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Walter White had torn through the lives of everyone in his path like a hurricane, leaving a trail of destruction in his wake. Even after he was gone, he was impossible to forget. Jesse felt like he should get one of those ribbons they give cancer survivors, except it should say “Walter H. White Survivor.” He felt like he had been scarred, worse than the scars on his wrists and ankles where those Nazi shitheads had chained him up.
It was lonely at first, being the only one he knew who made it out alive, being the only person who knew the shit he had gone through. But, like any victim of a storm as big as Walt, Jesse was far from alone.
The first person to come out of the woodwork was Saul. Jesse was still furious at the man for what he allowed Walt to do to Brock—and even more furious at him for hiring a private investigator to track him down to Alaska—but it was nice to hear from a familiar face.
He and Saul wrote letters back and forth, speaking in code about how shitty it was the live life on the run and how sorry they were that everything turned out the way it did, how much they wished they could take any of it back. Until one day, Saul asked a favor. Or, more aptly, took it upon himself to have Jesse do him a favor, without actually asking.
“J,
I’m sending an old friend of mine up your way. I didn’t want it to come to this, but he’s all out of options. I know you’ll hate me for this, but I think you two will be thick as thieves. Thanks a million, kid.
S.”
Jesse slammed the letter down on his wooden table. What the fuck? Who did Saul think he was, compromising his location like this? And selling out his privacy to some random bitch trying to escape from God knows what? He needed to leave, move on to some other safe place. But this was his home now. He had built it with his own two hands. No way he was going to let anyone take that away from him. No, he’d just have to tell the guy to get the fuck off of his property. If he even made it at all.
Jesse had almost forgotten about the promise of a visitor, until one day, as he was chopping firewood, a figure emerged from the tree-line. Jesse stopped chopping and stared, keeping his axe firmly in his grasp.
“Are you J?” the man called out.
“Who’s asking?” Jesse called back.
The man stepped forward. “Ignacio. We have a… mutual friend.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Get the fuck off my property,” said Jesse.
The man held up his hands in placation. “I get it. You gotta be careful. Look, I have a letter from him telling me where to find you. I can show you.”
“Get the fuck off my property or I’ll call the police,” Jesse insisted.
The man smirked and stepped closer. “I think we both know that’s not an option.”
“You’re really gonna question the guy holding an axe?” Jesse asked.
“Please,” said the man, now standing mere feet away. “I’ve looked into the eyes of plenty of killers. You’re not one.”
Jesse watched as the man took off his boots and layers of jackets. As he pulled off his last sweatshirt, the man’s abdomen revealed itself. Chiseled abs with a piercing gunshot scar right across his stomach. Jesse couldn’t help but stare as something twinged inside of him.
“What was your name again?” Jesse asked, looking away as the man pulled his shirt back down.
“Ignacio. Most people call me Nacho,” he held out his hand for a handshake. “And yours?”
Jesse took his hand. “Jesse.”
“So you are the infamous Jesse. I thought you might be, but Saul couldn’t tell me too much in his letters.”
“He’s like… talked to you about me before?”
Nacho nodded. “He thinks very highly of you… usually.”
“How do you know him?” Jesse asked.
“He was my lawyer.”
“Same here.” Jesse fidgeted with a carving knife he’d left on the table. “Why’d you have to run?”
Nacho looked up with a distant fire in his eyes. “Walter White.”
“So, what do you do around here all day?” Nacho asked.
“Whatever needs to be done,” said Jesse. “Chopping firewood, hunting, gathering, fishing, repairs around the house, shoveling snow. Every once in a while, I go into town for supplies.”
Nacho walked around the little log house, admiring the many carved wood pieces sitting on the mantle and in the windowsills. “It looks you have quite a bit of free time as well.”
Jesse shrugged. “Guy’s gotta have hobbies. You’d go insane all alone out here with nothing fun to do.”
“Did you build this place yourself?” Nacho asked.
“What’s it to you?”
“Impressive,” Nacho answered.
