, too tired to argue the point. He felt like he was back in the desert, close to death, and the only thing cajoling him from keeling over was Jesse screeching in his ear.

"You're just jealous you didn't think of it first. You've got way more of a criminal mind than me, yo."

Walter opened his mouth to argue—then he spotted the expression, somewhere between defiance and Jesse bursting out laughing. How long had it been since he'd seen a genuine smile on Jesse's face?

"I suppose I have—" His own lip twitched. "Not been the best influence."

They started to drive back down the mountain. The lights of the city flickered in the distance. Jesse drove responsibly, for once, and there was a few minutes of almost peaceful silence between them.

"You call your wife back?" Walt nodded. "Everything okay?"

"I told her if we couldn't come up with a plan that I would turn myself in." He paused. "I guess I should've consulted with you before I agreed to that."

"So you meant it? You weren't…lying?"

"Yes, Jesse. I meant it."

"Relax. We still got time to come up with a plan. Remember when we were out in the desert and almost dead to rights? You pulled a battery out of your ass and some spare change."

"Only because you yelled at me to do that or—build a robot."

Jesse turned down a street that Walter didn't recognize. They certainly weren't heading to Jesse's house, or to Saul's office, a safe house he could imagine or any part of town he expected.

"Hey, maybe we can build a robot to protect your asshole brother-in-law."

"Very amusing. Where are you taking me, exactly?"

"I just thought of the perfect spot. No one will be looking for us there. Plus…you still owe me a raincheck."

"A raincheck? For what?"

"Go karts, yo. If tonight's our last night of freedom, I'm cashing that shit in."

"You're not serious."

"I'm renting the whole place out and we're racing."

"I am not—"

Walt caught sight of Jesse's face and stopped himself.

"All right, Jesse—alright. You win." He thought about it. Maybe it was the last night. He didn't have the energy to fight the boy on something so trivial, anyway. "One race."

"For real?"

"One."

Jesse's face lit up like a Christmas tree.

"Oh, it's on, bitch."

There was still time to think of something, Walt reasoned, turning ideas over in his head, allowing his partner to bask in one of his rare concessions to Jesse's desires. Jesse, like all great students, could motivate one with the sheer force of his enthusiasm and faith. Jesse was the only person left in his life who had any faith in him, now. He had to trust in that. They were partners, after all.

And he always did his best planning when he was driving anyway.