Jesse froze for a second. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard a genuine compliment or gotten any appreciation for how much hard work he did. “So you gonna make yourself useful around here or what? That firewood’s not gonna chop itself.”
“This is a good fucking haul,” said Jesse, marveling at the fish he and Nacho had caught as they hiked back to the cabin. “You’ve got like a natural talent or some shit.”
Nacho shrugged. “It’s all about patience.”
“Yeah, yeah, save it for your memoirs,” said Jesse, a grin threatening to tug at his lips. It was then that Jesse’s boot hit an unexpected patch of ice. He lost his footing and stumbled headlong down the path. Nacho immediately dropped the fish and ran to Jesse’s side.
“Are you alright?”
“Shit,” muttered Jesse. “That hurt like a bitch.”
“Are you injured anywhere?” Nacho asked.
“I don’t think so,” said Jesse. “I just—oh fuck.” He looked down at his pants and noticed the blood seeping out from his left shin.
Nacho grabbed Jesse’s hands and helped pull him up into a sitting position so he could get a better look at the wound. He pulled up Jesse’s pantleg and examined the deep gash where Jesse’s leg had collided with a sharp rock in the path. “Shit, dude. Don’t touch it,” said Jesse, wincing at the feeling of the open air on his wound.
“We have to stop the bleeding,” said Nacho, and began to unzip his coat.
“What the fuck are you—” Jesse’s words died in his throat as Nacho pulled off his shirt. All Jesse could do was stare at the man’s torso. In addition to the bullet scar across his stomach, he also had one on his shoulder. Jesus, this guy had lived through hell. Jesse barely even felt the pain in his own leg as Nacho wrapped it securely in his shirt.
“Come on. We gotta get you back to the cabin before that gets infected,” said Nacho, helping Jesse to his feet and hooking one of Jesse’s arms around his shoulders so he could help bear Jesse’s weight.
“What about the fish?” asked Jesse. “We can’t just leave it here.”
“If this shit gets infected, you won’t be alive to eat that fish,” said Nacho. “Let’s go.”
Back at the cabin, Nacho found the first aid kit and tended to Jesse’s wound. “Where’d you learn how to do this shit?” Jesse asked. “I would have just poured some gin on it and slapped on a couple band-aids.”
“I had to do a lot of my own wound care,” said Nacho. “People in my profession don’t have the luxury of going to the hospital.”
“How did you get your scars?” Jesse asked, looking down at the floor.
“You noticed those, huh?” Nacho smirked. “When I joined Gus, I had to let myself get shot by his men. It had to look good so the Salamanca’s wouldn’t suspect anything.”
“That’s so fucked up, man. When Walt joined Gus, he just had to go to his house and eat some weird-ass soup.”
“I got the good end of the stick,” said Nacho. “Believe me.”
Jesse stared out the window for a moment, watching as a gentle snow drifted down from the trees.
“How did you get yours?” Nacho asked.
“Huh?”
“Your scars.”
“How many have you seen?” Jesse asked.
“A lot,” Nacho shrugged. “You walk to the bathroom without a shirt on in the middle of the night.”
Jesse grinned. “Creep.” Then after a moment, “Some, from Walt. Most, from fucking Nazis.”
Nacho raised an eyebrow. “Nazis?”
“They’re dead now,” said Jesse.
“Good.”
The next morning, Jesse awoke to freshly cooked fish waiting for him on the breakfast table.
Nacho was awoken by whimpering screams. It was still dark out, and the fire in the fireplace had almost died, leaving the air inside cold and heavy. Nacho threw another log on to revive it, and then quietly crept toward the distressing sounds.
He stood outside Jesse’s door, watching the younger man flail about in his sheets as he cried out in his sleep. “Please don’t,” he heard Jesse murmur. “No. Stop. Stop!”
“Jesse!” said Nacho, hurrying over to the bed and placing a hand on the other man’s shoulder.
Jesse bolted awake, flinching away from Nacho and gasping for breath. “What the fuck are you doing in my room?”
“You were having a nightmare,” said Nacho.
“Yeah, well that’s none of your goddamn business,” said Jesse, laying back down and turning his back to his visitor.
“It’s freezing in here, Jesse.”
“It’s Alaska. What did you expect?”
“Come sleep out by the fire.”
“I’m fine.”
“It’s not good for you to be so cold while your body is trying to heal,” said Nacho. “Come on. I just put another log on. It’ll be nice.”
Jesse groaned. “Fine. If you’ll shut the hell up and let me go back to sleep.”
Jesse dragged his blankets and pillows into the living room and set them down next to Nacho’s by the fire. He had to admit, it was cozier out here, plus the glow and crackle of the fire helped Jesse tune out all the bad thoughts in his head and just focus on the stillness the surrounded him. He felt Nacho’s presence as he laid down behind him.
“Yo,” said Jesse. “You never told me what Mr. White did that made you have to run.”
“I had gotten out of the drug trade a long time ago,” said Nacho. “I’d saved up money, got fake IDs, made a game plan, and me and my dad, we vanished. We were finally safe. When Heisenberg showed up, he shook that world to pieces. I was nervous, but it wasn’t my problem anymore. Until he killed Gus. That opened up a whole new channel of investigation for the cops. And when Heisenberg died, it got worse. Even though I got out years ago, I was still part of that world. I helped build that empire. With Gus and Heisenberg being investigated, it’s only a matter of time before something leads back to me.”
Jesse turned to face Nacho, their faces less than a foot apart. “What about your dad? Is he okay?”
“I had to leave my dad behind. He wouldn’t be safe with me around. I miss him like hell, but he’s safe.”
“I’m sorry I was such a dick when you first came here. It’s just… it’s hard to trust anyone when you’ve been alone in this shit for so long,” said Jesse. “But… I’m glad you’re here. You’re like… one of the only people who could ever understand what I’ve been through.”
“I wasn’t too happy about having to come here either,” said Nacho. “I always feel safer when I rely on no one but myself. But it is nice to finally talk to someone who understands.”
“Do your scars still hurt?” Jesse asked.
“All the time,” said Nacho. “Do yours?”
“Sometimes,” said Jesse. “I try not to touch them… but it’s hard when there’s so many.”
“I still have a bullet inside me,” said Nacho.
“What’s it feel like?” Jesse asked.
Nacho shrugged. “Not much. Most days. But I hate knowing that it’s a part of me now.”
“I feel that,” said Jesse. “I can’t even look in a mirror anymore. I hate all these scars on my face.”
Nacho reached out tentatively and took Jesse’s face in his hand, tracing his thumb along one of the scars across Jesse’s cheek. Jesse couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt a gentle touch. He melted into it. “It’s terrible what they did to you, Jesse. But I think they make you look brave.”
“Seriously?” asked Jesse, his pulse picking up at the way Nacho was looking into his eyes. “You don’t think they make me look… disgusting?”
“Not at all,” said Nacho, his finger sliding closer to Jesse’s lower lip.
Jesse furrowed his brow. “Dude, if you’re going to kiss me, just do it already.”
Nacho grinned as he leaned in and closed the gap between them. Jesse’s heart skipped a beat as he felt Nacho’s lips softly collide with his own. Instinctively, his arm moved to wrap around Nacho’s back and pull him closer. It had been so long since he’d felt this, and he’d thought he would never feel it again. It was different than the other kisses he’d received in his life, punctuated by Nacho’s stubble and cushioned by Jesse’s own beard. The kiss was chaste but full of compassion, both men trying the soothe the scars that ran so deep through each other’s hearts.
After a while, they pulled apart and gazed into each other’s eyes, neither knowing what to say to break this moment.
Jesse spoke first, flipping back around to face the fire. “Well, your scars are pretty badass too, you know. And those abs. Like, damn, bitch.”
Nacho grinned and pulled Jesse closer in to him, nuzzling his face into the back of the other man’s head. “Goodnight, Jesse.”